All You Need is Love...Right?

I have a very small, loose network of people I know, parenting with some kind of disability. This is not on purpose. It reflects the general pattern of my life-- I am a deaf person, living in a hearing world. I do not sign, I did not go to a deaf school (except for one year at The Clarke School for the Deaf) and I was fully mainstreamed in school. And now, I am a deaf person parenting in a hearing world, to hearing children. The deaf parents I know now are people that I've known and been friends with for a long time. I can count them on one hand. I have one other friend with a different physical disability, and while her specific challenges are different from mine, she surely sometimes views her parenting through the lens of her disability, as I do mine. 

In the beginning, when I first became a parent, I spent a little bit of time sorting out what were "normal" parenting challenges and what challenges were uniquely attributed to my deafness. It's not as clearcut in those infant years, where communication is basic. The older my children get, the more time I spend doing this sorting, but it also becomes easier to differentiate between what is universal and what is unique. When my children talk back, I take that as universal and correct the behavior accordingly. When they do or say something specifically because they assume I can't hear them, it becomes a matter of not only correcting but explaining why that is not fair. That actually does not happen too often at this point, and I can't think of any concrete examples.
What I'm learning at this point is I need to strike a balance between letting them help me when I miss something and actually relying on them to be my "life interpreters," much in the same way that I rely on my husband or my sister to do this for me sometimes. It's an unfair burden, I think, to place on a small child, however easy or naturally it may come for her, because she was born with a helpful, authoritative nature.
One of the neat things about my daughter being nearly five is that I'm really able to begin to understand her, to read her, to recognize behaviors that are familiar to me because I was the same way at her age. In the context of parenting with a disability, my observations of her behavior and personality are even more important because I cannot take our ability to communicate well for granted. I'm more careful to make sure that I'm really hearing what she is telling me, looking for clues in her body language and facial expressions. This is really not much different from how I function in social situations-- I compensate for not always being sure I've caught the proper tone in someone's voice by looking for the other cues that confirm my observation, or lack thereof.
I know that as my children get older, the challenges will evolve. Some of it will come from their own heightened awareness of what it means to have a deaf parent, and some of it will come from my own need to adjust accordingly. This month, for From Left to Write, I signed up to read Raising Cubby, by John Elder Robison. I'd not heard of him before this book sign-up but he is a father with Asperger's, raising a son who also has Asperger's. While our parenting challenges are different, I found parallels in the way his parenting evolved as his son grew older. While the tone of the book very much reflects his Aspergian stream of consciousness, I immediately related to his endless anxiety about becoming a parent, and all the questions he asks himself once he actually becomes a parent.
I think the fear,  at some point and at some level, of screwing up your own children is a universal parenting trait and I take some solace in that. The adage "all you need is love" applies just as much to me as it does to any other parent, disability or not.

This post was inspired by Raising Cubby: A Father and Son’s Adventures with Asperger’s, Trains, Tractors, and High Explosives by John Elder Robison. Parenting is a challenging job, but what challenges does a parent with Asperger's face? Join From Left to Write on March 12 as we discuss Raising Cubby. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes. Links to the book are IndieBound affiliate links. 

A Finisher.

Heather and I, post-race and pre-pancakes

Saturday night, before the Danskin Triathlon out in Sandy Hook, was a veritable carb-fest at my friend Heather's house. I shoved penne down, in between bites of chicken francaise. All week, I'd been scheming ways to avoid this tri while saving face. I was tired and not feeling it, plus I wasn't training as hard as I could. I thought I'd "accidentally" leave my tri suit behind or some other important item for the race. Or maybe it would get rained out. Maybe I'd get sick! Maybe Heather would get sick! Still, I remembered to pack everything I needed. I took the train down to Yonkers, with the bike. Heather picked me up. We settled in for a rainy evening at her house.
After dinner, we both headed up to bed. I tried to watch TV. I couldn't get sleepy. Finally, I took a book out. That would do the trick. I finally got drowsy enough to turn out the light and close my eyes, super conscious of the fact that Heather promised me to wake me up at 4:30 in the morning.
At 3am, I woke up, unbearably hot. I turned the fan and unable to fall back asleep, I made the mistake of looking at my phone. I did my usual check-up of the social networks, predictably dead at that hour. I finally put my phone down and dozed back to sleep. I found myself in a very vivid dream in which Heather came to wake me up, so I got up and attempted to make the bed, only to fall back asleep. I awoke with a start, realizing that it might not have been a dream! I looked at my phone and saw that it was 4:30. I wondered if Heather really had woken me or not. I stumbled around, getting my tri suit ready, brushing my teeth, getting dressed. I put my sneakers on the floor, willing myself to leave them behind. I even shoved them up under the bed, out of sight but unfortunately, not out of mind.
I made the bed, packed my bag and with a sigh, reached under the bed to pull out my sneakers. How lame would it be to tell people that I didn't do the tri because I forgot my sneakers? Very lame.
I met Heather in the kitchen, where we ate a light snack, filled our water bottles and headed out into the chilly pre-dawn to load our bikes onto the car. I had some choice words, regarding the early hour as we got into the car but I won't repeat them here (thought my Facebook friends know just what I said!).
The closer we got to Sandy Hook, the more glad I was that I didn't bail, on the tri or on Heather. I'm not the fastest at anything but I'm a dogged finisher. (Just ask my dad...) It was a beautiful almost-Fall day. The water was perfect, temperature-wise but a little rough. Those waves helped propel me along, though! The bike course follows the shoreline, a great view while zipping along the course. I challenged myself to pick up speed and pass a few people, to my (inner) satisfaction. Getting off the bike, my strategy for the run was to go for a negative split--run the first part of the course at a slow, easy pace, saving my energy for a faster pace during the last part of the 5K. I picked up speed as I approached the finish, sprinting the last few yards and high-fiving the peppy clown that awaited me across the line, where Heather, having finished earlier,  greeted me with a hug.
It was a great race, I was happy that I followed through and noticed that while I didn't necessarily feel faster, I did feel like it took less effort. It turns out that I did do much better than last year! As usual, my main goal was to not come in last. I like to set the bar appropriately, you know. Not too high, not too low.