By Emily Sprinkle ’12

I received my first pair of hearing aids when I was five after being diagnosed with a mild to severe hearing loss bilaterally. I remember being overwhelmed with excitement over the fact that I would suddenly be able to experience the world in a way I was not privy to before. I was sure everybody would think the hearing aids were cool, and this solution to the unwelcome quirk I had learned to hate would be the reason for someone else’s envy. Much to my dismay, my classmates not only did not envy my strange new devices, but they made a point to laugh and stare at them. I used to try leaving them at home and pretending that I could hear what was going on, but that did not work very well. Let me tell you from experience, there is nothing more awkward than someone commenting on the heavy fog outside and me commenting back that frogs usually aren’t that heavy. I quickly became good at laughing off bloopers like that, but there are only so many times that it could happen before I realized that I needed to

bite the bullet and wear my hearing aids to school. Being the shy person that I am, it was hard to walk around wearing space-age like devices hanging off my ears. They consistently attracted more attention than I was comfortable with and unfortunately, there are not many ways to hide them.

My mom is an audiologist, so when I was little I accompanied her to work and liked to play with the special equipment. I remember a day when she informed me that a group of younger kids were coming in and would be excited to see a 4th grader wearing hearing aids just like them. My mom said that they were having trouble dealing with the disability and that maybe I could help them realize that it was actually pretty cool. Upon hearing this I was dumbfounded. How could I, a kid who was struggling with accepting hearing aids herself, help a bunch of younger kids to accept them?

The group walked in, and I started racking my brain for something to say to them. Would I say that it’s really not that bad? Should I just give up and tell them my tips for managing without hearing aids? Nothing seemed appropriate to say so I just stood there and waved. It was then that a little girl in a princess dress walked up to me and asked how I dealt with the bullies at school who laughed. I considered a few different vague responses, but then I noticed the group all looking at me wide-eyed.

These kids had self-confidence issues, and if they wanted to look towards me as a role-model, the least I could do was try. I started talking to her and before long I found myself in front of the whole group saying that no one can make you feel inferior but yourself. I told them that if they just walked with confidence, sooner or later the bullies would get bored and move on to someone else.

As they left, I considered the hypocrisy in what I just said. Why would I tell a bunch of little kids to do something that I didn’t even have the courage to do myself? After some heavy consideration, I decided to wear my hearing aids to school the next day. By following my own advice, surely I would be able to make some kind of difference in the situation. Much to my surprise, it actually worked. Once I started acting like it was no big deal, other people did, too.

Miraculously, what I learned that day has helped me tremendously. I no longer hide my hearing loss, instead I embrace it. It taught me not only to accept who I am, but to use it to reach and help influence the lives of others.