Potpourri.

In the week since my last post, I’ve worn the “slightly ugly” bibs twice and have avoided being photographed in them. I was not joking when I called the pattern “indescribable”.

Anyone who manages to describe the pattern wins a big bag of green leaf lettuce. A trash bag full, even! I have a wealth of leafy greens. Last week, I treated my lucky colleagues to free lettuce, and the giveaway barely made a dent in my lettuce patch. Conversely, I spent $6 on a packet of 10 seeds to grow purple moon cauliflowers, and all I’ve gotten so far are moonless giant leaves.

Life is full of disappointments. And surprises! Last Friday, Greg Minnaar made a second stop in Esquimalt to welcome Gabby’s partner, Dan, home after Dan’s solo Big Loop ride. According to Gabby, the element of surprise was spoiled when Dan caught a glimpse of Greg in the mirror before entering the bathroom.

Can’t win ’em all… not even when you’re the GOAT.

As I marked Unorthodox: The Scandalous Rejection of My Hasidic Roots by Deborah Feldman as “read” on StoryGraph, I noticed that Zoée had started VC Andrews’ Flowers in the Attic and perked up. Whatever remained of my childhood innocence was shattered the day Jenine guided me to the corner of the school library where Andrews’ novels were shelved. Flowers in the Attic was my first Andrews novel. 12-year-old Laura was transfixed by the Dollanganger saga and breezed through all three books, just as adult Zoée is doing now.

Zoée: “I’m halfway thru the second book of the series and this book is more perverted than the first somehow. I am dismayed by what I’m reading and REALLY wondering about the author.”

My introduction to the depraved world of VC Andrews novels happened around the same time the first Harry Potter book (which, by the way, I’ve never read) came out. In retrospect, it was bizarre how conservative folks invested so much energy in banning Harry Potter books when VC Andrews was right there! Sure, Flowers in the Attic is about four albino siblings locked in an attic by their parents for so long that the two oldest siblings got bored and started boning, but… we can’t have our children reading about Quidditch!

It is clear from the reviews on StoryGraph that Zoée, Jenine, and I were not alone in having our preteen minds defiled by Andrews’ works.

“By golly” is right.

Zoée sent me this review:

As I’d just finished reading Unorthodox, I asked Zoée what book I should pick up next, and they enthusiastically responded with, “Flowers in the Attic!”

I mean, okay, it’s been about 30 years since I’d read it, but I’m not sure I’m ready for a re-read. Besides, Unorthodox was pretty fucked up, and unfortunately, not a work of fiction. I need some more time to purchase a string of pearls, which I’ll surely clutch whilst reading Flower in the Attic.

I, however, propose Flowers in the Attic as Marianne’s book club’s next read, and insist on being in attendance for this book club meeting. I’ll even bring sushi party trays to mitigate the trauma the book is sure to inflict.

My follow-up to Unorthodox ended up being another memoir: Mother Tongue by Sara Novic, which came out last month. I thought it’d be cool to read something written by a fellow deafie.

I’ve been sharing stories from my life online for the past 25 years. Gator, who is also deaf, inspired me to start a blog: she was the first deaf person outside my insular deaf community whose life story became accessible to me. Shortly after that, I met my first boyfriend. Although he was also deaf, he grew up isolated from the deaf community of which I was a part, which led to a vastly different experience than that of my childhood friends and me. A few years later, I discovered Zoée’s LiveJournal.

The point being: I’m eternally interested in exploring other people’s “deaf journey”. Much of what Novic wrote in her memoir did not surprise me; it was infuriatingly relatable. She mentioned three comments from hearing people that come up, perhaps not regularly, but far more frequently than is deserved:

“You’re deaf?! But you’re pretty/cute/handsome/etc.”

I do have surprisingly attractive ears.

“My cousin’s/friend’s/uncle’s/dog is deaf, like you!”

Here’s what Novic had to say about that one: “Usually, they’re excited to share this news and seem disappointed when I don’t mirror their enthusiasm. For years, these kinds of exchanges made me feel a little gross, though I couldn’t put my finger on why, and most of the time when I mention it to hearing people, even those I consider friends or allies, they tend to come to the hearing person’s defense. The comparison is well-meaning, they tell me, an attempt at finding common ground, since dogs are many people’s only touchstone for deafness. (Centuries on, the expectation that disabled people accept nondisabled people’s actions as inherently benevolent remains.)“

“I would die without music!”/”I would just kill myself if I couldn’t listen to music.”

Novic: “It’s hurtful, of course, whenever someone feels your life is of so little value that they’d rather be dead than be you, doubly so when that conviction is strong enough for them to say it to you directly.“

And, yes, we deafies have all had random folks declare that they’ll pray for us. The next time someone says they’ll pray for me, I’ll tell them I am evidence that prayer doesn’t work. Years of prayers across all religious denominations, and I’m still stone-deaf.

The last time Zoée and I got together, we had a chat over sushi about the worst things hearing people have said to us. For me, it has to be when one of the first guys I dated after breaking up with that deaf first boyfriend told me, “I don’t think your deaf friends should have children.”

First of all, most of these deaf people were born to hearing parents! Secondly, THAT WAS HIS TAKEAWAY?! Thirdly, I am glad my deaf friends exist! Fourthly, he didn’t even realize he’d outed himself as an eugenicist. I stormed out of the restaurant, but since I had no other way to get home that night, I “accepted” his apology for the sake of getting a ride.

So, every time I see a Boston Pizza restaurant, I am reminded of that evening.

Back to Mother Tongue: a major theme of this memoir is Novic’s experience as a first-time mom to a biological child, born hearing, and for the second time as an adoptive mom to a deaf child from Thailand. Until then, I’d never considered just how much more ableism would be introduced into one’s life when they’re expecting.

Novic on an interaction she had with a fellow hearing professor while at work: “She touched my shoulder sympathetically. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. “My cousin’s husband is hearing impaired, too, but their kids came out fine!'”

Upon finishing the book last night, I recognized the shared sentiment that the worst thing about being deaf is not the inability to hear (music or otherwise), but dealing with people who are bothered by our deafness.

Read Mother Tongue for a glimpse of all the bullshit I have put up with for almost my entire life. And, uh, Flowers in the Attic if you dare.