Summer 2003

The Summer 2003 issue of World Around You featured the winners of the National Essay Contest. Essays were edited for space considerations in the magazine, but below you will find the essays in full—a special feature of the World Around You Web site. (See also: the press release about the essay winners.) Special thanks to Timothy Worthylake, Oluyinka Williams, Jennifer Hinger, and Cathy Carroll for their work on this Web site.

First Place

My Father: a Hero, Father, Husband, Teacher and Coach

By Alexia Yelton

During my 17 years, I have come into contact with many people that have changed my life. They have included coaches, teachers, neighbors, and friends. Each one has had a major influence on what I do and each has helped me become the individual that I am today. The person that I believe has had the most impact on my life would be my father. In so many ways I am just like him. We both have the drive of being a perfectionist, we love sports, we are somewhere stubborn, and we love science and the outdoors. My mother at times complains saying that “you are so much like your father.” Maybe it is the “daddy’s girl” bond that we experienced starting the day I was born.

I was born two months premature and the doctors gave me little chance of making it through the night. Barely weighing over four pounds, I was immediately placed in an incubator and rushed to the NICU. My mom was extremely ill and wasn’t able to see me. So, my dad made up for 2 parents. Hearing the news that I wasn’t expected to live, my father left my mother’s side and stayed outside of NICU window watching and waiting to see if he would be permitted to see me. When he was allowed in, he took one look at me covered with all those tubes and placed his hand in the incubator and stroked my hand. I wrapped my hand around his index finger and my dad said he knew I would be ok and started to cry. From that day on, he was in and out of the NICU so many times that the nurses lost count. The nurses have since told me that the first night he never left my side. He was up for 72 hours straight. When I was well enough to come home, my father said he was cautiously relieved. It had been a long 6 weeks. I came home on his birthday and he said it was the best present anyone could have received.

Going for my first checkup, the doctors told my parents not to expect anything from me academically and/or athletically. I would probably never fit in a “normal” classroom. My father said, “No, she will be like every other little girl.” Throughout my childhood, my parents placed me in everything imaginable: dance classes, gymnastics, horseback riding, softball, swimming, diving and running. They wanted me to be exposed to as much as possible and treated me like every other child. Running was the special bond between my father and me. Clearly, I remember waking up and going with my dad to his high school in the spring and running with the track team which he coached for 8 years. My dad was thrilled I liked to run and his team really watched out for me. Not only was he a track coach but he was also the defensive coordinator for the football team and coached wrestling. I always tagged along with him wherever he went. Now, as I participate in three sports, he is in the stands keeping dive scores, or taking splits as I run. He also gives me our special sign for “loosey goosey” so I can relax or gives me a pep talk about how to run this race or do a dive. From him I have learned the rules of the game. That throwing a tantrum after losing won’t make you win. Regardless of whether you win or lose, going over to the girl who finished second and saying “Good Job” or “Congratulations” to the winner is what makes an athlete. The respect of the coaches and the game will take you to great lengths regardless of your talent.

Unfortunately, all of our “normal” life came to a halt when I was six years old. My dad was diagnosed with cancer. The cancer was called lyomyosarcoma and is extremely rare. Going through 12 operations followed by another 12 grueling weeks of radiation isn’t something that anyone wants to experience. However, he never lost his sense of humor nor his positive outlook on life. I was so upset with what was going on that I didn’t know what to do. I would sit in his lap and cry for no reason because I knew that something was wrong with him. He was in pain but I didn’t understand exactly why. He would set me down on his lap, dry my tears, and say, “It’s just a little bump in the road.” Even with this major obstacle, my dad never missed a football game, dance recital, church play or anything that I happened to be in. In fact, after returning from a cancer clinic in Texas one Friday night, he rushed straight to his football game. He received a standing ovation from the stands as the announcer and the team welcomed my dad back. My mom tried to hold back the tears but it didn’t work. All I could do was scream “DADDY!!!!” as loud as I could. He was really shy on the field and was embarrassed by all the attention.

Even during his treatment, he still found time to talk to me about things. I remember the time that I lost my hearing aides “accidentally.” So, I had a talk with my dad. He asked me why I didn’t like wearing them. The only thing I could think of was that no one else had to wear them. There were also times that kids made fun of me because of the hearing aids and my speech. He would tell me that just because you have something that no one else has doesn’t make it a bad thing. You are special and people will know that in the end. Hearing aids are just to help you and there is nothing to be ashamed about. He said that I have been a fighter my whole life and I just have to fight through the phase. He didn’t ask to have cancer and I didn’t ask to be hearing impaired. It is just the cards that you are dealt and have to learn how to deal with situations in a positive light. He said that the next time mom asks me to do something, say I can’t hear you and she can’t get mad because I really can’t. It made me laugh. He always finds the positive in every situation.

The respect and gratitude that my dad gets from his students and football players never ceases to amaze me. Constantly, my dad receives letters from past students telling him how much of an influence he was or inviting them to their weddings and open houses. Many times, they just call him to say “Hello.” One of his students even named his son after him because my dad was such a big inspiration in his life. Here are some awards my father had received. The Indianapolis Colts football team recently honored my dad and presented him with a plague for being named coach of the week in Indiana. He was also put in the Athletic Hall of Fame for his high school. Another honor he received was being named teacher of the year for the high school he is presently teaching at. He was nominated by one of his students. The most recent honor he received was being named Defensive Coordinator for the North All Star Football team this past summer. He has been coaching for 31 years and this was quite a tribute. His fellow coaches in the area nominated him. I just had to ask him how he felt about all of these plaques, medals, trophies, etc… that were around the room. His reply was, “I only coach because I love to coach. I really enjoy teaching more than coaching. Receiving an award for something I have done is nothing compared to the feeling of watching young players and students grow on and off the field. If someone feels that I should be honored for something I have done then I am truly touched, but I don’t think that I deserve it. I just love what I do.” I was so taken back that I didn’t know what to say.

My dad as a husband can’t be expressed in words. His family is so important to him that he makes sacrifices daily for his family. He rarely raises his voice and has a great relationship with my mother. They have been married a long time and you can tell that they still mean so much to each other by how they laugh, joke and support each other’s ideas, work and goals. He told my mom that when I turned 16, he was going to do something special. He went out, bought me flowers and came to pick me up for a date. He took me to dinner and told me never to accept anything less from my date. I needed to be treated like the special person I am, just like he treats my mom. It was a great night.

Now, as I realize how soon college will bring upon me, I am trying to figure out what I want to major in. I have always wanted to be a Marine Biologist ever since I went to Sea World. However, teaching has been crossing my mind as often as becoming a Marine Biologist. The stories that my dad tells us at the dinner table when he comes home about what he did at school has made me think that teaching and coaching might be something that I would really enjoy doing. I am taking a class now that allows me to go to an elementary school where I help in the deaf and hard of hearing classes. I communicate with them in sign language, help with their daily activities and work with teachers in the school. I have found it rewarding.

