Ignorant Fish - An Independent Chapter
Happy New Year everyone!!! This is a small chapter written for the McT's - a few years ahead of where we left off. Devyn and Donovan are almost five, and Danielle is three. No pictures this time, but there will be next time!
Warnings: Ignorance, poor social conduct, and improper terminology for people with a hearing disability.
Claire couldn’t believe her ears. Her heart was thrumming loudly, drowning out the sound. She could feel her cheeks flaming scarlet; felt it spreading down her neck and across her collarbones. It took all of her strength to control her composure. Her knuckles shown white where she gripped the handle of the chair she was seated in.
“Mrs. McTavisham?” the devil-incarnate woman asked in front of her, seated primly in her high backed swivel chair, her hands splayed across the papers that were spread out on her overly-clean desk. Claire envisioned pouncing over the desk and kicking the lady in her sour, wrinkled mouth.
She couldn’t believe she’d ever considered Autumn Lane as a school for her children. The walls - which had gleamed white and inviting just an hour before - might as well have been covered with grime and dirt. She didn’t want to look at them.
It had taken two weeks to get an appointment with Ms. Hilde Klineman, the director of students at Autumn Lane elementary. The school’s brochures boasted a 7:1 ratio of students to teachers, enhanced technology and academics, enriching curriculums. The kindergarten program alone offered insightful and promising hands-on techniques - a program that would follow the student throughout their academic career within the school as they progressed K - 12. Sports and extracurricular activities were rumored to be the best in the area.
Claire had wanted so badly to offer all three of her children the opportunity to attend Autumn Lane. When Ms. Klineman had returned her call with a scheduled date for her visit with the children, she was ecstatic.
She’d attempted to tame Donovan’s curls, dressed all three of the children in smart looking outfits, gotten them all piled in the car and drove them to the large sprawling campus. Danielle had been taken into the nursery classroom, where she was being evaluated with two other children by young teachers that were so skinny they looked like they’d blow over if a car drove past at fifteen miles an hour.
Claire watched quietly for a moment while Danielle made herself right at home with the blocks and activity set, and a young woman crouched down next to her and spoke with her. Danielle’s pigtails bobbed as she nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration while she stacked legos together.
After a short tour of the school, both Donovan and Devyn were led into another classroom for their initial testing. Ms. Klineman insisted that the tests were very generic for students of such a young age. They’d be asked to say the alphabet, and to identify colors and shapes and animals. Some students, she mentioned proudly as she led Claire away from the classroom, could even begin spelling their names within only a few weeks at her school. They focused heavily on the arts, you see, and one of the first things the children learn is to sign their name.
Claire had been led to a small room. It was sparse, clean, and white, like the rest of the school, with one small window overlooking the school’s large organic garden and hothouse.
“We begin herbology and botany in the first grade here at Autumn Lane,” Ms. Klineman had said when she saw where Claire’s attention had been. “Students get to plant, tend, and harvest their own sweet-peas every spring.”
Claire turned back to smile at Ms. Klineman. The woman sat opposite her, her legs tightly crossed, and her bony fingers folded neatly against her skirt. Her lips were pursed in a tight bow, as if she were disgusted with the idea of gardening.
“That’s nice,” Claire had said, tentatively. Instantly, Ms. Klineman’s facial features rearranged themselves as she turned back to Claire, and she smiled tightly.
“It is, isn’t it?”
There was a pregnant pause that made Claire feel uneasy. At the beginning of the visit, Ms. Klineman’s attitude had been one of professional excitement and enthusiasm, and she’d all but bounded through the doors to greet them when they’d arrived, her pumps click-clacking on the sidewalk. But within ten minutes of their initial tour, her enthusiasm had faltered, leaving her face to wrinkle and prune steeped in a mask of bitterness whenever she thought Claire wasn’t looking.
She’d breezed through the tour, and Claire had the distinct feeling she was only going through the motions because of the fact that there was a non-refundable $50 charge to start the application process.
