Lorcan Fearon: My personal experience as a CODA

My two siblings and I were raised by two profoundly deaf parents, who were deaf from birth. It’s hard to think about how my life as a CODA is different to others as it’s all I’ve ever known.

What is it like growing up with hearing parents? I don’t know.

There’s all the CODA classics: tapping on the shoulder for attention, not calling out across the house, free reign of the fridge when the parents are asleep, making sure our faces have good lighting when we go for dinner.

I often threw my friends in the deep end when bringing them home to meet my parents for the first time. They squirmed, but they learned!

I used to be a keen drummer and my parents generously got me a drum kit for my birthday one year. It was in the same room as the family computer where my dad would often spend his evenings and weekends working with the EDSO (European Deaf Sports Organisation). I would come in, tap him on the shoulder and give him the nod. He’d turn off his hearing aids and I could thrash away.

My sister would practice her trombone until the early hours of the morning. Sure the neighbours loved that.

But if I had to sum up my upbringing as a CODA, it would be one of immense joy, love and laughter! Especially the laughter.

Our family and my parents have found themselves in many, many comical situations because of their deafness. We have many tales that we all sit, recount and just laugh and laugh and laugh. Having deaf parents has taught me a lot, but one of the most powerful lessons has been to see the funny side of life.

Having said this, if we didn’t laugh we would have to cry. Some parts of growing up as a CODA are tough. My mother is a highly intelligent woman and when we would pop into town or run an errand, it would be galling to see people, although mostly well-intentioned, speak to her like a child.

A parent remarked to my mother how impressed she was that she had managed to drive to our cub scout meeting…all by herself!

My father found himself being rejected for jobs he was overqualified for, in some cases they made it plain it was because of his deafness. He was told by one potential employer something to the effect of “you’re like a square block trying to fit into a round hole”.

There was one occasion where my father was horrifically abused outside of our family home, as he looked for our missing cat. What did my dad do to deserve being abused on his doorstep?

But this isn’t a pity party. And deafness isn’t something to pity.

Whenever I talk about my deaf parents, even with some of my good friends, there’s this look on their face.

Even when I say, just as I have told you, that my CODA upbringing was a joy I am met with nervous grimaces.

It’s frustrating, I want to talk and share my stories but for the most part, they look uncomfortable. Oh well.

Growing up, my parents’ deaf friends were like my uncles and aunties, their children like my cousins. We went on holidays together and grew up together. And there was no greater comfort as a child and even now in adulthood than being at a deaf event!

Those were the only functions as a child where I could truly relax. Everyone was either deaf or deaf-aware, I didn’t have my back up waiting for someone to sneer or make an ignorant comment. I didn’t have to think about whether my parents were following the conversation. I could play with the other kids and it was the best.

More recently, one of my biggest joys in life has been witnessing my mother reclaim her deafness. Educating deaf children used to be forcing them to assimilate. Deafness was something to hide, the just punishment for sins of a previous life. She took a BSL course only a few years ago, she demands her civil right to an interpreter, and to see her deaf pride blossom is a beautiful thing.

My father is heavily involved in the deaf community, especially with sports. He represented the Republic of Ireland at the Deaflympics multiple times. A living lesson in perseverance, strength and character. I’m not sure he’ll ever truly know just how much I admire and respect him.

My parents even met at Mary Hare, a deaf boarding school. They had basically zero chance of ever meeting. One’s a Catholic from the north of Ireland, the other a Protestant from Surrey (kind of a big deal back then!). So if my parents were not deaf, I would not be here. I would not have my life, my siblings, or anything.

Deafness bought me my existence, and the deaf community taught me more about life and what it means to be a good person than school, university or anything else did for that matter. I am forever and ferociously proud of my parents, my heroes in life. And I am immensely lucky, honoured and privileged to know, and be raised by, deaf people.

By Lorcan Fearon 

Lorcan was raised in Kent by his two profoundly deaf parents alongside his two hearing siblings. He works for a search marketing agency in Shoreditch, London and when he’s not fixing the internet, you can find him mixing records, missing his two cats and making electronic music badly.