What I know for a fact is that I don’t think I will ever come in contact with another person that has effected me as much as my father. For me personally, I believe that it would take me at least two lifetimes to be only half the person that my father is. Honestly, I am stumped on what I should do to show him how much I appreciate everything that he has ever done for me except to throw my arms around him in a big “bear” hug and whisper “I love you!” It has taken me a long time to accept the fact that I will never be able to hear like everyone else. That hearing aids and being hard of hearing is something that I will have for the rest of my life. I can officially say now that I accept it with a smile on my face knowing that I am special and that there is nothing wrong or different about me compared to someone with full hearing. All this I owe with great thanks to a man who is terrific friend, coach, teacher and husband – A man that I proudly call my father.

[ Top ]

Second Place

Uncle George – Attacked, He Cared for Another

By Melinda Douros

I had never truly seen a man cry. That was before I saw my Uncle George. He had been in the first tower of the World Trade Center when it hit on September 11, 2001. He was one of many thousands of people who had to blindly trek down the stairs of the building. A few months after the terrorist attack, my parents and I went to New York to visit him. Being 66 and having had a hip replaced years before, he appeared well and seemed recovered from the trauma of the terrorist attack. Throughout dinner, the conversation was light, as we avoided bringing up the memories. Finally, as we were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, he began to tell what had happened to him on that fateful day.

He began his story by telling us of the jolt they felt on the forty-second floor, when the plane hit the building. Not long after the tower first shook in response to the impact of the plane, he began to evacuate with the rest of the people on his floor. As he went to the stairwell he saw one of his co-workers trying to remain behind. Even in panic that surrounded him, he asked her what she was doing. She was so terrified by what was going on around her she had fallen back to a state of following procedure. In this instance, she remembered that she could not leave the building without being told to do so by a ‘man with a hat.’ She was going to go back and wait for that man to tell her that she could leave. Though no one knew what was going on or what had happened, it was evident that they needed to leave the building, so Uncle George told her that he was the ‘man with a hat’ and said he had forgotten his hat in his office. This assured the woman and she allowed herself to be led down the stairs.

As Uncle George began to describe the forty-two-flight descent, he began talking in more and more of a grave tone. He spoke of the smoke that was flooding the stairwells, making it hard to see or breathe. He remembered sadly the despair he felt as he and the others were descending, as they could not see ahead of themselves. They were wondering if the was truly the way out. His eyes welled up with tears as he remembered the firefighters. The firefighters had been his ray of hope when he saw them climbing the stairs towards him. Seeing them on the stairs towards him. Quietly he said that none of the firefighters that passed him on the stairs that day lived.

That was when I saw for the first time, a man break down into tears – he was not acting, he was truly moved by the sacrifice the firefighters had made for him and his coworkers. They were his heroes. To me, though, he is my hero because he was not trying to be a hero that day; he was merely trying to help a friend in need. Sometimes heroes do not need to be bold and outspoken, they can be silent and perhaps not even realize they are heroes.

[ Top ]

Third Place

The Lessons We Live Today, We Learned from Somebody Else

By Jason Weisburd

“The Lessons you live today, you learned from somebody else.” As his vibrant tones with that distinctive nasal twang, reverberated through the gym, I knew I often had heard before our “Moving Up Day” ceremony the words this orator spoke. I knew the distinguished bald-headed man as an advisor to youth organizations and the oldest in his family. He tried to impart lessons upon others. He seemed to captivate the crowd as he drew an analogy between his first visit to the Empire State Building and the rest of our lives.

“You can spend your whole life as an outsider looking in, until you take the chance to come in and look at the world around you. You can see endless horizons, and everything your heart desires can be within your vision. The world can be at your feet as you stand there with your head in the clouds. But, when you get your feet back on the ground, you need to know where to go and the best way to get there.” I was acutely aware how, as a statewide leader of Kiwanis International, a board member of Special Olympics, an original organizer of the March of Dimes, WalkAmerica, among other endeavors, this stalwart of his community had shown people their direction and “the best way to get there.”

The lump that grew within my throat felt like Mt. Everest as my sign interpreter repeated this gentleman’s words, “As I have told ‘our greatest join achievement,’ my son, you have not lived a day in your life until you do something for someone who could never repay you.” I knew this man had tried to live that day since he, too, was a student in our school district. As I was a Student Government officer, had been a class officer, was a Boy Scout and had engaged in many other activities, it was in this man’s footsteps that I have tried to walk. The rest of the world may call him “Jay Weisburd,” but I simply called him, “dad.”

My spine tingled with incredible pride knowing I was that “joint achievement.” Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary defines “hero” and “heroine” as people “admired for their achievements and noble qualities.” Anxiously awaiting another milestone ceremony--my high school commencement exercises--I now reminisce about the obstacles I have overcome to rank 9th in my class and be a Key Club division chairperson, a newspaper editor and a future scientist.

I realize the strides I have taken as a student, and as a person, as I have accepted my strengths and my limitations, and the precedents I have set within my county. As I do, I must consider my greatest heroes the three people who most nobly gave of themselves to help make this achievement, my personal development, possible – my parents and my paternal grandmother. To isolate one from the other, and make one more important than the other, would be to make one facet of who I am more important, and that I cannot do.

Our family matriarch, my grandmother, Arlene, is our family’s guiding light and often the beacon of hope amidst darkness. When my parents learned I was deaf, my father, for one of the few times in his life, was without words. He recalls, “I knew the gift to communicate was one I would pass onto my child. I thought the Lord had taken that away from me. I did not understand deafness anymore than those around me did. I was naïve, and did not know how blessed I was to have you as my son, and how well you would learn to communicate.” My grandmother straightened him out fast. She believes that sympathy is feeling for someone. Pity is feeling above others; self-pity is feeling below them. She never curses, but she did that day as she exclaimed, “You (expletive deleted), you do not realize there is a world of difference in one (expletive deleted) letter. My first granddaughter, Rochelle is d-e-a-d. My first grandson is d-e-a-f.” My aunt’s first child was worn on Labor Day and died that Columbus Day from a congenital problem. My grandmother explained, “I can’t play with my granddaughter. She will never go to school. She will never get married. Your son can have whatever kind of life you want to give him. Do not cry on my shoulder. Do the best you can to make him the best he can be.”

My grandmother was often been my confidante. She may joke how “I went through college. I went in the front door and out the back,” but she is wise beyond her years. She also is the type who will give you the shirt off her back if you ask, as long as you do not cry to the world that you have no shirt.

