Deaf American Poetry: An Anthology

Silent Howl

Pamela Wright-Meinhardt 262 Silent Howl I have seen the best souls of my world sodomized by a scheming uniform system and left to struggle, vegetating, for a breath of life. I have seen intense camaradaries distorted and suppressed by a narrow, one-way, uncompromising larder of a society; determined cohesions crammed into incredible parodies and puppeteeringly masqueraded. I have seen multitudes of children left alone in classrooms, misplaced and ignored, moved through grades and coddled, spoonfed, then kicked out into the cesspool of an incomprehensible reality tyrannically totalitarianed by those who can hear, and I have seen the same darkness follow the same children home to loneliness and television, television, television, eating dinner in a closed little sphere and disappearing into bed unnoticed because Mommy and Daddy are too disinterested to try. I have seen my language annihilated, mocked, shunned, belittled, doubted, analyzed, scientified, and butchered by know-it-alls who arrogantly believe their robotic hands emulate the natural unconscious grace of those who’ve internalized its fluency. I have seen the beauty that flows from my hands researched, and researched, proved again and again to be valid then shoved into a clinical paragraph and skeptically disputed for scores of years. I have seen pride hooked onto machines, machinated and cyborgic , programmed to repeatedly utter sounds difficult to decipher and shoved into grotesquely embarrassing, undignified positions; all for an experiment on his voice. IhaveseenKleenex,woodentonguedepressors,mirrorsandfingers become tools of torture and writhing shame as condescending speech pathologists quote obscure success stories and wield a godly fist over unsuspecting and trusting frightened kids crunching themselves into the creases of their chairs. Pamela Wright-Meinhardt 263 I have seen children being told for years that their speech was ideal and beautiful then publicly humiliated by giggling perplexed teenagers ringing up the cash registers. I have seen babies born into excited acceptance, proudly cherished and adulated in a world where voice finds little value then forcibly convinced by those governed by fears that silence is not golden but a festering deviance; confusedly growing up into degrading categorizations. I have seen barely toddling babies’ heads experimentally opened up and sliced and drilled then fitted with electrodes, magnets, wires and machines for a life of electrical-cords-coming-outof -my-head existence to pacify ashamed, scared, unrelenting parents. I have seen righteous teachers employ a vise of control over crying, frightened, and begging-for-mercy kindergartners making them Show-and-Tell, Show-and-Tell their hearing apparatuses to each and every curious pair of eyes in the classroom; teaching the longstanding mandated “different is wrong.” I have seen dull-eyed parents blankly with hands folded turn to the college-degreed experts, placing their child unresistingly into the ready-to-rescue hands of those tunnelvisioning towards “normalcy.” I have seen the baccalaureated, mastered, and doctor-of-philosophied deaf deeply teeth their lips, fixate a stare on table cracks, press the blood out of their hands while watching protocol take control, another child corralled into the Can’t-Be-Me mentality. I have seen high schoolers sent to face crowds battling peer-pressured acceptance while self-consciously toting obnoxiously bulky headpieces with antennae, boxes with wires, buttons and lights beepingly announcing loudly all the fix-it hopes and standardizationing decrees. I have seen teenagers fightingly overcompensate, grossly loading on more and more tasks while their parents heartily cheer on the futile battle, both believing somehow, in some way, perhaps there may be a transformation into someone who can fool them all. Pamela Wright-Meinhardt 264 I have seen again and again celebration granted to the pretenders shedding the soaringly blessed difference that empowers, but chooses to hobble weighted down by guilt on the ground blending into millions. I have seen limelight-loving, praise-seeking, far-from-qualified, barely signing interpreters become daytime mothers, a gossiping friend, walking cheat-sheets, a classroom buddy sticking up in a fight, the mouth, the brain and the life of a solitary but least restrictively appropriately mainstreamed, inclusioned, and “so-called-very-close-to-normal” child. I have seen paternalists reach out hands and hearts to those in dire need, spartanly donating precious time, energy, and focus, pastorly citing the benefits of giving without getting, then turn away with fear, complete puzzlement, confused anger and incredulous awe from one of us standing, clear-eyed, well versed, and without need. I have seen a...