“You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”

This quote by Eleanor Roosevelt is something that I remind myself of every now and then.  Fear is often the emotion behind the reason we hold back.  “What if…”

One of the hardest things for me to do with my boys was to let them play football.  It wasn’t that I detested the sport (slamming others to the ground, ugh!), it was the idea that they could lose more hearing by butting their heads into someone else’s.  We have a family history of people losing their hearing from knocking around our heads:

For many years, my family was unique when it came to stories about hearing loss. Everyone in my family, for five generations, was born with hearing in the normal range. My Mom started losing her hearing as a teen. She became deaf at the age of 27.

“I was at a family BBQ and all of a sudden, I realized I couldn’t hear anything,” Mom shared. “I could see that lips were moving, but no sound was coming out.” Just like that, my Mom became deaf. Her five siblings also were deaf or hard of hearing.

I have four older siblings. My sister, Linda, was almost three years old when she fell off of a chair and hit her head on the corner of a baseboard. Later that week, my Mom noticed that she wasn’t responding to people. She began to stop talking. She was diagnosed with a profound hearing loss. My brother, Dennis, grew up with normal hearing and at the age of 36, he was hit on the head by a wooden beam at work and woke up in the hospital with severe hearing loss. My sister, Jeanie, grew up with a unilateral hearing loss and around the same age as my mom, began losing more hearing. In her mid-forties, she slipped on a rug and became profoundly deaf. My brother, Kenny, developed a moderate hearing loss in his late 30’s.

I became very sick with a high fever as a child and my parents believe it was that illness which triggered my hearing loss when I was in elementary school. My first hearing aid was given to me when I was nine– but I only wore when at school. I found that it caused headaches and tinnitus and I often took it off after school and never touched it during the summer. When I was 19, I was water skiing on my bare feet at a high speed and fell sideways into the water. For weeks, I thought I just couldn’t get the water out of my ear. I had become profoundly deaf. From that point on, hearing aids were a constant thing in my life. Years later, my brother Kenny also lost some hearing from barefooting.

Whenever I would share my family’s story about how we all became deaf and hard of hearing, people would be incredulous at the events that lead to hearing loss. “Y’all need to stop banging your heads,” one person remarked.

Joe and I had long, deep discussions about whether or not to let the boys play football.   We both agreed that we didn’t want this gene to hold our family back– after all, my Mom went deaf in the middle of a conversation–she had done nothing to provoke the hearing loss.   My sister did not agree with our decision, she felt we were taking too much of a risk in allowing the boys to play a contact sport.  The kids have always known they could lose more hearing at any time, but I didn’t want them tiptoeing through life.

Last week, I found myself facing a little bit of fear that surprised the heck out of me.  I was up in Wisconsin spending three days barefooting with Joann O’Connor. We were kicking back after a great day of footin and had just finished dinner.  Joann casually suggested that I try some wake crossing the next day.  All of a sudden, I felt like the wind was knocked out of me.  “I don’t know about that,” I said.  “After all, that’s how I ended up falling and going deaf.”

Like I said, it surprised the heck out of me.  I had long ago accepted the transition from hard of hearing to deaf and was quite comfortable with my life.  There was a little tiny piece inside of me that wanted to hang on to the little bit of hearing that I had left with hearing aids.  I already knew what it was like to be stone deaf once the hearing aids hit the nightstand.  Was I ok with being stone deaf if I whacked my head again and all of it went poof?

Joann and I discussed it and I told her if I lost the bit of hearing that was left, I’d be ok with it.  I still wasn’t sure if I was going to tackle any wake crossing though.  Heck, I spent the entire summer trying to conquer a deep water start and I just wanted to learn to get back up on the water.  I had spent the afternoon trying one deep water start after another with no success.

It was 6:30 a.m. when Joann and I reached for the wetsuits and headed for the boat.  “Here, try the shoe skis,” Joann suggested.   No sooner did I stand up on the shoe skis then my feet went off in two different directions and I face planted.

“Hey, you stood up too fast!” Joann explained.  I gritted my teeth and leaned back in the water for a second try.  This time, I patiently planted my feet and got up slowly.  I could see Joann grinning from the boat.