It was the watershed mark of my life, and it came early. My father and mother spent an inordinate amount of hours training me to talk, and to hear. Propping me up in my high chair, their hands over their mouths, they rotated schedules around the clock to imbue in me the language others received by osmosis. When my mother had to return to work so my family could continue to receive insurance benefits to cover the costs of my care, my father stepped down from an executive position to work with me. They say hindsight is 20/20, so my father could not have foreseen the cataclysmic events that would evolve after he made is career move, including the fire that thwarted half our house and all of his business.

As he tried to rebuild business from our house, my father often thrust himself into causes to benefit my development. He was the “Mr. Mom” that drove me to private speech and school lessons. One day, sitting with the mothers in my preschool program for the hearing impaired, my father learned about the Alexander Graham Bell Association for the Deaf.

“Where’s the local chapter?” he asked the support group moderator. When he learned there was no state chapter, he did what people expected my dad to do. He created the Empire State branch. He read Governor Cuomo was establishing a “Coalition for the new Compact for Learning,” that would create frameworks for New York State education. The Commissioner of the Department of Education reiterated how “It takes a whole village to raise a child.” My father convinced the commissioner that Kiwanis, the world’s largest community service network devoted to kids, belonged on that coalition. On that coalition, my father was a champion of making Sign Language a New York State Regents language, so hearing impaired students would not have to be exempt from language requirements, and mandating minimum service requirements for graduation.

My father showed me one of the principal weapons in the arsenal against ignorance and prejudice is a sense of humor. I was the first child in the Nassau County BOCES program for the hearing impaired to wear an FM trainer. My father, as the parent who drove me to the program, fought hard with the school because he believed that I would be better able to use my residual hearing in my right ear if I were flooded with environmental sounds. People, believing I was wearing a portable radio, would ask, “What station does he listen to?”

Of course, not everybody was willing to admit to his or her ignorance. One night, as we ate out, Jace decided to be the typical tyke and wander away. We called and called, but he refused to come back until we had to chase after him. One elderly lady felt it was her place to put us in ours, “You know, he might hear you better if you took those chords out of his ear.”

“Lady,” he told her, a wry smile on his face, “it would be a miracle if he could do that.”

My father often can be loud, and, I think sometimes can be too demanding. He has struggled for years to overcome financial setbacks and is often away from home more than I would want him to be. Yet, for all he has done, and keeps doing, to make a difference in so many lives, he is one of my heroes. Only in myths and legends are heroes perfect and given “powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal man.” Our founding fathers owned slaves, John and Robert Kennedy were their generation’s heroes and America Reveres Rudolph Giuliani’s showed leadership amidst horrendous terrorism. These three men, however, loved women besides their wives. My high school is named after one of my grandfather’s war heroes, General Douglas MacArthur, who was very conceited. As the actor, Kevin Costner, says, “Real heroes are men (and women) who fall and fail and are flawed, but win out in the end because they’ve stayed true to their ideals and beliefs and commitments.”

While my father has imbued me with the devotion to my fellow being, my mother is the hero who instilled in me the commitment to my studies and the belief in myself, and my abilities to preserve despite the obstacles. A special education teacher, who has toiled arduously for over a quarter-century to help learning disabled middle schoolers maximize their potential, my mother has done likewise with me.

It might have been easy to accept failure as a student. In my formative years, people did not know what to expect from me. Many would have accepted if I did not succeed as I have in school, but, thanks to the instincts with which my mother has endowed me, I never considered failure an option. I have seen and heard of the remarkable work my mother has done with students who may be dyslexic, or have other limitations in comprehending the course materials. One day, when she was in our local convenience store, the store’s assistant manager thanked my mother for the work she had done with her when that young woman was an eighth grade student. “You really are a lifesaver,” the lady told my mom. My mother may not save lives physically, as a firefighter would, but by stopping students from falling through the proverbial “cracks” and enhancing their development, she strives to help others of my generation to save themselves. Through her careful guidance and support, her providing me assistance in learning the techniques required to master certain skills, and her patience, I have excelled far beyond many dreams. My mother may not be another Annie Sullivan, but in her own ways, with me and with her classes, she is a “Minor Miracle Worker.”

Making it through school, however, requires more than merely making it through tests and term papers and homework assignments. My mother has been there to help me cope with the traumas I sometimes have endured as a special student. She is a paragon of independence, and could star if they ever had a new show “Survivor: Real Life.” Her understanding ways, and ability to foster my deep sense of self, have prepared me for the days ahead, in and beyond college.

Christopher Reeve, who is a super man for how he showed the world what can be accomplished when we set our heads and hearts on a cause, said “A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to preserve and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.” I reflect on how my grandmother got me to appreciate who I am, how my dad has taught me to give to the outside world, and how my mom has taught me to develop my inner self. I know this trio of heroes helped me preserve, endure, and succeed.

[ Top ]

Honorable Mention

My Fervent Flier

By Michelle Koplitz

Danielle, my youngest sister has just come off the bus, home from a typical day at school. She walks in the front door, red faced, with rears streaming out her slate blue eyes. Anxiously, I ask her what’s wrong.

“No one talks to me on the bus. None of the other girls want to sit with me; they always sit across the aisle and whisper and laugh. They look at me and I think they’re laughing at me.” She haltingly signs to me. I can see the hurt and resentment encasing her. I’m not sure what to say at the moment.

Danielle is Deaf. Our brother, Marcus, and I also have a hearing loss. About thirty decibles separate my sister from Marcus and me. What hearing I have is enough to be able to verbally ask the teacher about a chemistry problem. It is not enough to listen to an alubum in Discman, easily make conversation with a number of people in a restaurant, or talk to classmates on a school bus. Like Danielle, I have felt the same frustrations. I can relate because what happened earlier that day was me in sixth grade.

Danielle being profoundly Deaf has been tested in many more ways than I have been. I have not experienced the magnitude of what she goes through each day in middle school, where every other teenager is exercising their social wings. Danielle’s wings, clipped shorter than most, have had to beat twice as hard to keep with hearing kids her age. She incessantly faces strong winds that knock her off course. Sometimes she falls. Yet, the thing I admire most about her is that she always takes off again. Each morning she wakes up with a smile. Danielle’s bruised wings open stronger every day. Her heart, in harmony with her wings, beat powerfully, pumping out determination and strength. She may not realize it today, but in her bright future, she will be able to fly through any dark clouds or hard rains that may be in her path.

I find Danielle a tissue and give her a sisterly squeeze, “It’ll be okay. You know I rode the bus and didn’t always have someone to sit with. It’s only 20 minutes of your day. Maybe next time, look out the windows; think about what you’ll do when you get home. You know I’ll be standing at the door.” Danielle breaks through the clouds with a slight grin and a knowing nod.

