By Aaron Rose

“So why did vocational rehab deny my application?”

“They told us that you weren’t handicapped?”

“What? That’s ridiculous. Why didn’t you fight them?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t really know what else to do.”

That was part of a conversation between me and my dad when I came by his townhouse to pick up some mail and chat about my upcoming graduation from college.

Four years ago I was getting ready to go to college at North Carolina State University. I had applied for some scholarships and received a few, enough to make a dent in the cost of going to college, but not enough to cover everything. For the rest, there was the matter of loans and financial aid. My dad took care of it all so I didn’t have a sense of all the paperwork involved and how much debt I would have in my name by the time I graduated from college. One of the applications my dad filled out was for vocational rehabilitation.

I remember the moment when I found out that I was rejected. We were at the dinner table eating beef macaroni and cheese with green beans and plenty of sweet tea on the table. The TV was tuned to the evening news as was the norm in our household dinner rituals. My mom sat to the left with a full view of the TV. My dad sat to the left with his side to the TV, occasionally turning right to look at the weather forecasts and significant news events. I would be zoned into the TV while my parents chatted with each other without cueing.

Suddenly, my dad turned to me and said “your application for vocational rehab was denied. We’re going to have to get the money from somewhere else.”

I replied, “Oh, but why?”

“You’re not deaf enough.”

I merely shrugged and kept eating, even though I knew I was born profoundly deaf. I had worn the cochlear implant since I was six years old. It was enough for me to be part of the hearing world, and that’s all I wanted. Deep inside, I was happy that someone didn’t consider me disabled.

Almost everyone in the deaf community is quite aware of the services that they can or do receive from the government to offset their “disability.” Yet, I never became aware of all these services until in recent years through conversations with deaf friends.

I never thought of myself as “disabled” or having a “handicap,” even though I had used the TTY part of the time before I got my own cell phone. I understood that I was different, yet not really disabled like you would see with others in wheelchairs or holding a cane.

Indeed, I rode the “special” bus where they would pick up all the “exceptional” children from various neighborhoods across Wilmington, NC. I knew that I was riding this certain bus instead of the regular school buses that my peers took. I understood that the “special” bus passengers had real physical or mental disabilities that required additional supervision. In a way, I felt diminished riding that bus instead of being with my peers. I just wanted to ride with my friends.

Even though I was deaf, it wasn’t reason enough for me to be enrolled at John T. Hoggard HS, instead of New Hanover HS. All the older deaf cuers went to Hoggard because they were either in the school district or their parents worked for New Hanover County Schools. My dad arranged to “lease” an address from a friend inside the school district and deceive NHCS just so that I could follow in the steps of the older cuers and go to the high school that had the most experience with Cued Speech.

When I became a freshman in high school, I took fate into my own hands and declared to my mother that I wanted the Cued Speech transliterators out of my classroom. I resented the extra attention I got because of my “disability.” I was fine! I understood the teachers! I wanted to score with that hot chick three seats over from me! I just wanted to be normal like everyone else. I would realize later that “normal” has different meanings.

I became auditory-verbal, or oral as most people call it. I even went to the point as to tell my parents to stop cueing to me. It was hard for them to break the habit of cueing everyday to me for my entire life, so there were quite a few incidents of telling my parents “Stop that! Why are you doing that?” My self-consciousness had taken over.

On the first day of classes at NCSU, all my teachers gave out their syllabi and indicated that if additional services were required due to disabilities, one should register with Disability Services at the student health center. I shrugged that off just as I shrugged off the rejection I received from vocational rehab. I would hear this at the beginning of every semester many times.

What a big mistake that was. For the next four years, I relied on my friends for additional notes and to follow up on any questions. I found a great source of help in a fellow alumnus of my high school. We grew up on the same stretch of sand, yet only knew of each other through our social circles. We struck a good friendship, having surfing in common, since us both studied meteorology. We would do our homework together and cover for each other when one of us missed class. I don’t think I would have done as well in school if it hadn’t been for our friendship.

What would have been different if I had registered with Disability Services? I most certainly would have had note-takers in every class, and possibly CART services. Would I have had a transliterator? Perhaps not, since I still was self-conscious to a fault. Now that I think back, I wish I took advantage of the services I could have received for free. Maybe my GPA would be closer to a 4.0 than to a 3.0

Fast forward to the present, a friend and I were chatting online, bantering back and forth. She made a joke about her split personality, alternating between providing hospitality to people and cussing them out.

“I’m bi.” (referring to Bipolar disorder)

“I haven’t been diagnosed with anything yet… ‘Yet’ being the keyword,” I said.

“You’re deaf. Own it.”

Perhaps I should take her advice and go back to vocational rehab, apply again and see what the outcome will be this time. The fact that my audiogram is at 10-15 dB across the board doesn’t mean I understand everything perfectly. The CI is not perfect. I am profoundly deaf and embrace it as a part of my identity.

Aaron Rose is a soon-to-be alumnus of North Carolina State University with a degree in Marine Sciences. After three years of undergrad research in meteorology and oceanography, Aaron gave up on his ambitions to become a research scientist and now plans to go to graduate school for a Masters in Deaf Education. He is buggered by the fact his own deaf friends can’t teach him to sign properly.

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