It all started with a school visit to the charter school I taught at in Atlanta from the Atlanta School for the Deaf. They were coming to see how another school functioned, a ‘hearing’ school. And as they toured the hallways I found that they were scheduled to come upstairs to see the computer lab, but not music. Something in me, the rebel I guess, just couldn’t handle that. I did what is in my nature. I hijacked them from the computer lab and had a large group of deaf students come in and take a seat behind the drums. You see, at this school I taught hand drumming. Primal, roots based, rhythmic music. I just had to see if they could even relate and follow. Find a rhythm. It was a small room and I was often accused of shaking the entire back wing of the school. So why couldn’t they ‘feel’ they rhythms? Make music.
You know what? They did.
And from that day an idea was concocted. The liaison for the deaf school, a hippy named Richie and I put together a plan, with the help of a wealthy benefactor, to start a club. But not just any club. We were going to somehow try to teach hand drumming to totally deaf students, without a net, without any formal music training. Just me, a hippy and 20 high school students.
Day one was when I guess my arrogance, but also my genuine passion for people showed up. At the onset, I had Richie translate and introduce me to the students. They immediately called me “C-music”, but within about 5 minutes of the back and forth of translation, I was frustrated, the kids were frustrated, and this experiment was sinking fast. I stopped Richie (one of the first signs I learned). Got up on stage and proceeded to take my shoes off. I pointed to the students and urged them to do the same. Richie tried to stop everything and translate, and I yelled at him, “NO, we have to do this together. They have to learn my language, and I’ll damn well learn theirs.” There was a short blur of shoes being thrown, stinky feet and my translator literally scratching his head. I learned “stop”, “look” and “focus” that day. They watched my hands, as I demonstrated every move. How to strike the drum. How to sit, how to follow. They watched, and I struggled to bridge the gap.
So, I’m just a little bit stubborn. And at the end of that first day I knew we had only barely survived. As I sat down with Richie and another teacher I realized that I did need some translation, but I also needed to hear. I needed to hear the hearts and minds of these students. And the first way I could do that, beyond letting them play on really cool drums, was to gain their respect. I’m not deaf, well I am in one ear because of loud music over the years, but I had to join their world. Learn how to speak. Learn how to listen. Day two was even more frustrating, because I continued to push off the translator and asked the kids to read my lips and teach me to sign. “Feel”. “Count”. And you know what, they responded. They would watch, eager, excited, sometimes scared. And every time we played I was the same. Eager, Excited. Scared.
After about 6 month we scheduled our first concert. A simple performance for the school. We did it to show that a bunch of deaf kids and a non-signing teacher could somehow get together and make a lot of noise, music. It was one of the proudest moments in my life. I still remember some of the signs ten years later. I wish I was proficient, but I’m so thankful that I had those two years with these students.
So, we need to hear. We need to relish the opportunity to communicate with others. Sometimes it takes pulling off your shoes and socks, letting your feet feel the rhythms on an old wooden stage. Sometimes it’s just sitting down and looking someone in the eye and embracing their life, their struggles. But we all need to hear. To be Heard. The music that communication makes is priceless.
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