After the tense exchange about the gardens and hothouse, Ms. Klineman had excused herself, stating that she needed to see how the evaluations were going, and Claire was left alone, waiting in the small white room. Luckily she’d brought a book with her, or that forty-five minute wait would have been agony.
When Ms. Klineman had finally come to collect her, she led her through a small doorway on the opposite wall, into a lushly decorated office. The carpet was the color of moss; a Persian rug centered under the large, pine desk. Ms. Klineman smiled falsely as she took her seat behind it. “Please, have a seat, Mrs. McTavisham,” she’d said, indicating the small and deceptively comfortable looking chair.
Claire sat, all ears.
Ms. Klineman opened the first file on her desk, arranging it so that it was perfectly aligned with the edge of her desk. She spoke slowly, her voice sounding gracious, as if she were doing a kind service. “Danielle is charming,” she started.
Claire smiled proudly in response. “She has a wonderful spirit.”
“Mmm,” Ms. Klineman agreed. “She does. Ms. Stephanie had a wonderful session with her. She was able to identify several colors and responded to Ms. Stephanie with ease. She will do brilliantly with our pre-K program.”
Claire let out a breath, pleased. “Oh good! That’s great to hear.”
“And Donovan,” Ms. Klineman said, opening up another file over Danielle’s. “He is exceedingly smart for his age. Mrs. Scott was extremely pleased with him.”
Claire smiled again, feeling more and more relaxed.
“He’ll do wonders, here, I’m sure of it,” Ms. Klineman stated, her pruned lips stretching into the semblance of a smile.
Claire nodded. “And Devyn?” she asked, feeling certain her daughter would receive the same praise as her other children. Devyn was extremely smart.
Ms. Klineman’s smile dropped. She removed Danielle and Donovan’s folders and laid out Devyn’s in the same manner. She cleared her throat delicately.
“Mrs. McTavisham, I’m sure you are very proud of your daughter. She has done sufficiently well with her problem.”
Claire blinked. “Her ‘problem?’”
“Yes, her deafness. She has succeeded in making a place for herself in the world of the nor…the hearing,” she corrected herself. Ms. Klineman stopped, as if she were trying to find the right words. “I just don’t think she will be able to continue to succeed at Autumn Lane.”
“Why not?” Claire’s words were clipped and abrupt. “Did she not know all the colors?”
“Well…no…she knew the colors,” Ms. Klineman allowed. She looked uncomfortable. “I just don’t think she will be able to keep up with the curriculum, you see. We here at Autumn Lane strive for…”
“Why not?” Claire interrupted her.
“I’m sorry?”
“Why not? Why won’t she keep up with the curriculum?”
Ms. Klineman pursed her lips. “Mrs. McTavisham…how do I put this kindly? I know you must be very protective of your daughter. But I don’t think her kind would do well here.”
Claire reeled. “Her kind? What is that supposed to mean?”
“Someone with a handicap like Devyn’s. A disability.”
If Claire’s hair could crackle and spit like flame, it would have. “The terms ‘handicap’ and ‘disability’ imply that there is something wrong with her.”
Ms. Klineman flipped Devyn’s folder shut. “Well what would you call it, Mrs. McTavisham? A blessing?”
Claire’s nostrils flared. “She’s not handicapped! She is perfectly capable of anything you put in front of her. There’s nothing ‘wrong’ with her. Did she not know her alphabet?”
“Well, yes…”
“Did the teacher…Mrs. Scott, was it? Did she think that Devyn couldn’t understand what she asked her?”
“She didn’t imply so, no…”
“Then what is the problem here? Why wouldn’t she be able to do well in this school?”
Ms. Klineman blinked owlishly at Claire. “She’s deaf, Mrs. McTavisham. She cannot hear. What do you think will happen when she begins grade school and is expected to take notes on the subject matter?”
