What I wish strangers knew when talking to me about my son’s deafness

Lucas and I were walking along the pavement one rainy day after a lovely morning playing in the park and pottering around the charity shops. We were drenched, I wanted to get back to the car because the parking ticket was about to turn my car into a pumpkin. Lucas wanted to sit in a puddle while simultaneously hugging a lamppost. We were having a slightly heated discussion about this conflict in our plans.

Then the lady walked past us.

She stopped as most elderly people do when they see Lucas playing in puddles and being cheeky. She smiled at our situation with a mix of nostalgia and amusement.

“Oh. Was he born deaf?” she asked, as she realised he was wearing cochlear implants.

Lucas was less interested in his puddle now and was listening intently to every word this friendly stranger was saying.

“Yes, he’s deaf,” I said, with the standard-issue smile on my face to show her we’re not sad about it.

“Oh,” she said, even more loudly with a pitying expression while looking at Lucas. “What a shame.”

And off she walked with a kind wave to Lucas.

Thankfully, Lucas doesn’t understand the concept of shame. But I do.

• Shame [noun]: a regrettable or unfortunate situation.
• Shame [verb]: to make someone feel ashamed.
• Shame [noun]: the painful feeling of humiliation caused by the consciousness of wrong behaviour.

Sometimes kindness just comes out wrong

She was a lovely lady, and her comments came from a place of kindness and caring, which is almost always the case.

But it still spoilt an otherwise enjoyable morning.

Lucas is only three, but I’ve already lost count of the well-meaning, yet mood-crushing comments we get about his deafness while we’re pottering about our lives.

I understand that people often don’t know what to say when they see or encounter something new or different, and I think it’s great that people are interested and feel confident enough to ask.

But it has made me think – wouldn’t it be great if strangers could just have a little handbook of what to say and what not to say so the conversation could be enjoyable for both of us?

What I wish strangers would say to me about my son’s deafness

• Nothing. Tell me how beautiful he is. Tell me how cheeky he is. Tell me how much you love his tractor rucksack. Ask him about the combine harvester he’s holding in his sweaty little hands. Ask him about the book he’s inevitably reading in the coffee shop.
• “Would you mind if I asked you a question about your son’s hearing devices?” Give me the option to say no. I probably won’t say no, because it’s good to give people information and help their awareness, but please don’t assume that it’s all I want to talk about.
• Recognise that he’s deaf and communicate with him. Some of the nicest interactions I’ve had with strangers are the ones where they’ve signed 'thank you' (normally when he’s proudly handed them some crap off the floor), or they’ve waved hello and asked if he’s OK.
• If you absolutely HAVE to comment on his hearing devices, tell him how cool they are. He’ll be wearing them his whole life, so make him feel good about it. If you’re wearing devices yourself, show him and sign to him that they’re the same.

What I wish strangers wouldn’t say

• Never assume that I’m sad about my son’s deafness. Don’t offer your feelings of pity, shame or sorrow to me or my son. We don’t want them.
• Don’t ask me if his deafness can be 'fixed'. I appreciate that this might be interesting to you, but it’s tactless.
• Don’t use awful phrases like 'hearing impaired', 'something wrong with him' or 'what’s the problem with his ears'. Please hear me when I say – there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s deaf.
• Don’t say anything that might knock Lucas’s confidence in himself. He can lipread, and he can hear you with his devices. Whatever you say, do it with positivity in your voice and a happy look on your face.
• Don’t whisper among yourselves while staring. I get that you want to talk about the kid you just saw with the strange things on his head – just wait until we’re gone.

As a hearing parent to a deaf child, I appreciate that I’m in a unique position. Through interactions with well-meaning strangers, I’m able to help increase awareness of deafness and cochlear implants so that there are less unhelpful comments in the world.

I get that. But sometimes, I just want to be a mum and spend time with my little boy.