Michael J. Bowler

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Sports and the Hard of Hearing Child

July 21, 2016 By Michael J. Bowler Leave a Comment

soccer boy v2

As a child growing up with a significant sensorineural hearing loss and no hearing aids to assist me, I found life confusing and often embarrassing. Most of my humiliations came in the arena of team sports, whether it was little league, peewee basketball, or just a pick-up football games with the neighborhood kids.

I recently attended the Angel City Games in Los Angeles—track and field events for kids and adults with physical challenges. Some of the participants were in wheelchairs, some wore prosthetic legs and some were developmentally delayed. I was heartened to see how far we’ve come in making sports for kids with disabilities both accessible and enriching. I know there are also sports teams specifically for deaf kids, where the coaching is done via sign language, but I got to wondering if there have been accommodations made for hard-of-hearing kids who want to participate in team sports with non-hearing impaired kids, so I did some Internet searching.

Within the public school setting—in theory, anyway—there are assistive devices available. For example, in basketball, a red light can be installed behind each backboard that signals the end of a quarter. Portable loop systems with the coach using a microphone and the kid wearing a hearing device can facilitate communication between the two. These are similar to auditory trainers used in classrooms to augment the hearing of HOH students. The teacher wears a microphone and the child wears the headphone and in this way the teacher’s voice goes straight into the student’s ear. For football, there can even be a hearing aid within a modified helmet so the player can hear the coach more clearly. These are a few of the adaptations that are obtainable, assuming a school district will pay for them.

Having used auditory trainers with students, I saw that most kids don’t like to wear the headphones, especially if they are in a co-taught or a general education classroom because—no surprise here—they don’t want to stand out as “different.” I can attest from experience that kids tend to treat “different” as though it were some kind of disease, which is why kids who are “different” don’t want to call attention to their “differentness.” Sadly, the school system and our society still push conformity and sameness and “one size fits all,” so is it any wonder kids are reluctant to accept differentness in their peers?

Fifteen per cent of children between six and nineteen have a measurable hearing loss in at least one ear—approximately thirteen million kids. They have significant hearing loss, but are not deaf or otherwise “special needs.” Do neighborhood sports programs like the kind I was involved in as a child make any accommodations for these kids to play on their teams with non-disabled peers? That’s the more relevant question, I think, for parents who have a HOH child, because those are the kinds of programs most readily available.

My experiences as a child athlete were miserable. I probably misheard every instruction a coach ever gave me, especially if I was on the basketball court or out in right field for little league. In mishearing the command, I did something counter to what I was told to do and got royally chewed out for messing up. Needless to say, I was not popular on these teams because I always did everything wrong. A sensorineural hearing loss, in particular, makes human speech unclear or even, at times, garbled. In that regard, it’s not unlike an auditory processing deficit where the brain scrambles up words that enter through the ear and causes the child to respond in a way that might seem non sequitur, defiant, or outright stupid. I got the “stupid” tag a lot. And here’s the crazy part—I believed it. I believed I was stupid and inept because I did everything wrong. And I never associated my “ineptness” with my hearing loss because it was “invisible” and hardly ever mentioned by the adults in my life.

I doubt much would’ve been changed to accommodate me even if people were more cognizant of my disability because “one size fits all” was even stronger back then. So I simply came to the conclusion that I was stupid and clumsy and sucked at athletics and I ended up hating sports with a passion. Only in college did I become somewhat athletic. I took up running and weight lifting and swimming—activities I could do by myself or with a friend that didn’t involve a large team or an angry coach demanding to know why I did this or that stupid thing.

This brings me back to sports programs at local parks and YMCA’s and other venues that are not part of the public school system. In my Internet search, I found summer camps for deaf and hearing-impaired children, but could not find local sports programs or little league teams promoting accommodations for HOH kids. It’s possible that they will make such accommodations if a parent asks, but it seems to me such an important aspect of the program should be advertised, especially given the large number of children with hearing loss.

Even if a child has hearing aids, that doesn’t mean they will be effective for an outfielder, a lineman, defensive midfielder, or the power forward in a noisy, echo-filled gym surrounded by screaming fans. Most sports, especially baseball, have numerous hand signals coaches flash to players to bunt or run or hold up on a base. These are perfect for the HOH player. Even more specific gestures can be worked out between the player and the coach (and/or other team members) to ensure proper communication. It really isn’t difficult for a HOH kid to play sports as long as the coaching staff and other players remember that communication doesn’t have to be verbal.

