Ursula Beluggi

I wanted to write a little bit about a woman I’d never heard of, Ursula Bellugi.  She just passed away at the age of 91.  What drew my immediate attention was an article in the https://www.nytimes.com/2022/04/22/science/ursula-bellugi-dead.html New York Times, which focused on her life’s work.  She was a pioneer in proving that American Sign Language is a real language and not a short-cut version of English.

Dr. William Stokoe, a professor at then Gallaudet College, said he believed that sign language was itself a language separate from English in 1960.  At that time, he was ridiculed.  People believed that sign language was all just pantomime, mimicking spoken English.

Dr. Bellugi was a researcher at the Salk Institute and the director of the behavioral neuroscience department.  She worked closely with her husband, Dr. Edward Klima,  on how language develops in the brain, both spoken and signed.  Dr. Bellugi found that American Sign Language, with all its vocabulary, syntax and grammar, is passed from generation to generation of Deaf people.

The left side of the brain is predisposed to language development, both spoken and signed.  That’s true for all the different sign languages in the world as well as spoken foreign languages.  The brain doesn’t discriminate between signed or spoken languages; they are the same.

Dr. Bellugi’s and Dr. Klima’s findings helped people accept sign language.  Here in the U.S., American Sign Language is taught as a foreign language in many schools.  Not too many years ago, it was officially recognized in the United States as a legitimate foreign language.

There was a movement in the 1980s called Deaf President Now.  Until then, educators of the Deaf were hearing.  Hearing educators decided how Deaf students would be taught.  For many years, the restrictive oral method was prevalent.  Deaf students were encouraged to use their voices and to lipread.  Families and the students were discouraged from using any form of signing.

The previous presidents of Gallaudet College were also hearing.  The current president was leaving and candidates were interviewed for the position.  Some were hearing; some deaf.  To the anger and frustration of the Deaf students, a hearing woman was selected to be the next president.  The students revolted.  They wouldn’t go to class.  They gathered in protest, feeling that they were being slighted.  A Deaf person was perfectly capable of understanding the needs of Deaf students, they believed.

As the news spread around the country via television, radio and newspapers, many hearing people supported the students.  Deaf communities joined in the protests.  Deaf people can do anything but hear.  Why not give Deaf people the opportunity to make decisions on their education and other issues?

Eventually, the hearing woman withdrew her application.  Bowing to all the pressure and publicity, I. King Jordan was selected to be the next president.  Jordan was deaf, and the students and communities were wild with joy.

Now, after all those years, we finally had a movie showing Deaf people not as helpless victims but as hard working, successful adults.  The movie was Coda.  Hopefully there will be more “normalization” of Deaf World.

This started out to acknowledge Dr. Bellugi and to say I’m grateful for her research.  She also made significant contributions in understanding Williams syndrome and in the development of language in children.  She was an amazing woman and I wish I’d heard of her long before now.

Twitter & Elon Musk

A lot of the news chatter today has to do with Elon Musk.  Musk is a billionaire who spends his money on things.  As far as I can tell, he doesn’t use his money to help people.  His biggest beneficiary seems to be himself or, rather, Tesla.  He made the news by sending a rocket into space successfully and again, with 90 year old William Shatner aboard.  Shatner, who played Captain James T. Kirk in the original Star Trek series, was the oldest man to go up in space.  All of this stuff can be entertaining but meanwhile, there was still covid running wild in the country and people who’ve lost their jobs, homes and are hungry as a result.  No charitable organization got any funds he claims to have donated.

Why does he seem so self-centered and cold-hearted?  Well, on Saturday Night Live last year, he announced he was the first SNL guest host with Asperger’s Syndrome.  First of all, he’s not.  Dan Ackroyd, an original SNL member, has had diagnosed Asperger’s for years.

What is Asperger’s?  It’s on the autism spectrum and many people might have it without knowing it.  It all depends on presenting symptoms.  Musk went on to say to his audience that his voice seems without intonation, he doesn’t make eye contact and he’ll emulate emotions.  Most people with Asperger’s are high functioning, socially delayed, and many are geniuses.

I speak with some experience because two of my adult children have been diagnosed with Asperger’s.  They have varying degrees of executive order function, the ability to read social cues, understand some forms of humor, irony, or sarcasm.  Neither of my kids had the motor skills to do well in sports and so focused their attentions elsewhere.  Throughout their lives as kids, they’ve become very focused on one thing or another.  It wasn’t easy “fitting in” at school.

As adults, they’ve both become successful, caring adults and have learned how to socialize with family and friends.

All of this meandering about Asperger’s is just to say this might be why Musk seems indifferent to people’s needs.

Or, maybe he’s just a grasping, selfish individual looking for the next bright, expensive toy to play with.

That new toy right now is Twitter.  I worry about what Twitter will turn into.  Musk says he wants to make Twitter “private” and wants free speech.  Does that mean he’s going to allow hateful, racist, violence language on the platform now?  Right now Twitter works to keep some of that negativity off. 

Will Musk allow TFG back on Twitter?  What a disaster that would be.  The TFG is a very vocal hate machine.