I looked at the wake and all of a sudden I said to myself, “What the heck!”  I went for it.  I crossed over once, crossed over twice and by the third time… I was grinning back at Joann.

“You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”

Good ole Eleanor was right.

Tags: Inspirational Stuff by DeafMom
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I drove to Huzzy lake last week with great anticipation.  I had connected with the Kronewitter family via Facebook and for the first time in about 25 years, I was going to see them again.  The family was celebrating Andy’s birthday and I brought along a super soaker pump as his gift.  Not only was it a tribute to the fourth of July boat parades of the past when we would go around and soak the other boaters, but it was also a gift for traumatizing him as a kid.

In my teen years, I hung out with Andy’s sisters, Tammy and Tracy.  The three of us spent entire summers together on the water, sometimes skiing up to eight times a day.   In a previous post, The Older I Get, The More Adventure I Want, I wrote about them here:

Then there were the ATV toys that the Kronewitters brought into the picture.  They had two ATVs and a Dune Buggy.  The very first day that we unloaded the brand-new ATV off the truck, the youngest Kronewitter rode it into a tree and bent the foot rest.  That didn’t stop us. Tammy, Tracy and I would pack a lunch and hit the roads around the lake.  We explored abandoned houses and got lost a couple of times.  We built a dirt ramp in a field and borrowed Tim Brown’s dirt bike to add to the mix.  At one point, I had to go to the bathroom, so I rode the dirt bike home and headed inside.  Mom stopped me at the door.  “Whose motorcycle is that and why are you riding it?”  She was not pleased.

Fun was the operative word of my childhood.  Tammy, Tracy and I often came up with crazy ideas to pass the time.  We did an all-girl pyramid with me at the top.  We did three of us on two pairs of skis, with me riding in the back binder of each.  We tied ropes around black truck inner tubes which folded practically in half when pulled, but we hung on.  We boat jumped (don’t even ask).  We attempted to jump over each other with kneeboards–which ended right after I knocked Tammy in the head.  We settled for pulling up on the rope and jumping over the rope instead.  And one day, we had a competition with another boat on the lake, to see which boat could pull the most skiers.  We won, with eight.

(Tracy and Tammy on bottom, me on top)

One day, I drove up to the lake by myself for the week.  I invited a bunch of friends over that night and we sat around playing cards.  Suddenly, they all jumped.  “What’s going on?” I asked.

“There’s a noise coming from the bedroom,” one of them explained.  They all jumped again and some of them started to scream.

“Ok,” I said.  “Follow me into the bedroom and we’ll see what’s going on!”

I grabbed a monkey wrench and Tammy grabbed a broom and we all crept into the bedroom.  I flipped on the light.

Nothing.  We all relaxed a bit and then suddenly, the screaming began again.  The girls rushed back into the kitchen with me following behind.

“It’s coming from outside!” one of them said.

Another one screamed.  “It’s coming from that window!”

“Ok, we’re going outside,” I said.  “Jenny, flip on the floodlights and let’s head out.  If we all go together, whatever it is, we can handle it together.”

As soon as Jenny hit the lights, we saw them.  It was Andy and his friend, Billy.  We chased after them but they took off into the darkness.

So what do six scared girls do?  They plan revenge.

The next night, we removed a screen in Tammy’s house and crept inside the window.  We were armed with duct tape and ropes.  We tiptoed over to where Andy and Billy were sleeping and we pounced on them.  Duct tape went over their mouth and rope on their hands and feet.  We hauled them outside and tossed them into the rowboat and set them loose, minus the oars.  We sat on the bank and watched them wriggle loose as the sun came up.   As soon as they started paddling to shore, we took off.

Later that day, we held a meeting and declared a truce.  They never messed with us gals again.

So when I saw Andy again, I promised to reimburse him for any therapy that he needed as a result of that kidnapping.

“I sure hope you weren’t traumatized by that,” I chuckled as we reminisced.

“I’ve got some duct tape and rope around here to return the favor!” he said.

Tammy and me

Tammy and me on bottom, Tracy on top

Tags: Christie Lake Adventures by DeafMom
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Last year’s birthday and this year’s birthday– quite a difference!  Last year, I sat in the pontoon and had a moment of looking back on my teen years and crying.  At the age of 44, I figured the best years were over with.  No one was barefoot water skiing on the lake anymore and even the younger generation wasn’t taking up the sport.

