What the Mother of a Deaf Child Ought to Know

by John Dutton Wright

Talk about all these things often and brightly and you will find that school has become a most desirable and fascinating place, and that every night there will be a great satisfaction in climbing on a chair to scratch off from the calendar another day done before the joy of going there.

Then you can buy such delightful things to be put into that waiting trunk—things often to be looked at, but never to be used till that wonderful place is reached—long red and blue pencils, with rubbers on the ends; boxes of writing paper, all gay with pictures and exactly right for the first letters home; a foot rule, and, if you are a truly brave mother, a real jackknife to sharpen the same red and blue pencils and add to the joy of living.

It is absorbing work, too, to mark them all with one's name, so they may never be mistaken for any other little boy's property, and to make a place for a new toy or two, though if you are wise you will not buy many playthings now, but will save them to send later, one by one, by parcel post, to be received with a joy it is a pity you cannot be there to see, it will be so out of proportion to any other pleasure you could give by such simple means.

Of course, you must have some kodak pictures taken—ever so many of them—showing the family, the house, and the pets, as well as the boy himself. These are to be kept, too, to go in letters. They will be not only very precious possessions, but if they are labeled carefully they will be extremely useful in the classroom when your boy begins to learn to speak the names of the people at home.

Since they are to be used for this double purpose, be sure that each member of the family group is very distinctly marked, or the names of Aunt Mary and sister Helen may get hopelessly mixed in the boy's mind!

Finally, the last little garment and the last package is in the trunk, the last day is scratched off the calendar, and the boy himself is on the train. And now let me tell you something that you will not believe—that you will even resent, but which is perfectly true, and which I hope will comfort you a little when you say good-by to the boy—and that is this: it really is very unusual for a little child from five to eight years old to be homesick at school. There are so many distractions, so many new and curious things to see, so many interesting things to do, and there are so many other children all friendly and all happy, that even if your boy cries when you leave him, the probabilities are high that before you reach the station he will be playing—shyly or uproariously, as temperament may decide—but certainly happily, with some new-found friend.

One of the most delightful things about a school for deaf children is the way all the other pupils welcome, pet, and look out for a newcomer. Every one makes much of him, and it would be hard indeed to be lonely long in the midst of so much attention and friendliness.

And now a word about letters.

Before you sent the boy to school I hope you didn't fail to teach him to recognize the written names of the different members of the family, so that he might be sure to understand whom his first letters came from. And don't forget that he will be eager for letters! Too many mothers feel that it is useless to write to their children during their first year away from them. They are so sure that no word from them can be understood that they content themselves with sending inquiries to the proper authorities, and an occasional picture postcard to the children themselves, and fail to realize how soon their little boy or girl grasps the fact that the other children have real letters in envelopes, and that these come from home, or how sharp a disappointment it is when day after day goes by and brings them nothing.

If you could see, as I have seen, a letter, so worn that it was cracked on all its folds and dingy with much handling, carried day after day inside a little blouse, or guimpe, and put under the pillows every night, you would understand a little what those pieces of paper, covered with very imperfectly understood characters, but carrying love and remembrance from home, mean, even before the children can read them. And very soon, if you are an observant mother, your child will really be able to read them.