Amy Signs: A Mother, Her Daughter, and their Stories

19. Ready, Aim . . .

116 19 Ready, Aim... Rebecca Sunday as we dress for church, I pray the pastor’s sermon will contain words of wisdom giving me the courage to confront Dr. Zimmer. A sermon about Daniel in the lion’s den or those three guys in the fiery furnace would be nice.The pastor’s sermon is lackluster; I come home discouraged. On Monday, as I drive to Lincoln, I decide to give the university another chance. This is the third week of the semester; perhaps they pulled their act together over the weekend. Even if they didn’t, their program is better than nothing, which is what I have in Grand Island. You’re kidding yourself, Rebecca. I imagine confronting Dr. Zimmer, a bear of a man with the personality of a grizzly. I’ve never seen him smile.He prowls the halls as if stalking prey.He’ll devour me alive. Four hours later I’m home. If it were possible to kick myself in the butt, I would.Today was a replay of last Friday, but fear of being ripped apart by Dr. Zimmer, fear of the unknown, fear, just plain old fear kept me from speaking to him. Wednesday I’ll definitely talk to Dr. Zimmer. I’m at a decided disadvantage Wednesday. Dr. Zimmer has heard about the rabble-rousing mother who confronted Mrs. Kramer and he’s ready for me. I knock on his office door. I see his face in profile. It is pinched, sour-looking, as if he’s just bitten a grapefruit rind. “Come in,” he growls. Amy Signs Main Pgs 1-320.indd 116 6/27/2012 10:37:43 AM Ready, Aim... 117 “I’m Rebecca Willman.” I sit in the chair opposite his desk. “I’m Amy’s mot —” “I wondered when you’d get around to talking to me.” He leans back in his chair, self-confident, at ease with my presence. His dark eyes stare at me, unmoving. “I’m . . . I’m dissatisfied with several things happening in the therapy program.” “Such as?” He remains tilted back in his chair, giving the impression he’s humoring me. “First of all, I want to see what Amy’s doing in group therapy.” Dr. Zimmer snaps forward, shoves his chair back, and stands, towering over his desk. “Until you and your child enrolled in this program, everyone thought our program was just fine.” He walks around his desk. “And now, all the mothers have the attitude of ‘just what the hell are you doing with my child!’” I’m surprised he reacted with anger to my simple request to observe Amy. I stand. “Amy’s my daughter. I have every right to know what the hell you’re doing with her.” I’m as surprised by my response, as is Dr. Zimmer. His dark eyes narrow. He straightens his shoulders so his six-foot two-inch frame towers over my five-foot two inches. “It’s my job as Amy’s mother to see she receives the best education possible. These deaf kids shouldn’t be in a program that considers their education a secondary goal. You’re more interested in educating your therapists than helping these deaf kids.” He glares and steps toward me, speaking with a raised voice.“This program is part of the university’s curriculum. Upon graduation, our students are experienced therapists, ready to help deaf children develop speech and language. Your child is one of the many tools we use to accomplish this goal.” Can’t you see the idiocy of your remark? You’re using the very children you profess you want to help as guinea pigs. “What about the deaf kids here now? They don’t have the benefit of trained therapists. These kids only have once chance for pre-school education.” “I oversee this program. I designed it. The program works as it should.” Amy Signs Main Pgs 1-320.indd 117 6/27/2012 10:37:43 AM 118 Amy Signs Sensing I’m beating a dead horse, I shift gears.“Have you considered using sign language with the children?” He whirls toward me, his face red, his nostrils flaring. “This is an oral program! We’d never do that. If you allow a deaf child to use sign language, they’ll never learn to speak. They’ll become isolated from everyone except for a small group of other...