“She can sit in the front of the class and lip-read. She has a hearing aid to help her. And the teacher could help…”
“The teacher absolutely cannot help, Mrs. McTavisham,” said Ms. Klineman, shaking her head. “The teacher will have close to twenty other students to respond to and manage. She or he cannot possibly stay and baby-sit Devyn all day to make sure she understands. And we are not equipped to offer your daughter a one-on-one aide to help take down notes, either. She will lose momentum quickly; probably end up needing to repeat certain grades before altogether failing. Autumn Lane is known for having a 100% success rate, Mrs. McTavisham. We simply cannot take on someone of Devyn’s level of impairment.” She paused, readjusted the papers on her desk again. “We can accept Danielle and Donovan to Autumn Lane - I’m sure they will do splendidly.” She smiled, as if this were the best news Claire could dare to hope for.
Claire couldn’t believe her ears. Her heart was thrumming loudly, drowning out the sound. She could feel her cheeks flaming scarlet; felt it spreading down her neck and across her collarbones. It took all of her strength to control her composure. Her knuckles shown white where she gripped the handle of the chair she was seated in.
“Mrs. McTavisham?” the devil-incarnate woman asked in front of her, seated primly in her high backed swivel chair, her hands splayed across the papers that were spread out on her overly-clean desk. Claire envisioned pouncing over the desk and kicking the lady in her sour, wrinkled mouth.
She couldn’t believe she’d ever considered Autumn Lane as a school for her children. The walls - which had gleamed white and inviting just an hour before - might as well have been covered with grime and dirt. She didn’t want to look at them.
Deliberately, Claire unwrapped her fingers from around the wooden armrest of the chair. She looked at the woman who had just so maliciously insulted her daughter - refused her entrance to this school - and called her handicapped…a failure.
She spoke calmly and slowly. “My daughter is smart, Ms. Klineman. She is brilliant. Most people can’t even tell she is deaf anymore, unless they notice the accent she has. She can articulate her words, has a better vocabulary than I ever did at her age, and has a knack for memorizing just about anything you ask her to.”
“Mrs. McTavisham, I just cannot…”
“I wasn’t finished,” Claire snapped, her eyes flashing. Ms. Klineman’s mouth grew smaller as she pinched her lips even tighter together. Claire took a deep breath, leaning forward from her chair. “Devyn will succeed, Ms. Klineman. Just because she cannot hear does not mean she misses anything. Not a single thing. She can experience music through vibration. She can hear your voice through her eyes as she watches you speak. If anything, I’d say she hears more than you ever will, for she has a beautiful mind and opens her heart without judgment to everyone. Her world is far from silent.”
Claire stood up from her chair, pulling her purse up over her shoulder. “And as for your…generous…offer to have Donovan and Danielle as students here, I’m afraid I will have to decline. I don’t want my children to even step foot in the same building where the director of students has such a small and ignorant view of the world; it might give them the wrong idea.”
Claire turned on her heel and stalked through the door of the woman’s office to go and collect her children, leaving Ms. Hilde Klineman’s mouth gawping in the air like a fish.
A wrinkled, pruney, ignorant fish.
------------------------------------------
A/N: The actions of Ms. Hilde Klineman were inspired by a true story that I was given by a contact I have made. Some of the details were changed as per the rules of most Fiction, but I did want to acknowledge that there are people out there that respond this way to many hard-of-hearing or d/Deaf people. Claire's objections to the terms "handicapped" and "wrong" and "problem" are fully justified. It is sometimes hard for people to find a polite term to use when referring to someone who is deaf, and through my research and spending time with the Deaf culture here where I live, it's entirely based on the person's preference. Some would say that saying "hearing impaired" was the best way other than simply saying "deaf," but others I've spoken with or emailed have said that they despise that term. The best course of action would just be to say "deaf." Devyn is deaf. She is not impaired. She is not disabled. She is not dumb or ignorant or slow. She is normal. She does not have a hearing problem - she is simply deaf.
