I have been an advocate for almost all my life. I don’t like it when anyone is put down for any reason. I hate racism and bigotry. I feel compelled to stick up for kids, people with disabilities, and people who are disparaged because they are “other” for whatever reason: religion, skin color, sexual preference. The reality is that I’m really different. I am other too.
I remember that when I was little and lived on Long Island, I didn’t feel different except that my parents couldn’t hear. I used to have the magical thinking that everyone’s parents were like mine, speaking with their voices outside but signing inside. When I was about 6 or 7, I was rudely clued into the fact we were different when neighborhood kids chanted outside my bedroom window “Cassie’s mother is deaf and dumb!” I was furious and hurt but also was surrounded by a large loving family.
My Grandma was my first hero. She loved me unconditionally and was a comfort to me. I felt mostly protected, accepted and loved but began to carry that little bit of “I’m really different” with me.
Once we moved to Maryland, I lost connection with family and friends. The biggest loss was a daily connection to my precious Grandma. In Baltimore, the neighborhood kids grudgingly allowed my brother and me into their circle but never let us forget how different we were. Our parents were constantly accused of being spies because their outdoor voices weren’t intelligible…not like other hearing parents’ voices.
My parents discovered a Deaf social club and that is when the drinking began. My brother and I had experienced DV from our mother all along. She had an undiagnosed mental health problem with mood swings and rages. With the drinking and battling that went on with my parents, home became a place where my brother and I walked on egg shells.
Now I felt so apart from others, I began to withdraw. I did not form any close friendships because I didn’t want to bring a pal home to an unstable situation. I also found it hard to put trust in people. That is still an issue with me to this day and probably the major reason I’m so different. I have friends but keep them at a distance. I don’t confide secrets the way I’ve seen in films about friendships. I keep things light, safe, and even further at a distance: my friends are all online, living in other states.
When I was about 11 or 12, I discovered the gothic soap opera “Dark Shadows.” I was one of the kids who’d run home after school to make sure I was there in time to watch the show. I became hooked on it because of Barnabas Collins, the self-tortured vampire. The first reason I connected with Barnabas was because of the dreadful secret he was hiding from everyone. Later on, he was cured and became my hero because of how much he cared for and helped other people. I began to see him as an imaginary big brother. Barnabas became my second hero.
The third hero was my 11th grade English teacher, who saw something in me and reached out. Privately, she confided that her father was a Korean War veteran who’d come back changed and had become an alcoholic. Her home life was chaotic. Then she asked about me and my home life. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to so badly but that “don’t tell” rule was too strong. I went red in the face and felt the beginnings of a panic attack as I stuttered that I was fine and my family was fine. I saw understanding in her eyes and then she said she would always be there whenever I wanted to talk.
I never opened up to her but she was my hero because she reached out to me, a kid in need. She cared. That meant so much to me.
Over the years, I’ve had a lot of therapy and attended a lot of twelve step meetings. I learned so much about myself and my issues. I learned that some of my coping mechanisms were dysfunctional and how to change them. The meetings online and in person are a source of comfort to me because I feel as if I’m with people who “get” me and I “get” them. If I was to bond with anyone in deep friendship, it would be someone from one of those meetings. However, we all keep things anonymous and even with people who “get” me, I’m anxious about totally opening up.
I’ve let down my protective wall a lot but I still keep people at a distance, even the friends of over 30 years. I have come to the conclusion that it’s so ingrained and emblazoned in me it’s just become a part of me. I like who I am now but that is my one regret.
This is my favorite poem:
If a man does not keep pace with his companions,
Perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer.
Let him step to the music which he hears,
However measured or far away.
Stephen Crane
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