My hero is someone who does not know she is a hero; she does not realize how strong, how determined, how inspirational she is. My hero is my little fierce flier, Danielle.

[ Top ]

Honorable Mention

A Stranger – Encounter in the Waves

By Kathia Guerrier

My hero is someone that I don’t know, someone that I have only met once and under the most strenuous circumstances. This is the person who saved my life.

Several years ago, I went to the beach with my sister, the waves were angrily beating against the sandy beaches, but that didn’t phase me. I didn’t know how to swim, but I wanted to get in that water and have fun. While I was in the water I bounced into the deeper sections, where my feet could not touch the sandy bottom. I wasn’t worried about the waves, as long as I could see them coming and I was okay.

I was playing a game of chase with my sister (who knew how to swim) at the same time watching the waves, I turned around just for a second, and that was all it took, a wave watched over me and spun me around in the water, like a lifeless cork. When I finally stopped, I opened my eyes to try to find the beach, but a wave washed over me getting salt water in my eyes. Soon I was completely disoriented and I didn’t know what to do, so I started to yell for help. I yelled out my sister’s name with hopes that she would notice my dilemma and get someone to help me, I couldn’t hear anything but the thunder of waves washing over me and around me. I couldn’t tell if any one had noticed what was happening to me.

I was fighting the current as hard as I could so that I wouldn’t be dragged out further into the water. The waves would wash over me, I would hold my breath so that I didn’t inhale or swallow any of the water. I tried to float on the water, but that didn’t work, at that moment I started to lose hope. I literally saw my life flash before my eyes.

Then miracles of miracles, someone grabbed my hand, he slowly and steadily pulled me to shore. I was too stunned to say anything and there was too much water in my eyes for me to see who my rescuer was, next thing I knew I was in the car going home.

I never got to say thank you to my rescuer and I doubt that I will ever have that chance. But because of the act that he performed that day he will be my hero. This was a regular man who had no connections to me whatsoever, he out of all people who were on the beach, saw someone in need and decided to help that person instead of waiting for someone else to do it. This person is a true Good Samaritan who deserves the title “hero.”

[ Top ]

Judges’ Choice

My Grandfather – In His Hands

By Elizabeth Tricase

A hero is someone you admire and aspire to be like. My hero is my Grandfather. His name is John G. Evans. He was a quiet humble man who I admired for his character and his achievements. The way he has lived his life has taught me how to preserve through whatever obstacles I may encounter in my life. I distinctly remember his hands, wrinkled, warm and sturdy guiding me along.

His hands both strong and tender tell the story of his life. When he was nine years old his father passed away and being the only boy he took on the responsibilities of the farm. He worked hard because in his words, “the family had to eat.” When he was 12 he was driving his Mom into town and a policeman pulled him over. The policeman told him to come into town the next day. Unsure of what to expect, he went into town ready to accept his punishment. When he entered the police station, the policeman handed him a license. My Grandfather always had interesting stories to tell.

His hands were working hands. When he was in ninth grade, he had to quit school to take a factory in the city. He had to support his mother and three sisters and he was no longer able to do that on the farm. He joined the navy at 17 because “it was the right thing to do.” Throughout his life, he would always do the right thing even though it was the more difficult road to travel. When questioned, he would humbly tell of his days on the ship. He was willing to give his life so we could be free. He was brave.

His hands reached for the sky. His love of airplanes led him to a job in a small airport. He received flying lessons and at the same time worked on his GED. With diligence and hard work, he earned his flying license. He interviewed for a pilot position with the airlines and got the job. A farm boy from Michigan looked up to the sky and dreamed about flying. Hard work and determination made that dream come true.

His hands were helping hands always extended to others. I remember him putting my swing set together and many other toys that lay under the Christmas tree. He babysat my little brother while my Mom took me to my auditory training sessions and ballet classes. He came to my basketball games, soccer games, ballet recitals and many school functions.

His hands were genuine and caring. He never judged another human being. He would meet new people everywhere he went. While he sat at the orthodontist office waiting for my cousin he struck up a conversation with a women in the waiting room. With pride he told her all about his granddaughter that was born deaf and received a cochlear implant at four years old. As it turned out, the woman was the mother of a deaf girl. She was the same woman that came to my house to meet me and learn more about cochlear implants.

My grandfather is my hero and he has inspired me to live life to the fullest. I will strive to be a hard worker like he was, do the right thing, reach out to others lending a helping hand and never give up on my dream. I thank God for the man that was my Grandfather. His memory and inspiration will never be extinguished in my mind. I close my eyes, squeeze my hand and I can feel Grandpa’s hand in mine guiding me all the while.

[ Top ]

Judges’ Choice

Standing Up for Your Rights – A Teacher’s Lesson to Her Class

By Jonathan Kessel

What made the eleventh grade students in Tel Aviv English class of Deaf and Hard of Hearing take their writing assignment to Israel’s Supreme Court? No, it wasn’t because they hated the assignment or their teacher. They went to Court because their teacher, Yael Czapski, convinced them never to give up even when those more powerful say you can’t.

My heroine’s story began with a typical writing assignment to her 11th grade English class. She asked the class to write a complaint letter based on something that really bothered them. It ends up that in Israel, unlike here in the U.S., television programs were not automatically closed-captioned. One of Israeli’s popular teenage programs, a teen show, was not captioned. Yael’s class said that because the program was not captioned they missed out on Israeli teen culture. The students worked on the letter and sent it off to the producers. The kids heard nothing back from the producers; not even an acknowledgement.

The students were discouraged and disappointed. Yael went home and complained to her husband, Ori Shenhar. Ori is a lawyer and asked Yael if there was a law requiring the TV station to caption the show. Yael didn’t know so Ori went to look up the law and found that Israeli law required that at least 25% of pre-recorded Israel television shows had to be captioned. Yael went back to her students and told them that Ori would follow-up with a call to the TV stateion.

Ori talked to the station head who said there was not enough money to caption 25% of the pre-recorded shows. Ori argued that they didn’t have a choice. The head of the station refused to act. Now Ori, Yael, and the students were mad and decided they would sue the TV station.

Ori, Yael, and the students contacted the two key organizations for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing in Israel to see if they would be the plaintiffs in the lawsuit. They agreed and Ori said he would not charge them money to bring the case before the courts. Because the case involved a state-owned TV station, the Supreme Court of Israel agreed to hear the case. Ori prepared his argument. He asked the students for their ideas; he talked to the two Deaf organizations; and of course, he talked to Yael.

