Flashback.
It’s the early 1990s and I’m at a get together with distant relatives on Christmas Eve. Everyone’s mid conversation but all I can think about is how watery the cauliflower is on my plate. I push it around and wonder to myself how long it’s been boiled for.
I’m wearing a velour blue dress with a white collar and I can feel my sparkly tights itching me around my ankles. I fidget with them and slip off my patent shoes which have been digging into my feet.
There’s a small box television on in the corner which my sister is staring at. It looks like a Robin Hood movie or something like that is playing. My sister is engrossed, she’s finished her plate and is staring at the screen twiddling her hair.
I have no idea what anyone is saying. Nobody is talking to me directly and there’s a hum of voices around me.
Soon, I notice plates are being collected and everyone moves across to different parts of the room. I watch the adults move in and out of the kitchen, clearing up, carrying things, laughing.
My sister and I head over to the sofa but I don’t feel like I can relax entirely. I’m alert, watching those around me, and keeping track of what’s going on. Someone speaks to my mum and she nudges us to ask if we want a glass of pop. We nod and say “yes, please” ever so politely.
Adults are chatting across the room. My head moves back and forth like a tennis ball trying to follow bits of the chatter. I’m quick but sometimes I miss vital parts so I lose the topic of conversation.
Grown ups are falling asleep and making tea and coffee now. My sister and I are bored stiff. There’s no subtitles on the telly. Nobody seems to notice how bored we are. Someone suddenly appears with a disposable camera and we smile dutifully for a picture.
As time passes, I smell the beginnings of food being prepared again. I notice someone laying a table in the corner. I would offer to help but I feel a bit shy. They’re bringing jars of pickled onions, beetroot, crackers out. Trays with sandwiches, pork pies and rolls have appeared now too.
After we’ve all eaten a plate of buffet bites a grown up comes over and says something to me I can’t quite catch. My cheeks blush. I’m too nervous to ask them to repeat themselves. I nod my head and look to my Mum who isn’t paying attention.
The grown up disappears into the kitchen and comes back handing me a bowl of what looks like gateaux. There’s cherries inside it. Ooh, my favourite. That’s a nice surprise. There’s a hum of noise around me but I’m oblivious to what’s happening. It’s just me and my gateaux.
I hear a loud click and I look up to notice someone has turned on the gas fire. It’s already so dark outside. The grown ups have become quiet, there’s less chatter now. Perhaps it’s time to go home soon.
Eventually, finally my sister and I are muttered off the sofa and we say goodbye to everyone, silently relieved that we can now leave. At last.
On the car journey home I notice the full moon in the sky and I watch it follow me all the way home, lost in my thoughts. My Dad is playing a familiar cassette, I recognise the beat although I can’t hear the words.
I had quite a few Christmas gatherings like this with extended family members when I was younger. My sister and I – both deaf – were too little to really understand how we were feeling. My parents at that time didn’t realise how much we missed out on either.
Thankfully as we got older our family became more aware and my sister and I were able to speak up for ourselves in confidence too. I’m glad I had my sister so I wasn’t so alone.
Not every deaf child is as lucky. Christmas gatherings for deaf children and adults can be a difficult time especially when around others who can’t communicate with them.
The isolation a deaf person feels when they’re the only one missing out on a joke, a conversation or simply access to a movie really does hurt. “Am I not important enough?” “Am I always left out?” You may wonder.
Dinner table syndrome is a well known issue where a deaf person may feel entirely isolated socially even whilst at a bustling dinner table – because of the communication barriers around them.
Please don’t say “I’ll tell you later” or guess what the deaf person may want or need. You don’t need to speak for them either. Include them, get to know them and find out how you can meet them halfway when communicating.
Growing up, whenever I was with a group of people who ignored me or didn’t find ways to communicate, I’d find myself zoning out and daydreaming and my other senses would be heightened too. I’d notice the sights, the scents, the textures of a room and I can still recall memories of these so vividly.
Yet that memory of feeling invisible around some people also remains and is why I’m so passionate about spreading awareness when I can.
I hope this Christmas is a pleasant, peaceful one for you however you spend it. And mostly, I hope you feel seen, valued and acknowledged by those around you however you choose to communicate.
Merry Christmas.
Love, Rebecca x
