182 Deaf Epistemologies, Identity, and Learning
training course at Leuven University I referred to earlier in this chapter. The story
is recounted in the next few pages, and mostly concentrates on my experiences of
growing up and the launch of my scholarly journey. The next section then concen-
trates on the process of empowerment that I experienced during my stay at Gallaudet
University.
As I begin the narrative, it is worth pointing out that in Flanders today (as was also
the case when I was born in 1978), it is not a standard procedure to inform the par-
ents of deaf children about all aspects of deafness. Most of the time only a medical
viewpoint is provided. Flemish Sign Language received official recognition as a lan-
guage in 2006, with the result that the Flemish deaf community has become more
visible and some initiatives on behalf of deaf people and parents of deaf children
have been taken (also see Chapter 6). However, the government still does not struc-
turally provide courses for parents of deaf children, and many grow up without com-
ing into contact with Flemish Sign Language. This was most assuredly the case for
me. In 2013, the Flemish Deaf Association (Fevlado) released an awareness-raising
documentary titled Mijn Baby is Doof (My Baby Is Deaf), which informs parents of
deaf children about sign language and deaf culture. I am interviewed in the docu-
mentary as a scholar and deaf role model. It feels good to see social change happen-
ing and to be able to contribute to it.
My hearing loss was first identified when I was five years old.The most likely cause
of my deafness was that my mother had been infected with cytomegalovirus during
her pregnancy, although she does not recall being ill. If a woman contracts this virus
when she is pregnant, it can cause progressive hearing loss in her baby. I remember
that I was not able to understand the teacher in kindergarten. During my childhood
and youth, my hearing loss fluctuated, which made it hard to define. I managed
tolerably well in elementary school, sitting in the first row and watching the black-
board and the teacher. I recall that at home I would wonder why I was not able to
communicate in the dark and why I had to climb down from my bunkbed to talk
with my cousin in the lower bunk.
The focus of my parents and the medical professionals was on testing and curing.
I experienced the repetitive assessments as highly frustrating, objectifying, and
dehumanizing. I became resistant, and when I was 13, I refused to be tested again.
We did not receive any information on what deafness actually meant, on support
services, or on deaf peers. Apart from such information, we also missed a sense of
empathy and understanding that would have helped us cope with daily challenges,
especially in the educational setting. I was fortunate to grow up in a second-genera-
tion family bakery business. My parents and grandparents were always at home, and
my family had always highly valued education and a broader perspective on learning.
One way in which this was put into practice was through support of apprenticeships
for young bakery students at our shop; another was my father’s service at local train-
ing centers as an entrepreneurial skills instructor for bakery school graduates and
other adults who were interested in starting their own baking businesses.
Throughout my childhood, my parents and my schools placed a stronger empha-
sis on learning than on my being “deaf” or “special.” Even when I was very young,
my father emphasized that I should never say “I can’t”; at the local schools, I was not