I am active on Twitter, mostly with creative writing, liberal left leaning and cat groups.  I try to stimulate interest in my blog, support other writers, express frustration about the GQP’s continuing shenanigans without consequences, and share  cat pictures.  I plan on staying but already registered with a platform called Counter Social.

What will make me quit Twitter?  If Musk charges for membership, if it becomes filled with ranting, hate filled Q-Anon trumper fanatics, and if I’m bounced off for saying what I think that isn’t in line with Musk politically.

The man scares me.

"I Am, I Said"

 I was just listening to “I Am, I Said” by Neil Diamond and was reflecting on how much the song meant to me when I was younger.  I was looking at YouTube comments for the song and I saw one from a person who said the song saved her live; she’d had some kind of trauma and was having some self-destructive thoughts.  She heard this song and said it saved her life.

 

I know what she means.  When I first heard the song, it became “my” song.  The part I most related to was the chorus:

 

I am, I said

To no one there

And no one heard at all

Not even the chair

 

I am, I cried

I am, said I

And I am lost

And can’t even say why

Leavin me lonely still

 

Wow.   I’d been having panic attacks for years.  When I was about 16, I told my parents I thought I was going crazy and thought I needed a psychiatrist.  They were horrified and said no.  Too embarrassing if the deaf community found out.  I went to my psychology teacher and tried to describe the panic attacks.  She said that all teenagers going through this; it was an identity crisis.  Her reassurance calmed my fears somewhat but they didn’t make the attacks go away.

 

The first time I went for therapy, I was about 22.  I told the doctor about “I Am, I Said” and how much it affected me.  He wondered what it was about those words I so strongly identified with and I had to think about how to describe what I felt.

 

“I am, I said to no one there and no one heard at all, not even the chair.”  Who was I, anyway?  The good girl, “hero” of the deaf family, interpreter, helper?  As an interpreter, I had no voice of my own.  If I spoke, it was with my parents’ words or, later, the clients’.  Did anyone really know me?  By the time I went for therapy, I was pretty withdrawn.  I didn’t go out much or socialize.  I was alone.

 

I started writing when I was a child.  Once my mother found a story I was writing.  The story had an “evil stepmother” in it and Mom was furious.  She felt I was really writing about her.  She was right, of course, but was so angry I was frightened and said no.  I hid all my writing after that.  I think a lot of “I Am, I Said” came from hiding who I was and what I wanted to say.

 

 

“I am, I cried!  I am, said I, and I am lost and can’t even say why – leaving me lonely still.”  I am who I am and why isn’t anyone listening?  I am me, aren’t I?  And am I not worthy?  I didn’t feel very worthy at all and I did feel lost.  What was my purpose in life?  Was it to be the voice of the deaf community?  An advocate?  But what about who I was inside, that inner child trying to get out and be.

 

Eventually I was diagnosed with panic attack disorder.  They would come and go without warning, usually when I felt “trapped”.  There was a high school math class, geometry, and I was interpreting for a junior.  At about the same time, the attack would come and I wanted desperately to get up and run.  Of course, I couldn’t.  I stayed and suffered through the attacks, trying not to let it show.  Once the student asked why I was blinking so much and that was the only clue something was wrong.  I would get panic attacks driving on highways or over bridges.  I probably could have pulled onto the highway shoulder to calm down but didn’t.  There’s no safe place to stop going over a bridge!

 

Now that I’m retired, I have a panic attack only once in a blue moon.  I believe it’s because I don’t have that feeling of being trapped anymore.  I am free to do as I please and be who I am without worrying what others think.  I am happy in my skin as an advocate for groups being mistreated, as a wife, mom, grandmother and great-grandmother. 

 

I am a writer and love it.  I can write freely now and am not afraid to share what I write.  It feels good to be me now.  “I Am, I Said” isn’t my song anymore.  I feel heard, at last.

 

Cathy: Look Up And See Lassie

 

Grandma and Grandpa said their house was much too big for them now that all their children had grown up and moved away.  They found a two-bedroom cottage around the street from the big house.  Cathy didn’t like it that they were moving.  All she had to do to see Grandma was cross the field.  Now she would have to go up to the corner and down a block, turn and then walk another 2 blocks down.  Mama said she couldn’t go by herself.

 

Cathy was disappointed about that but she was upset to see Grandma crying.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m just going to miss my piano,” Grandma answered.

 

“Why can’t you take it?”  Cathy would miss the piano too.  She loved to hide underneath it to the deep embarrassment of her parents.  When she didn’t want to go home from Grandma’s, she’d crawl under the piano and scoot all the way to the wall where Mama couldn’t reach.

 

“The new house is too small,” Grandma said.  She has a lost look on her face, like she was wondering where something went.

 

Cathy wondered why Grandma was moving then.  First Grandma said the house was too big but now she was sad because her new house was too small. 

 

Actually, the new house was just the right size even if it wasn’t in the right place.  It had a big sunny kitchen with big windows.  There was an enclosed porch in the front and a nice backyard to play in.  The living room was long, with two bedrooms alongside.  There was no dining room but Grandma and Grandpa brought their big dining room table anyway.  They put lamps and books and things on top of it.  When there was a holiday, though, they would move the chairs and the sofa so they could open the table to its full length.  Then everyone could sit around it.