Then the hubby sent me a fateful link to Judy Myers, the “Old Lady” who is now 67-years-old and competes in barefoot water ski tournaments.  In fact, she’s in Germany right now, competing in the World Barefoot Tournament.   Earlier this year, I went down to the World Barefoot Center and met Judy and Keith St. Onge and as soon as I put my feet on the water, I was bitten by the barefoot bug again.

I have been working up in Michigan this week and every day, I’ve been barefooting.  I accomplished one successful deep water start this week, my fourth one this summer (one step forward, twenty steps back, but I’m getting there!) Yesterday, I managed to pull a muscle in my back on my second run– I lost my balance on the kneeboard just as David hit the throttle and silly me, I pulled back trying to salvage the start. Ouch.

The best part of getting back into barefooting has been a surprising one.  My older friends are starting to rethink the process of getting older and changing some choices– they’re looking ahead with hope and inspiration– instead of the same resignation that I experienced last year.   I tell them stories about the 61-, 67-, 75-, 82- year olds that are out on the water.  And about Banana George who barefooted at the age of 94.  Inspiration is like a ripple: start one and the ripple goes on.   The stories aren’t about barefooting, they’re about challenging the “I-can’t-do-that-because-I’m-too-old” mentality.

Next week, I will be barefooting with 61-year-old Joann O’Conner, who learned to barefoot backwards just a year ago!  How’s that for inspiration?  And to top it off, she has a fused ankle!

So this year, I won’t be crying in the boat.  Instead, I’m going to calculate how many Motrin it’ll take to hit the water again.

Tags: Christie Lake Adventures by DeafMom
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It’s that time of the year again.  The “winding down” days of summer.  Summers at the lake are measured by the number of days that the pier stays in the water and as my family gets older, it seems like we take the pier out earlier each year.

But we’re not there just yet.  This week is family week– my cousins are up from Missouri and it’s a week of making memories.  My cousin Cheri and I have grown closer over the years.  We didn’t know each other much growing up, but we’ve fostered a friendship as we’ve gotten older.  I love her like a sister now.

As most of you know, my Dad is working on kicking cancer in the rear end.  He kicked it in the corner for a while, but we just learned that it has spread toward the lungs.  The doctor has suggested starting chemo again in a month.  Dad is going for a second opinion on my birthday and I’m hoping the new doctor will come up with some better ways to kick it back in the corner.

Speaking of my upcoming birthday, I won’t be crying in the boat like last year.  I’ll be celebrating on the water instead, barefooting and wakeboarding.   I took up wakeboarding for the first time a few weeks ago.  When I announced that I was going to try it, David raised his eyebrow.  “Are you sure you can handle that, Mom?”

Ooo, the kid rankled me up inside.  “Watch me!” I said.  I strapped myself to the board and got ready for a dock start.  David gunned the jet ski and I took off.

I faceplanted right into the water.

Uh oh, I thought to myself.  What have I gotten myself into?

Back on the dock, it took two more tries before I found myself balancing on top of the water.  I felt like a 12-month-old toddler who had just learned to walk.  I wobbled back and forth, trying to get used to the rocking board.  I didn’t get too far before I found myself embracing the water again, face first.

David circled around, expecting to pick me up and take me back for another dock start.  “I’m going to get up here,” I said.  I thought I saw David’s eyebrow raise again, but he caught himself in time.  He gave me some pointers on how to get up.

I popped right out of the water on the first try and had nice run.

Take that, son!

“I’m going to do a 180 tomorrow!” I announced.  David laughed.  This time, he definitely raised his eyebrow again.  “All right, Mom, I’d like to see you do a 180.”

I did the 180 on my first try and attempted a second one, but fell.  The dang kid missed the whole thing.  “I didn’t see it!” David said as he circled around.

“What do you mean you didn’t see it!  I did it!”

“You gotta do it again.  I want to see it,” he insisted.

I got up again and I made sure David was looking back when I swung the wakeboard around the water.  I did it a second time for good measure.  Then I promptly lost my balance and fell on my rear.

“Never doubt your Mother,” I told him.

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