The day of the trial was amazing. The Court was packed with almost every television station, news reporters, and Deaf people from all over the country. There was standing room only. Also for the first time the Court had interpreters and displayed the testimony on a large screen. The Justices on the Supreme Court wanted to make the proceedings accessible to the Deaf students and those representing the two organizations.

The atmosphere in the courtroom was electrifying and exciting. Once the trial began, everyone knew that from that day forward, Deaf and Hard of Hearing people would no longer be satisfied as second class citizens, but would insist on full rights. The Justices were very impressed that this case began with a writing assignment and thanked the students for not giving up. The Justice on the Supreme Court agreed with the students and ruled that the TV station must caption at least 25% of their pre-recorded shows and could give no excuses. The station had to comply with this ruling in three months, and they did. Now Deaf teenagers can have the same experience as their hearing peers.

Yael is my heroine because she taught an even greater lesson than writing – standing up for your rights. I met Yael when I was four years old. My parents went to Israel to teach at the Medical School at Hebrew University. They needed someone who would take care of me while they were working. Yael had just completed her army duty (in Israel boys and girls have to go into army for 2 years) and was looking for a job. My mom said she had to learn sign language and then handed Yael The Joy of Signing book. Yael practiced night and day for eight days. When she showed up for her first day, to my mom’s surprise, Yael greeted her in sign language. From that day forward, Yael, my parents and I became best friends. And Yael realized her life’s vocation – to be a teacher of deaf students. So in a way, I am Yael’s hero and she is mine.

[ Top ]

Judges’ Choice

My (Many!) Teachers

By Margaret Tufo

In the film, Amélie, the main emphasis is random acts of kindness. One cannot help but leave the film without a satisfied feeling. Perhaps you will even mile at a stranger, or leave a bigger than unusual tip at the restaurant afterward, but usually ends there. Yet there are people out there that do kind of things for everyone everyday, no questions asked. Those people have gained an abundance of respect and admiration from me, not just because they perform random acts of kindnesses, but they pass the gift of knowledge. They are underpaid and under appreciated, but they still go to their job everyday. My hero is not one particular person, but a group of people. That group of people are those that educate us everyday – teachers. Over the last twelve years in school, I have had countless teachers that have not only fulfilled their jobs, but went out of their way exceeding students’ expectations; that deserves respect.

In fourth grade, I had a teacher who recognized my love for creative writing. She dedicated a day every week in her class to just write and we could write about anything we wanted. I had a very difficult time with spelling and grammar, and I could barely grasp the concept of how the English language was structured. Basically, in the fourth grade, I had similar skills to most first and second graders. Instead of dismissing me as a “special needs” student and giving me the minimum amount of work, my teacher sat down with me everyday sometimes for hours, to work with me on my linguistic skills. Slowly but steadily, I improved and became one of the best writers in that class. But I would never have been so successful if it wasn’t for my teacher’s hard work and dedication to her job. When I moved, she still wrote me letters every week and helped me with stories. I still treasure the stories that I wrote in her class, because they symbolize the path to improvement I attained under her extraordinary care.

In fifth grade, I had a very demanding teacher. She expected everyone to do fifty percent more than their best. She loved writing, jut like my fourth grade teacher, and always encouraged me to focus on my writing skills. She didn’t give out compliments about your work very often, which made them special when given. I would go home everyday and write in a dog-eared notebook about everything I could imagine for practice. I always fished for compliments from her, and when O got them, it made my day. She introduced me to some of my favorite books, such as The Diary of Anne Frank and Gone With the Wind, and I devoured those books. Because of her unusually high expectations, I was ale to go to middle school with a strong language arts foundation, and I was able to handle the homework that many others weren’t able to grasp.

In eighth grade, I was exasperated with middle school. I was ready to move on to high school, and the lethargic attitude was evident in my work. When I was in elementary school, I loved to do homework and I would even steal extra worksheets from the homework pile just so I could look like I had as much homework as my older friends, but in the eighth grade, I did the minimum. I was able to meander on without very much effort, and since I did amazingly well on my standardized tests, they never bothered to talk to me about the drastic drop in my grade between the six and eight grades. However, in my social studies class that year, my teacher inspired me to indulge in extra work. She talked to her students as if they were adults, and it wasn’t rare for my group of friends to linger after her class to talk to her about everything from love to politics. Because of her, I was drawn to the complexes of business and government, and just like with my fourth and fifth grade teachers, I had a newfound desire to please her. This passion showed in my work, as my grades in all of my other classes also increased. My improved performance was simply brought on by a teacher who talked to me about boy troubles, hair, clothes and got me interested in her class.

Freshman and sophomore year, I had one of the most amazing teachers. He taught my World Geography class in freshman year, and before I took that course, I thought the dullest thing in the world would be memorizing maps. I envisioned spending a year in class staring at map after map, and reciting names such as Afghanistan and Tajikistan till I could spell them right, but I was in for quite a surprise. Instead of memorizing maps, we discussed current events, social and cultural norms, and interesting world and local events. He kept up entertained with hilarious stories from his high school and college days, and by the second semester, I was in love with geography. Even when I had to manually draw a map of Africa, I didn’t even mind. Even though I loved the class and the teacher, I was surprised when he suggested I take his Advanced Placement Human Geography class, sophomore year. I did not have any confidence in myself and the work I was capable of, so I was hesitant. However, just like with his World Geography class, I fell in love with the subject. I was happy with reading the text and taking the difficult tests were like a game to me. Despite me doing well in that class, I never thought I would do well, let alone pass, the AP exam at the end of the year. Over the summer, when I received a 4 on the test, I felt truly rewarded by my hard work. However, I would never have been able to do that if it wasn’t for a teacher who just sat me down and told me that he believed in me, and that I could do what I wanted to do if I put my mind to it.

Junior year, I had a Chemistry teacher who loved her subject very much. You could see her excitement whenever she would lecture, and nothing made her happier than students that would express interest in her class. She went out of her way everyday to get everyone involved, to make a student smile, but the thing that I find most admirable about her is how she treated me. Upon finding that I’m a deaf student, most teachers have a difficult time accommodating me and adjusting to having a deaf student in class; but with her, it was no problem. She found ways to help Chemistry make sense for me, such as having me stand in front of everyone to feel how the balloon vibrated during a dry ice demonstration, while most students benefited from that demonstration with just the sound. The thing that stood out about her the most was her kindness. She is one of the only teachers that I know that stays everyday after school to help students, who holds multiple review sessions for every test, and just passes on her cheerful demeanor to everybody in her class. I could be having the worst day possible, but I always left her class with a smile on my face.

