In other words, we have to talk about one horrific situation after another, with our beloved children in the starring role. We end up being in an awful position of trying to explain why our kid’s behaviors are worse than someone else’s kid. They are unfathomably worse. Yes, the authorities have been involved. Multiple times. Yes, the school has said they can’t serve him. Yes, they have been a danger to themselves and to others. Yes, yes, and yes. I loathe being in a situation where I have to share the horrors with people outside of my inner circle. It wasn’t long after Patrick moved in with us that I learned you just don’t talk about the crises, behaviors, and destruction. You keep well-intended people at a distance if you don’t want to get into long discus- sions about why these behaviors can’t be brushed aside with the typical statements. They are “just boys,”“he’ll grow out of it.” Or, it’s “nothing that a good spanking can’t fix,” and “my son was exactly the same until I realized a little caffeine really helped.” One time I was on a plane and I sat next to a woman a little older than me. I recognized her reticence to talk about her young adult child. I knew she had lived it. It’s easier just not to talk about it. I asked outright if their family had struggled with behavioral challenges. Then she finally opened up. A little. After all, we were strangers. Sometimes, the kindness of a quiet stranger who has been there makes the world a little less lonely. A local Deaf family offered to babysit Patrick in his early years. I never took them up on it, and I could never tell them why. I couldn’t tell them that he might steal things, that he destroys things, that he might get angry enough to strike out at someone. I didn’t want to tell them so as he lived and formed relationships with people in the Deaf community, their relationship with him wouldn’t be compromised by my warn- ings. At the same time, I couldn’t send him to someone’s house without making sure they knew the level of care required. So we just said thank you for the offer. Who wants to tell the bad stuff about the inner workings of a family? Who wants to paint their child in a negative light? We don’t. So we avoid telling the stories that you need to know. Patrick experienced neglect in his early years. He suffered trauma. I remember thinking to myself, I would fight to protect him from those who harmed him–who were not able to care appropriately for him. Then it hit me. I believe on some level, Patrick needed me to be willing to be the bad guy. Instead of being some intangible unknown awful trauma, if I could shoulder some of his anger, his disappointment, his heart- break–in whatever form it took–and still make sure we were all safe, maybe he would have the anchor he needs to be able to work through the emotional trauma that will undoubtedly surface throughout his life. As much as I need people to understand and I want with all my heart to shed light on the prevalence and devastation of the problem, I cannot in good conscience tell the stories of our
family in full detail. It would be a great book or film, and even though Patrick gives me permission to talk about some things, I cannot shine a light on the atrocities. I want you to know the good parts of him. The loving and funny, creative, resilient, persistent, optimistic, warm hearted person that I love with all my heart. I wish I could have protected him. I wish I could have made his childhood, his school experiences, and even now–his struggle to land–as easy as he deserved. I love my children. They are such a joy in my life. I have been blessed with two adopted sons. My family is strong, and loving, and exceptional. Our extended family on both sides have been such a gift to us. We use humor and tell jokes with our inner circle–the chosen family members and friends that love us as a family and as individuals. I won’t tell you the horror stories–first you must know the members of my family enough to love them. 3. Self-preservation. I am afraid. I am embarrassed. After all, if you knew how I responded when I wasn’t at my best, or when I should have been more calm, patient, in control, strategic, loving, discerning, sensitive, compassionate, etc., I will fall short as a parent. I will open myself up to criticism and judgment. I will see my own shortcomings reflected in your eyes. You will share opinions that echo my own doubts and fears that I should have done something differently, better, and been a better parent. I can’t tell you my stories for fear that you will see and possibly call out my faults. Although most people are kind and see that I am simply human, and parenting any child is hard–on a day when I need to be strong and centered, I cannot risk opening myself up to the few whose words and opinions will cut too deep. Those three reasons–it hurts, we are protecting our children, and self-preservation. I feel raw after writing about those truths. I hope that is enough for you to care and to want to do what- ever you can to help. Now that I have poured out my heart on the previous pages, as a researcher and former professor, I would like to provide some of the research regarding the problems that stem from lack of immersion into language-rich environments that make language acquisition easy and natural for Deaf and hard of hearing children. Schools and programs supporting this population find themselves faced with significant challenges in social, emotional, educational, transitional, and vocational arenas. THE ILLUSION OF INCLUSION All children need to be surrounded by a community of people so they are exposed to language in a variety of contexts. The frequency and duration of exposure to communication in context allows them to acquire language easily and naturally.
28 https://www.closingthegap.com/benefits-of-membership/ | February / March, 2026 Closing The Gap © 2026 Closing The Gap, Inc. All rights reserved.
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