In the words of I. King Jordan, President of Galludet University; "Deaf people can do anything, except hear."
Warnings: Ignorance, poor social conduct, and improper terminology for people with a hearing disability.
Claire couldn’t believe her ears. Her heart was thrumming loudly, drowning out the sound. She could feel her cheeks flaming scarlet; felt it spreading down her neck and across her collarbones. It took all of her strength to control her composure. Her knuckles shown white where she gripped the handle of the chair she was seated in.
“Mrs. McTavisham?” the devil-incarnate woman asked in front of her, seated primly in her high backed swivel chair, her hands splayed across the papers that were spread out on her overly-clean desk. Claire envisioned pouncing over the desk and kicking the lady in her sour, wrinkled mouth.
She couldn’t believe she’d ever considered Autumn Lane as a school for her children. The walls - which had gleamed white and inviting just an hour before - might as well have been covered with grime and dirt. She didn’t want to look at them.
It had taken two weeks to get an appointment with Ms. Hilde Klineman, the director of students at Autumn Lane elementary. The school’s brochures boasted a 7:1 ratio of students to teachers, enhanced technology and academics, enriching curriculums. The kindergarten program alone offered insightful and promising hands-on techniques - a program that would follow the student throughout their academic career within the school as they progressed K - 12. Sports and extracurricular activities were rumored to be the best in the area.
Claire had wanted so badly to offer all three of her children the opportunity to attend Autumn Lane. When Ms. Klineman had returned her call with a scheduled date for her visit with the children, she was ecstatic.
She’d attempted to tame Donovan’s curls, dressed all three of the children in smart looking outfits, gotten them all piled in the car and drove them to the large sprawling campus. Danielle had been taken into the nursery classroom, where she was being evaluated with two other children by young teachers that were so skinny they looked like they’d blow over if a car drove past at fifteen miles an hour.
Claire watched quietly for a moment while Danielle made herself right at home with the blocks and activity set, and a young woman crouched down next to her and spoke with her. Danielle’s pigtails bobbed as she nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration while she stacked legos together.
After a short tour of the school, both Donovan and Devyn were led into another classroom for their initial testing. Ms. Klineman insisted that the tests were very generic for students of such a young age. They’d be asked to say the alphabet, and to identify colors and shapes and animals. Some students, she mentioned proudly as she led Claire away from the classroom, could even begin spelling their names within only a few weeks at her school. They focused heavily on the arts, you see, and one of the first things the children learn is to sign their name.
Claire had been led to a small room. It was sparse, clean, and white, like the rest of the school, with one small window overlooking the school’s large organic garden and hothouse.
“We begin herbology and botany in the first grade here at Autumn Lane,” Ms. Klineman had said when she saw where Claire’s attention had been. “Students get to plant, tend, and harvest their own sweet-peas every spring.”
Claire turned back to smile at Ms. Klineman. The woman sat opposite her, her legs tightly crossed, and her bony fingers folded neatly against her skirt. Her lips were pursed in a tight bow, as if she were disgusted with the idea of gardening.
“That’s nice,” Claire had said, tentatively. Instantly, Ms. Klineman’s facial features rearranged themselves as she turned back to Claire, and she smiled tightly.
“It is, isn’t it?”
There was a pregnant pause that made Claire feel uneasy. At the beginning of the visit, Ms. Klineman’s attitude had been one of professional excitement and enthusiasm, and she’d all but bounded through the doors to greet them when they’d arrived, her pumps click-clacking on the sidewalk. But within ten minutes of their initial tour, her enthusiasm had faltered, leaving her face to wrinkle and prune steeped in a mask of bitterness whenever she thought Claire wasn’t looking.
She’d breezed through the tour, and Claire had the distinct feeling she was only going through the motions because of the fact that there was a non-refundable $50 charge to start the application process.