Junior year I had an English teacher that I’ve had previously. He was a very popular teacher, and everyone purposely switched into his class just so they could have the enjoyment of having him as a teacher. I always took pleasure in being in his class, but I didn’t realize what a good person he was till I went in to school one day to get help on an essay. He was running late and a freshman came into his classroom clearly upset. She was crying so hard she could not talk, and all she would say is “I want to talk to Burghart.” When he finally came in class, he just sat down, took her hand, talked to her, and calmed her down. He made her smile and laugh in a few minutes, and gave her his phone number. Watching that happen, I realized how much I wanted to be a teacher. Seeing how much he dedicated himself to his job and seeing how much he changed the lives of students, is very admirable.

These teachers I mentioned are very different in their personalities and interests, and they all have one thing in common: they went out of their way to help their students and they changed their students’ lives. If it wasn’t for any of these teachers, my life would be much different now. Perhaps I wouldn’t have my love for writing or geography or Chemistry, but the biggest difference of all is that each of them went out of their way to make me the person I am now. They are heroes because many of them had opportunities to have higher-paying jobs with more status but instead, they chose to pass on their knowledge and love for the subject to America’s future. Just like the main character in the move Amélie, they pas on the spirit and confidence to dream to all their students.

[ Top ]

Editors’ Choice

Stepping Up in Times of Terror
A Lesson in Devotion

By Jackie Brower

On September 11, 2001 the lives of Americans changed. Terrorists had attacked America. There was no warning sign alerting us that this was going to happen. After the attack, firefighters, policemen and brave people ran into the buildings to try to save others. Tragically, these people were someone’s family member, friend, and ultimately our heroes. In my opinion a hero is a person who is brave enough to risk his or her own life to save others. There are a lot of people who have been heroes to me, so it is hard to choose just one.

My heroes are the people who were there for me, helping me throughout the whole ordeal. My heroes are my teachers.

It was second period. I had computer class. My teacher, Ms. Nardone asked the class to gather around her computer. On her computer screen was a picture of Tower One being hit. As she explained that the first tower was hit, I found myself thing, What? That is impossible! I remember walking to school. I saw the two towers standing tall. No, it can’t be true! Then came an announcement on the public address system telling the school to leave the Murry Bergtraum building. We thought at first that it was a fire drill. But seeing teachers tell us to “hurry up” and “walk faster,” alerted us that something was wrong. They seemed to be gravely serious and very uptight. As my classmates and I walked out of the main Murry Bergtraum exit, we heard shouts of “Go Home!” I was so confused thinking, What’s going on?

As I walked outside, I saw people watching towers with a look of horror on their faces. Hands were placed over mouths. Blank stares were everywhere. I thought, Oh Dear God. As I walked out of the school, I just could not believe my eyes. The World Trade Center building was on fire. Monstrous smoke billowed out of the building like an ominous, violent storm maturing. Fire poured out around the opening where the planes crashed. People crowded together staring like zombies. Thoughts raced through my head, What am I going to do? What happened? People and school deans directed people away from the scene yelling, “Go Home. Leave the place now.” People were so confused. We heard from our teachers that all the trains in Manhattan were closed - shut down. How could we leave? I was overwhelmed with fear. I did find myself thinking, however, that as long as I stayed with my teachers and group, everything would be okay. We moved away slowly, heading uptown.

We soon found a statue in Chinatown and stood there waiting to learn more. We all gazed across town; our eyes permanently fixed on the ghastly burning towers. We witnessed papers descending, and bodies of people falling like snow in winter. But the awful truth was that it was not snow, but precious lives being lost. Suddenly out of nowhere, we heard a loud rumble. We even felt it. We all looked up and saw one of the towers collapse. Smoke, dust, and debris were all around that area. It was like watching a movie, but it was really happening. The teachers quickly tried to contact all of our parents, but it was impossible to get through to them. I was so upset. All I could think about was getting home to my fami8ly. I wanted my family’s love and comfort to make me know that I was not alone.

After seven hours stuck in Manhattan, the only thing that helped me with my feeling of overwhelming fear was the presence of my teachers. I was so anxious, but my teachers guided us all to safety. They made sure we were doing well. They guided us far away from the World Trace Center. Whenever a student got upset, they comforted them by putting their arms around them and holding them to make sure they felt safe. They talked to us, soothed us and calmed us down. The teachers showed that they would always be there for us.

We were in Manhattan so long that eventually teachers asked us what we wanted to eat. We stopped by a deli that was on our path away from the twin towers. They gave us a choice of sandwiches we could eat. Our choices included turkey, cheeses, and salami. They were simple sandwiches, nothing fancy. They spent their money on us. We ate and drank. It satisfied us. During that time, we began to feel better. The teachers were like nurses and doctors, checking to make sure our emotional and psychological wounds were healing.

The worst part was that the trains were not working; There was not way to get out of Manhattan. We had to walk across the Manhattan Bridge. There was no other choice. The city was filled with a jet-black thick haze. It was like darkness surrounded the city. We could smell the fumes and wreckage. Ash and other particles from the burning towers were all over the place, spreading into Brooklyn from Manhattan. We were afraid that maybe terrorists were going to hurt us as hundreds of us walked across the bridge. The teachers said to stay together and to not leave the group. We teamed up like bunches of birds getting ready to migrate south. For a moment, I thought I was never going to make it home alive. During our walk over the bridge to Brooklyn, the sun baked us. Thankfully the teachers gave us water to keep us cool. We were elated when we got off the Manhattan Bridge and the trains were working. The teachers asked us to call them or e-mail them to let them know we got home safe.

When I arrive home, I was so happy to see my family. They looked so relieved, hugging me and kissing me and saying, “Thank God you are okay.” We watched the news to find out more information about what was happening. I got [phone calls from my family checking to see how I was holing up. It was just so nice to see the people I care for so deeply.

September 11th affected all people living in America. When terrorists attacked America, there was no indication that this would happen. Many Americans were forced to confront death face to face. When schools around the World Trade Center had to be evacuated, our teachers were there guiding and protecting us. With fear in everyone’s heart and in everyone’s eyes, our teachers remained calm, directing us and taking control.

My teachers were guardian angels protecting me from evil. My safety was in their hands. I thank God there are a lot of good, generous, and brave people out in the world today, especially my teachers. Their actions were truly altruistic.

[ Top ]

Editors’ Choice

My Mother

By Daniel Foley

My mother’s name is Patricia Louis (Coogan) Foley. She was born on January 25th, 1961. She grew up in Worcester, Massachusetts. She led a very hard life. Her parents were separated when she was only four years old. She married my father, James Red Foley and has three kids. I picked her to be my hero.

Mom has a great marriage; she has been happily married to my father for 21 years. She also has a tough time with her family because she spent more time in the hospital with her children than any mother that I know of.