Colored flags could help. For example, a red flag could mean move closer. To an outfielder this would mean move closer to the infield. For an infielder, it would mean move closer to the bag. A blue flag could mean the opposite—move farther into the outfield or away from the bag. Colored flags could work in most sports to mean whatever the coach and player decide they mean. Trust me when I say how much better my failed sporting life might have been if I’d had even this one simple accommodation.

I think parents advocate more for their HOH kids than in my childhood. It wasn’t that my parents intentionally ignored my disability. It was just that the disability was invisible and easy to forget about. As noted above, I forgot about it myself, even as a coach or my mom chewed me out for not doing something right, or for not listening. I was told more than once, “You can hear when you want to.” This was not true. A HOH child only hears what his or her limited hearing allows. Nothing more or less. Even “listening harder” won’t clarify speech if the other person is too far away or there is background noise or the other person isn’t facing the child. Sometimes just the pitch of a person’s voice makes clarity problematic. Like all kids with disabilities, I instinctively compensated—which for me meant reading lips. I did this unconsciously and became so good at it I could almost follow a TV show with the volume off and still understand most of the dialogue. As long as the actor faced the screen, I “heard” him or her.

Hearing loss is a physical disability—it just doesn’t involve visible damage to the body or limbs. Yes, hearing aids are helpful. But they are limited. Parents and coaches and team members can easily make the small accommodations I mentioned, and many others of their own devising, that will guarantee the HOH child has a positive experience. The child will not only feel like an equal member of the team, but might also blossom into an outstanding athlete. I doubt I ever had such innate ability, but my experiences were so demoralizing I never attempted to find out. As events like the Angel City Games prove, we have gotten better at including disabled children in athletic competitions. However, let’s not forget the invisible disabilities like hearing loss or auditory processing. These kids want to play, too.

1st Year Little League
My first year in little league. I’m in the back row on the far right and I look happy at starting this new adventure.
2nd Year Little League Team
Here I am with my second (and thankfully final) little league team. I’m in the back row, fourth from the left, much bigger, but with the same hearing loss that made the first season so abysmal. As you can plainly see, I look like I want to be anywhere else but on this team.

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Filed Under: Disabilities, Diversity, Raising Healthy Kids, Social Issues Tagged With: acceptance of differences, accommodations for hard of hearing children, adaptive sports for kids, Angel City Games, Angel City Sports, childhood trauma, differentness, hard of hearing children and sports, hearing but not understanding, hearing loss, hearing loss in children, invisible disabilities, little league, neighborhood sports programs, surviving childhood hearing loss

Horror and Adolescence

July 28, 2015 By Michael J. Bowler Leave a Comment

SPINNER

Horror and adolescence go hand in hand for many reasons, which explains why teens tend to thrive on horror films and books more than any other demographic.

Adolescence is a time of great change for kids – a transitional period between childhood and adulthood. No, teens are not young adults until they reach the age of eighteen (despite the media obsessively referring to 11 year olds as “young men” or “young women”), but their brains and bodies are changing at such a rapid pace that these years teeter between exhilarating and terrifying on a daily basis. The adolescent brain has one foot firmly planted on the accelerator while the other foot struggles to find the brake. Teens seek out thrilling experiences that pump the adrenalin and pound the heart. Hence the love of amusement park thrill rides, fast driving, and the heart-pounding experience of a good horror film or book.

But the “thrill gene,” as it’s been loosely dubbed, in teens isn’t the only correlation to horror, or the only reason teens love the genre. Fear is a HUGE part of adolescence, and teens stress over how best to manage that fear. What fears do teens face on a daily basis? Depends on where they live and go to school. For many, the fear is physical. Will they make it through the school day without getting bullied? Will they make it home without getting jumped? Will they fail yet another class and have to take it over? Will dad be drunk again tonight? Will mom tell them they’re losers? Will there be any food for dinner or will they have to go hungry until school the following day? These are but a few of the real fears no kid should have to live with, but far too many in America do.

