Without A Voice (Based On A True Story)

A Glimmer of Hope

It has been a long five years I have suffered. I pretty much given up hope on any chance of making friends at Ka'awa Elementary School. I was labelled within the first week the school years. I hated being around my classmates, especially when they followed me from grade to grade. The ridicule never ceased and I was never free. 

Last year, I was finally able to speak. Mother was so proud in my achievement. I wanted to share my abilities with the world. I was excited that my thoughts can be heard, can enter the public. It was a long road to get to that point. I spent a lot of time feeling vibrations on our television, deciphering music lyrics, and endless practice. There were times when I thought it was an impossible dream, but I persevered. I defied the odds and did what some other deaf people have done. But I lacked the confidence to speak in front of my peers. They already thought I was "weird"; how would they react to my newfound voice? I decided to wait a year to reveal my secret.

This year, I was in the third grade. I was ready to shock the world. I felt like now was an appropriate time. The other kids were somewhat older, somewhat more understanding. Also, Jacob was finally old enough to attend the very same Kindergarten John and I attended. With John promoted to middle school, I was Jacob's only connection. I had to speak for him if needed, like for questions from our mother. 

However, not everyone took my newly developed skill well. It was the first day of school and our teacher wanted us to introduce ourselves. Going alphabetically by last name, I was last. I stood up, and everyone started laughing. I looked around, unfazed by their mockery. Our teacher, Mr. Kent, was baffled and upset. I saw him trying to calm the others so I could begin. I knew exactly how to get their attention.

"Can I start now?" A shock filled the air. The other kids were speechless by small four words I said. They were completely caught off-guard. I smirked, knowing that I took their trump card away from them; I couldn't speak up for myself before, but now they cannot use that against me. I finally had the advantage. 

"Hi, my name is James and..." I suddenly saw the boy in front of me smirk and giggle. Now what? "...and I am..." More kids joined in the laughter. I was incredibly confused; what was so funny? I inspected my wardrobe and didn't see anything other than the faded designs. I ran my fingers in my hair, but nothing felt out of place. What was it? Then, the entire class burst into laughter. Some of them pointed their fingers at me, pounding their fists into their desks. I looked at the teacher for confirmation. He had a stoic look to him. He tried to calm everyone down, but no one listened. I sat back down, defeated. 

During recess, I stayed in the classroom while the other kids played. We were on the second floor of this building, so no one was around to bother me. I walked over to Mr. Kent's desk, where he was preparing for the next lesson. 

"Mr. Kent," he looked up with sympathy in his eyes. "W-why did the other kids laugh at me?" I couldn't hold back the tears. I was in deep pain, like the little joy I had left in my life disappeared leaving nothing left. He put his pen down, clasping his hands together like he was about to pray. 

"Are you deaf?" The way he asked it was what surprised me the most. He didn't have a judgmental expression like the others. After a few seconds, I nodded. How did he know so quickly? He turned around, grabbing something behind him. It was a file with my name on a sticker. "That explains a lot." That explains a lot? The file contained documents regarding my performance in class. Throughout the years, my teachers have recorded my behavior in class without my knowledge. How did I not catch it?

Unresponsive, inattentive, not willing to participate. Those were some of the observations my previous teachers wrote about me. I didn't know how to feel about their claims. I was offended they thought I was an insubordinate student, but I could see where they came from. I didn't participate fully in all the class activities, but only because I didn't know what was going on. Mr. Kent looked at me, fascinated by his discovery. 

"Is that why you didn't participate in class? Because you couldn't hear."

"Not really. I only learned to speak last year." His eyes opened wide. I thought I was in trouble or something. 

"Who taught you to speak?" 

"I did." He leaned back in his chair in complete amazement. Those two words were very powerful. I smiled shyly at the ground, trying to contain the pride as best as I could. On the inside, I was beaming with self confidence. Mr. Kent removed his small, thin-framed reading glasses and  just stared at me. 

"That is amazing." I blushed. No one ever complimented me before; no one actually said anything nice to me before. 

"Thank you, Mr. Kent." 

"Tell me, how do you understand me?" 

"I can read lips." 

"Wow. And you taught yourself how to do this?" I nodded. "You are a very smart boy. I hope you know this."

Did I know that? No, I didn't. The world told me that I didn't know anything, that I was a lost cause. I was labelled without even letting my opinion be known. I always thought I was a failure and academically inept. I guess I'm not dumb after all. Then the feelings rushed back in.

"Mr. Kent," I asked, "why did the other kids laugh at me when I was talking?" A serious look came over his face. I knew this was bad, but I was not aware of the magnitude. There was a brief silence; he was thinking of how to say it.

"The other kids were just being mean." I knew he was lying. There was no way that was the reason.

"Be honest, please. I want to know." He sighed, then pinch the bridge of his nose . He looked at depressed demeanor and uttered three devastating words: It's your voice. I gasped. My voice? What was wrong with my voice? Obviously, I have never heard my voice before. With little context clues to work with, I had no idea what to assume could be wrong. 

"Your voice is...different." he said, trying to be polite. "It's not...what you would hear on a daily basis." 

"What do you mean?" I implored. "How can I make it sound normal?" He frowned, meaning more bad news. 

"Because you are a very special case, probably one-of-a-kind, it's hard to say if you'll have those speech patterns when you're older." 

"So I'll never be normal?" A single tear rolled down my cheek. I was crushed by the news. I pictured myself constantly being bullied, constantly teased. Why did I have to be born deaf? Why did I have to be born? 

"Hey now," he walked around his desk and dropped to one knee. "just because I don't know it doesn't make it true." He placed his hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. "You have gotten this far, who knows what you can do later on." I wiped the tears with the back of my hand. "Don't let the other kids treat you badly. Just be yourself." 

There lies the problem. Being myself was why the other kids harassed me. No matter what I did, something was worth pointing out and teasing me. I surrounded by constant negativity. At school, on the soccer field, at home. There was no solution. As I was about to share this with him, Mr. Kent looked up towards the wall clock.

"The bell rang." He said. "You should go back to your seat." I missed my chance. I walked over to my seat and calculated my next move. I assumed that our chat implied that Mr. Kent was going to observe me closer from now on. I at least had his protection in class. But what about when I step out those doors? Would he share my disability with the other staff, hopefully to get more support? Would that really stop the others from bullying me? I walked towards the front door, ready to welcome my classmates. My plan has started.