After the tense exchange about the gardens and hothouse, Ms. Klineman had excused herself, stating that she needed to see how the evaluations were going, and Claire was left alone, waiting in the small white room. Luckily she’d brought a book with her, or that forty-five minute wait would have been agony.
When Ms. Klineman had finally come to collect her, she led her through a small doorway on the opposite wall, into a lushly decorated office. The carpet was the color of moss; a Persian rug centered under the large, pine desk. Ms. Klineman smiled falsely as she took her seat behind it. “Please, have a seat, Mrs. McTavisham,” she’d said, indicating the small and deceptively comfortable looking chair.
Claire sat, all ears.
Ms. Klineman opened the first file on her desk, arranging it so that it was perfectly aligned with the edge of her desk. She spoke slowly, her voice sounding gracious, as if she were doing a kind service. “Danielle is charming,” she started.
Claire smiled proudly in response. “She has a wonderful spirit.”
“Mmm,” Ms. Klineman agreed. “She does. Ms. Stephanie had a wonderful session with her. She was able to identify several colors and responded to Ms. Stephanie with ease. She will do brilliantly with our pre-K program.”
Claire let out a breath, pleased. “Oh good! That’s great to hear.”
“And Donovan,” Ms. Klineman said, opening up another file over Danielle’s. “He is exceedingly smart for his age. Mrs. Scott was extremely pleased with him.”
Claire smiled again, feeling more and more relaxed.
“He’ll do wonders, here, I’m sure of it,” Ms. Klineman stated, her pruned lips stretching into the semblance of a smile.
Claire nodded. “And Devyn?” she asked, feeling certain her daughter would receive the same praise as her other children. Devyn was extremely smart.
Ms. Klineman’s smile dropped. She removed Danielle and Donovan’s folders and laid out Devyn’s in the same manner. She cleared her throat delicately.
“Mrs. McTavisham, I’m sure you are very proud of your daughter. She has done sufficiently well with her problem.”
Claire blinked. “Her ‘problem?’”
“Yes, her deafness. She has succeeded in making a place for herself in the world of the nor…the hearing,” she corrected herself. Ms. Klineman stopped, as if she were trying to find the right words. “I just don’t think she will be able to continue to succeed at Autumn Lane.”
“Why not?” Claire’s words were clipped and abrupt. “Did she not know all the colors?”
“Well…no…she knew the colors,” Ms. Klineman allowed. She looked uncomfortable. “I just don’t think she will be able to keep up with the curriculum, you see. We here at Autumn Lane strive for…”
“Why not?” Claire interrupted her.
“I’m sorry?”
“Why not? Why won’t she keep up with the curriculum?”
Ms. Klineman pursed her lips. “Mrs. McTavisham…how do I put this kindly? I know you must be very protective of your daughter. But I don’t think her kind would do well here.”
Claire reeled. “Her kind? What is that supposed to mean?”
“Someone with a handicap like Devyn’s. A disability.”
If Claire’s hair could crackle and spit like flame, it would have. “The terms ‘handicap’ and ‘disability’ imply that there is something wrong with her.”
Ms. Klineman flipped Devyn’s folder shut. “Well what would you call it, Mrs. McTavisham? A blessing?”
Claire’s nostrils flared. “She’s not handicapped! She is perfectly capable of anything you put in front of her. There’s nothing ‘wrong’ with her. Did she not know her alphabet?”
“Well, yes…”
“Did the teacher…Mrs. Scott, was it? Did she think that Devyn couldn’t understand what she asked her?”
“She didn’t imply so, no…”
“Then what is the problem here? Why wouldn’t she be able to do well in this school?”
Ms. Klineman blinked owlishly at Claire. “She’s deaf, Mrs. McTavisham. She cannot hear. What do you think will happen when she begins grade school and is expected to take notes on the subject matter?”