 

One day, Cathy was playing at Grandma’s.  They were having a make-believe tea party outside when suddenly they heard Mama screaming.  It was a very scary sound; a scream Cathy had never heard before.  She and Grandma jumped up and ran from the backyard to the front.  Mama was running toward them carrying Mikey.  He was crying and one of his arms was dangling.

 

Grandma couldn’t understand what Mama was saying.  Mama was so upset she could barely speak.  Most times Mama would sit and watch Grandma’s face carefully to try and catch the words.  Grandma knew how to fingerspell a little but she had a lot of difficulty forming the letters.  If Mama couldn’t get it though, Grandma would spell the word slowly.  Neither would use paper and pencil because you just didn’t talk to family that way.

 

Something was wrong with Mikey, that much was clear.  Cathy heard Mama say something about his hand caught in the washing machine and so she helpfully told Grandma.  Grandma began pushing them toward the car.

 

Mama cried out, “What about Pop?”

 

Grandma shook her head and waved her hand as if to say forget about it.  They all got into the car.  Mama got into the back seat with Mikey.  Cathy was really scared.  She was afraid to look at Mikey’s dangling arm.  She got into the front seat with Grandma and didn’t say a single word during the short trip to the hospital.

 

This was the first time Cathy could remember being in a hospital.  When Mikey was born, Grandma and Grandpa brought her to the hospital lawn to show her Mama, Daddy and the new baby.  They stood on the grass looking up as Daddy opened a window.  Mama and Daddy leaned out and waved.  Cathy cried.  She wanted to go to them but children weren’t allowed.

 

She was relieved to be allowed into the emergency room.  She didn’t want to wait out on the lawn all by herself.  She sat down on a wooden chair while Mama and Grandma tried to tell the nurse what happened.  They were having trouble so Mama turned to Cathy and waved her forward.

 

“Mikey caught his hand in the washing machine,” she told the nurse nervously.  Now that she’d been noticed, would she have to go out on the lawn?

 

Instead, they all went into a big room with a steel bed.  There was a monstrous machine with a big glass window close to the bed.  The nurse wanted Mama to put Mikey on the bed.  Mama tried, but Mikey began to scream in terror.  He tried to roll off the bed but the nurse grabbed him.

 

“Don’t hurt him!” Cathy warned.  She knew that was what Mama wanted to say.  Grandma stepped back and grabbed her hand.

 

“Sssh,” the nurse soothed Mikey but he kept crying.  Mama was crying too.

 

A man in a white coat came in and tried to talk to Mikey.  He moved the big glass window until it was right over Mikey’s head and shoulders.  He pushed something into a drawer in the bed and said, “Hey, there, kiddo, do you like Lassie?  Look right up in here.  You can see Lassie.  Look here, kid, look.”

 

But Mikey didn’t want to look.  He screamed again.

 

“No!”  Cathy exclaimed.  “Leave my brother alone!”

 

The man looked over and snapped gruffly, “You all should go into the waiting room.”

 

“Go, Mrs. Baker.  We’ll be just fine,” the nurse said to Grandma.

 

Grandma touched Mama’s shoulder and the three of them left the room.  Cathy covered her ears with her hands so she wouldn’t hear Mikey scream any more.  She leaned against Grandma when they sat down.  Grandma patted her absently but she turned to Mama to try and find out what happened.

 

Cathy had to help a little bit because Mama’s voice was still hoarse and shaky.  Mama was doing laundry while Mikey napped.  She took a load of wet clothes outside to hang them up on the clothesline.  When she came back into the kitchen, she saw the Mikey’s arm was in the rollers of the washing machine – all the way up to his shoulder.  She turned the machine off but had a lot of trouble freeing Mikey’s arm without yanking on it.  She tried to pry the rollers apart with her bare hands and finally Mikey was able to pull his arm free.

 

It sounded horrible.    Maybe Mikey would have to have his arm chopped off at the shoulder!  Cathy wondered how he could play outside with just one arm.  How could he get dressed?

 

After a while, another man – a doctor, he said – came out to talk to Grandma.  He said, “We were very lucky.  His arm isn’t broken.  His shoulder was dislocated but it’s fine now.”  He talked about medicine for Mikey’s pain and what to do for the next few days.  Mama stood by tensely, watching the doctor’s lips as he talked to Grandma.

 

After the doctor left, they went in to see Mikey.  He was sucking on a lollipop with his other hand, his pale face still streaked with tears.  His shirt was off and Cathy began to avert her eyes, afraid to look at his arm.  All she saw, though, was a very red mark on Mikey’s shoulder.  When he saw them, he began to cry again.

 

Mama saw the mark too and asked, “What is this?”

 

The nurse said Mikey’s skin was stretched in the roller and that it would probably bruise.  It would be fine again in a couple of weeks.  Grandma turned to Mama, moving her lips slowly and in an exaggerated way tried to repeat what the nurse had just said.  Mama nodded, looking relieved.