But, above and beyond these issues, every adolescent is afraid to be different, to stand out from their peers, to not fit in. This is a palpable fear that guides almost every decision teenagers make. While some parents may encourage kids to embrace their differentness, most want their kids to be “mini-me’s” and conform to the “accepted societal norms” so they (the parents) don’t look bad in the eyes of other adults for having “that weird kid.” Such parents are embarrassed to have a disabled child, or one who isn’t good at sports, or who doesn’t get all A’s in school or who’s LGBT. By the time the adolescent brain kicks in, the wiring is geared toward socialization and social acceptance, so teens squelch their innate differentness in order to fit in. They live in fear every day that the mask they wear will be knocked off, the real “them” will shine through, and they will be ostracized as a result. So they dress the same, talk the same and act the same as their peers out of fear that their real selves will be rejected.

How does this fear relate to horror? Look at the huge number of horror films that feature a kid who’s odd or different or possessed or threatened by nightmares that expose his secrets to the world. Look at how many films or books that feature a damaged character that hides behind a literal mask. Horror often features the outsider kid, the one nobody likes because he or she is “different” as the hero, the one who saves the day when his or her “conforming” peers are getting knocked off one by one. The plethora of possession movies speak to teen fears of having someone inside themselves, i.e. the real human being, revealing itself to the world and not being accepted. For LGBT youth, this fear is profound because they know how society consistently rejects kids like them for being born “different.” I supervised the GSA at my high school and, sadly, most of those kids were more afraid of their parents than their peers. Many kids wanted to attend meetings or functions, they’d tell me in private, but were afraid other kids would turn against them or, worse yet, inform their parents.

Special Education (SPED) kids harbor a similar fear. As a teacher to disabled students, I know from experience that their greatest fear is for peers to find out they’re SPED. I know the fear – I’ve lived with hearing impairment my whole life and there was not a single kid like me at any grade level up through and including graduate school. I never told peers that I couldn’t hear clearly. I just laughed if other kids did, even though I didn’t hear the punch line, or I stayed silent and nodded if I didn’t clearly understand something. I shied away from group sports or dances or activities that were loud and had many kids talking at once because I was afraid I’d have to admit my weakness and then get mocked for it. There was never a day when I wasn’t reminded that I was different. So it was no surprise that even as a child I loved horror films and books. For me, seeing people manage fears that were greater than mine helped me deal with my own. These stories also raced my heart and fueled my imagination and inspired me to be a writer when I grew up. Horror is a thrill ride teens hope they never have to live through in real life, but they thrive on the adrenaline rush of being chased by the guy with the chainsaw, or having an exorcism performed on them, or having a guy with blades for fingers reach out of their dreams to try and kill them. Their hearts pound, blood rushes, and then they get to walk away unharmed.

For these very reasons, the best horror stories feature teen protagonists. Teens are always more willing to take risks adults wouldn’t – like opening that cellar door to see what’s down below, or sneaking into a graveyard to dig up graves or playing with that Ouija board that they know from countless films will lead to disaster. Teens are risk-takers, and horror stories are about managing fear while taking extreme risks, the kind that can often be deadly.

Spinner features a cast of teen characters with disabilities who have to solve a centuries-old mystery, as well as a string of murders quite possibly committed by one of them, all without the ability to read or write or, in Alex’s case, walk. Like gay kids and bullied kids, these characters face fear every day just by going to school where they know they will be mocked and ridiculed for being “different.” But being different doesn’t stop them from bonding together and risking their lives for each other. At the heart of any good horror story is friendship between characters who have to make life and death choices that the viewing audience, or the reader, hopes never to have to make in the real world. Horror teaches kids valuable lessons without being dogmatic or preachy. Some lessons are complex, like how the smallest choices can have the biggest consequences, while others are minor – like don’t go into a dark basement alone when you hear sounds down there.

Being a teen today shouldn’t be the equivalent of a horror film, but it sadly often is; reading a novel or watching a film can be cathartic and help kids survive by reminding them that the different one, the “odd kid out,” the bullied kid, the kid who thinks outside the box will be the last man standing. Within these fictional forays into terror, kids see how their true selves, the ones they hide from the world, are the ones that ultimately survive and save others along the way. In teen horror, “different” is the new “normal.”

SPINNER has been given the SEAL of APPROVAL from Literary Classics. It also won Honorable Mention in the Young Adult category from the San Francisco Book Awards and it won the Young Adult category in the Hollywood Book Awards. Kirkus Reviews says: “It will warm your heart and chill your spine.” Buy Link Here: Spinner Amazon Link

Spinner front cover with CLC Sticker v3

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Filed Under: Raising Healthy Kids Tagged With: adolescence, books, catharsis, differentness, disabilities, fear, horror, kids, LGBT, movies, spec, teens

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