My mother has supported my siblings and me through difficult illnesses and injuries. For example, one day, my older sister, Kerri, came home and collapsed from a seizure. My mother called 911 immediately and brought her to the hospital. My mother stayed in the hospital with her for two days. She knew that she could be in trouble at work but she didn’t care because she wanted to take care of her family. Later we found out that Kerri has Epilepsy.

In late spring of 2000, I got very sick. I caught a virus in my cerebellum that caused me to tremor and have a lot of seizures. One day I went blind and went crazy and scream. All my m other did was hold my hand because that was all she could do. She could not talk to me because I couldn’t hear her. I almost died that night in front of my mother. But I know that my mother is there for me no matter what. She quit her job to stay in the hospital. She quit her job because her boss was selfish and he was ready to fire her for missing so much time at work. When I got better, I came home in a wheelchair. I was not able to walk for almost two months. Mom took her time to help me walk and took me to physical therapy. Mom pushed me to get better.

Mom started a club to help people to learn how to take care of deaf children. She taught many parents how to communicate with their deaf children. Mom taught many parents that deaf children are like hearing children but they can’t hear. Mom had people building a float for a parade and all the parents who were in the group could sign songs to people. Many hearing people loved it. Mom tried to teach many hearing people to understand about deafness.

My younger sister, Caitlin, was playing softball for my town one day. She was having fun with the game until near the end of the game; a girl from the other team hit the ball hard. Caitlin ran to catch the ball but she missed it and was hit in her left eye. My mother saw the whole thing and ran and grabbed her in the middle of the game. Then she and my sister rushed to the hospital. They stayed in the hospital for a long period of time. Now Caitlin is blind in one eye.

Mom had Caitlin’s school to give Caitlin some support. For example, Caitlin has trouble reading because of her blindness in one eye. Mom had the school to give her large print books and tape recorder. Mom doesn’t eat, sleep or rest until we are all satisfied.

Right now, my mother is suffering from the disease called Multiple Sclerosis. When I was sick in the wheelchair, I didn’t understand why she was pushing me so hard to get better until now. She is suffering with this disease and I don’t want to see her suffer at all.

She suffers sometimes when she is walking. She walks with a limp sometimes. There are days that she gets tired easily. For example, when we went to6the mall, we walked so much that she got tired and started to limp. I gave her my arm so she can hold on or she can sit down. It’s really up to her. I help her out a lot because she has always been there for us when we needed her. So now, it is my sisters’ and my turn to be there for our mother.

She is an amazing woman because she continues to go to work on bad days or good days. Every day in my life, I am thanking God that she is my mother. She’s still there for us no matter what. I want people to know that I love my mother and she is my hero.

[ Top ]

Editors’ Choice

Heroine – My Mama

By Jusley Ramirez

Brave is Mama,
Not afraid of other people.

Courageous is Mama,
Not afraid of challenges.

Adventurous is Mama,
Not afraid to travel.

Mama’s sick with Cancer,
Not afraid of death at the age of 26.

Not knowing Mama as I grew up,
Not afraid to learn about my background.

Raised by Mama’s loved ones,
Not afraid of life.

Pictures and stories of Mama,
I learned about who I am…

I am my Mama’s daughter.

[ Top ]

Editors’ Choice

Making the Best of It

By Quinton Petty

James Petty is my father. He was a veteran in the Army. He worked on airplanes and parachuted out of them. IN the Vietnam War he was shot both in the leg and in the left lung and survived the attack. He is my hero because I see his bravery through his actions. He is a family role model with good inner traits.

James Petty is my hero because he is very brave. He really cares for the Untied Stated. Besides surviving the war, he showed great courage as a father. We were separated after my parent’s divorce. He contacted my brother and sister and me and asked us to come to his house for the first time in five years. He also helped us find good schools for us to enroll.

My father’s inner traits include respect, generosity, and sacrifices. He spends time it he community as a singer in a gospel grouup called “The Dynamic Sounds of Devotions.” He also sings in the church choir. My father respects Deaf people. He knows sign language and is patient with my communication skills. He believes that NCSD is a good school for me.

His goal is to make sure that my brother, sister, and I grow up and have a great life. My sister wants to become a famous singer. She sings like Mariah Carey. My younger brother, Daniel, wants to become a lawyer. He may not be doing too good right now because he’s young, but I know that he would make a great lawyer when he gets older. My father wants to know everything about our lives. He wants to see good grades on our report cards. It might bug me sometimes, but it shows me that he cares a lot for me. My dad likes to be respected. He would treat you the way you treat him.

Heroes always find ways to get through difficult situations. He got depressed after he divorced my mother. After five years of emotional pain, he pulled himself together, knowing it was time to look for me and my brother and sister. We are close now.

My father is also involved in many different activities and he respects all kinds of people. My favorite heroes are the ones who are respectful and friendly towards other people. Heroes like to see people succeed in good ways. My father does that too. Most importantly, I believe that heroes are people who have good influence on others. My father likes to cook. Because of his influences, I want to be a chef after I graduate.

I know that he doesn’t care whether I’m Deaf or not. Even though we’ve been in touch for only six months now, he is still my role model and I look up to him not only because he’s my father, but because he is also my hero.

[ Top ]

Editor’s Choice

No Shining Armor Required

By Ruth Anna Spooner

What is a hero? Although the question is simple, the answers are infinite. In our human minds, we need something to admire or strive to attain, hence our concept of heroes. Simply put, a hero is someone who changes our lives and inspires us to endeavor for something better. Upon the mention of a hero, what springs into mind for many is the courage of a gallant figure willingly plunging himself into danger to save an innocent life; however, heroes do not always come in shining armors. Our lives are surrounded by many heroes whose shining armors are often concealed - hidden even from the heroes themselves. It is these everyday heroes that truly challenge us to reach for something better within ourselves.

Mr. David Quinley was such a hero to me, and I do not recall ever seeing him in shining armor; he was instead armed with knowledge. Rather than valiantly saving me from dire danger, he set me free by giving me the gift of illumination. There was an unexplored world of the written language that awaited me; helped me find the key to unlock the doors and escape from my confinement of the dungeon of the rules of English language. Some may think that Coach Quinley was just an English teacher, but he was so much more than that – he was a lover of the English language. It was his love of the language of English that taught me how to truly master written English and wield the language as my own.

Growing up, I loved to read – books were my instructors of written English; they taught me more about writing than my elementary school classes ever did. I detested memorizing the boring rules of grammar and spelling because the rules were shifty and inconstant. Nevertheless, as much as I dislike the monotonousness of it all, I dutifully learned the rules and memorized the tricky exceptions. It was not the rules that I learned that kindled the desire within me to create my own words; the desire came from the books that I immersed myself into as a child. It was not until I was in the eighth grade that Coach Quinley revolutionized the way I perceived the language.