“She can sit in the front of the class and lip-read. She has a hearing aid to help her. And the teacher could help…”
“The teacher absolutely cannot help, Mrs. McTavisham,” said Ms. Klineman, shaking her head. “The teacher will have close to twenty other students to respond to and manage. She or he cannot possibly stay and baby-sit Devyn all day to make sure she understands. And we are not equipped to offer your daughter a one-on-one aide to help take down notes, either. She will lose momentum quickly; probably end up needing to repeat certain grades before altogether failing. Autumn Lane is known for having a 100% success rate, Mrs. McTavisham. We simply cannot take on someone of Devyn’s level of impairment.” She paused, readjusted the papers on her desk again. “We can accept Danielle and Donovan to Autumn Lane - I’m sure they will do splendidly.” She smiled, as if this were the best news Claire could dare to hope for.
Claire couldn’t believe her ears. Her heart was thrumming loudly, drowning out the sound. She could feel her cheeks flaming scarlet; felt it spreading down her neck and across her collarbones. It took all of her strength to control her composure. Her knuckles shown white where she gripped the handle of the chair she was seated in.
“Mrs. McTavisham?” the devil-incarnate woman asked in front of her, seated primly in her high backed swivel chair, her hands splayed across the papers that were spread out on her overly-clean desk. Claire envisioned pouncing over the desk and kicking the lady in her sour, wrinkled mouth.
She couldn’t believe she’d ever considered Autumn Lane as a school for her children. The walls - which had gleamed white and inviting just an hour before - might as well have been covered with grime and dirt. She didn’t want to look at them.
Deliberately, Claire unwrapped her fingers from around the wooden armrest of the chair. She looked at the woman who had just so maliciously insulted her daughter - refused her entrance to this school - and called her handicapped…a failure.
She spoke calmly and slowly. “My daughter is smart, Ms. Klineman. She is brilliant. Most people can’t even tell she is deaf anymore, unless they notice the accent she has. She can articulate her words, has a better vocabulary than I ever did at her age, and has a knack for memorizing just about anything you ask her to.”
“Mrs. McTavisham, I just cannot…”
“I wasn’t finished,” Claire snapped, her eyes flashing. Ms. Klineman’s mouth grew smaller as she pinched her lips even tighter together. Claire took a deep breath, leaning forward from her chair. “Devyn will succeed, Ms. Klineman. Just because she cannot hear does not mean she misses anything. Not a single thing. She can experience music through vibration. She can hear your voice through her eyes as she watches you speak. If anything, I’d say she hears more than you ever will, for she has a beautiful mind and opens her heart without judgment to everyone. Her world is far from silent.”
Claire stood up from her chair, pulling her purse up over her shoulder. “And as for your…generous…offer to have Donovan and Danielle as students here, I’m afraid I will have to decline. I don’t want my children to even step foot in the same building where the director of students has such a small and ignorant view of the world; it might give them the wrong idea.”
Claire turned on her heel and stalked through the door of the woman’s office to go and collect her children, leaving Ms. Hilde Klineman’s mouth gawping in the air like a fish.
A wrinkled, pruney, ignorant fish.
------------------------------------------
A/N: The actions of Ms. Hilde Klineman were inspired by a true story that I was given by a contact I have made. Some of the details were changed as per the rules of most Fiction, but I did want to acknowledge that there are people out there that respond this way to many hard-of-hearing or d/Deaf people. Claire's objections to the terms "handicapped" and "wrong" and "problem" are fully justified. It is sometimes hard for people to find a polite term to use when referring to someone who is deaf, and through my research and spending time with the Deaf culture here where I live, it's entirely based on the person's preference. Some would say that saying "hearing impaired" was the best way other than simply saying "deaf," but others I've spoken with or emailed have said that they despise that term. The best course of action would just be to say "deaf." Devyn is deaf. She is not impaired. She is not disabled. She is not dumb or ignorant or slow. She is normal. She does not have a hearing problem - she is simply deaf.
In the words of I. King Jordan, President of Galludet University; "Deaf people can do anything, except hear."