I call him Coach Quinley because he was more of a coach to me than a teacher; he ran his classroom as he would a team – we were the players, he the coach, and English the formidable opponent. Coach Quinley lived and breathed English; he made the rules come alive, and I, for the first time, was shown how to manipulate and bend my written words to adequately describe my thoughts. Suddenly, writing became an immense pleasure because I had discovered the freedom of writing not for others, but for myself. Coach Quinley’s love for the written word metamorphosed into my love; through him, I discovered the true world of writing, a world beyond the mundane rules, whee the words were entirely mine, belonging to no other.

If a hero is someone who impacts our lives and inspires us to reach deep within ourselves to achieve what was once believed unimaginable, then Coach Quinley is my hero. If not for him, the English language would still be just a set of complications for me to struggle with for the rest of my life. Through his fervent love of the language, I was shown how to truly master English and even to love it, however complicated and tricky the language is. Coach Quinley held the key that set me free from heavy chains of the rules that I did not entirely understand; the knowledge that he gave me radically changed the way I perceived the language of English. Because of him, I no longer consider English the enemy, but a powerful ally. Coach Quinley was no courageous knight, but his heroism, however unheralded it was, is indisputable; his shining armor is there for all to see, if one looks hard enough. It is not made of metal, but of enlightenment and knowledge.

[ Top ]

DEAF DOCTOR
Frank Peter Hochman

By Jamila Assaf

A hero is an important person or good leader in my life. My hero is Frank Peter Hochman because he became the first Deaf physician in America in 1979.

Dr. Hochman never gave up his goal. He strongly followed his dream! He studied biology, chemistry, medical technology and physics. Also he was good at math and science. He worked at the City of New York Health Department’s Food and Drugs Laboratory. He did medical research. Frank got several wonderful acceptances to medical schools! He passed the Medical College Admissions Test and he got high scores.

Frank was very busy because 150 patients often went to his office every week! He used a powerful hearing aid, communicated with signing and speech reading, and used light flashers and vibrating beeper to inform him of TDD calls at the hospital. San Jose has a large deaf community, attracted by the California School for the Deaf in Fremont. Frank was a physician there from 1979 to 1992.

He worked hard at his family practice, pediatrics and cardiovascular respiratory system, hypercholestorolemia, strep, diabetes, and hypothyroidism. He was a very hardworking man and tried to help all his injured or ill patients!

Frank Hochman is a special person who made a big impact on my life. I truly thank him so much for awesome goal! I will never forget about him. I strongly want to be a surgeon and I truly want to go to Temple University in Philadelphia to attend medical school. I love a tough challenge. I love learning everything and I am motivated to succeed.

America has around 35 deaf doctors today. Dr. Hochman was a wonderful part of important deaf history!

[ Top ]

SUFFRAGETTE
Elizabeth Cady Stanton

By Jennifer Pasch

“This world taught woman nothing skillful and then said her work was valueless. It permitted her no opinions and said she did not know how to think. It forbade her to speak in public, and said the sex had no orators. It denied her school, and said she had no genius. It robbed her of every vestige of responsibility, and then called her weak. It taught her that every pleasure must come as a favor for men, and when to gain it she decked herself in paint and fine feathers, as she had been taught to do, it called her vain.”

Elizabeth Cady Stanton was one of few women who took part in the initial drive of women’s suffrage. Among her many accomplishments, Stanton organized and spoke out at the first convention for women in July of 1848 at Seneca Falls. This outcry against the repression of women is often titled the beginning of the movement.

She grew up in a well-established family, whose prestige allowed her more intellectual options than most. This minor allowance provided her mind with the fuel it needed for the treacherous journey it was about to ensure. Denied the right to attend a public school with men, Stanton attended a women’s college hoping to acquire the knowledge she yearned to obtain. Discovering that her aspirations were well barricaded, Stanton soon realized the restrictions imposed on her life by men everywhere.

As a young girl, Stanton spent hours in her father’s legal office, learning of the social and governmental restrictions imposed on women. As she grew older, Stanton began to understand these constraints and suffered because of them. This early experience with the law provided with the intellect necessary to speak among prominent government officials with confidence. Regardless of her timidity, Stanton overcame many of the obstacles placed before here, whether physical or mental. As a women’s activist, Stanton faced much ridicule on a global stating that she was not a good mother or housewife, and only an ignorant female. But with the support of many women and men, Stanton was able to face the conflict with great determination, providing a powerful foothold for the suffrage movement.

Stanton is well known for the incredibly moving speeches given on the topic of women’s suffrage and the movement that she began. However, her background was left as just that – background. Her childhood and the events leading up to the formation of the powerful orator are often left behind when discussing her life’s work. Much of the general population is not aware of the struggles that she faced as a child, the overwhelming hostility emanating from her very home. It is because of her powerful determination against all odds that I view Elizabeth Cady Stanton as one to be replicated in today’s society.

Stanton belonged to a family of seven; she had four sisters and one brother. Her father loved each child in their own way. However, when Stanton was eleven years old, her brother’s death nearly broke her father’s heart. When she tried to offer her father comfort on his loss, all he could do was moan and say, “Oh my daughter, I wish you were a son.” From then on Stanton tried to fulfill her father’s wish in anyway she know how; this meant acquiring an education and an occupation of considerable standing in a male-dominated world. The ambition that Stanton showed in order to accomplish her father’s desires soon surpassed anything he could have expected of her as she took on his want for an intelligent child as part of her own aspirations. As Stanton’s ambitions began to encounter legal restrictions, her father showed decreasing support. He was a judge of high acclaim and it would not be acceptable to show support of someone so openly objected the very laws it was his job to uphold. When faced with obstacles beyond comprehension, Stanton plowed through them with all the determination she could gather, not relenting until she accomplished what she set out to do. Even when the entire world was in opposition, including her own father, Stanton still continued on her path, determined to prove her point.

Throughout my seventeen years, I have encountered numerous conflicts. Being diagnosed with spinal meningitis at the age of 15 months did not stop me from becoming the strong-willed, ambitious person that I am. With a severe to profound hearing loss, I rely only on residual hearing and lip reading to provide the communication that I need in a hearing environment. Being enrolled in a public school, as well as an advanced program, has not hindered my progress towards my goals of becoming a well-educated citizen of society. I strongly believe that if one’s morals and ideals are being restricted, one should not simply back down and accept repression rather she should face them with the determination that Elizabeth Cady Stanton showed on that summer July day in 1848 at the Seneca Falls convention.

[ Top ]

Copyright © 2003 Gallaudet University Laurent Clerc National Deaf Education Center
800 Florida Ave. NE
Washington, DC 20002
Key Contact Information
Contact Information Systems and Computer Support if you have any difficulty viewing this page.