It was never in my life plan to become a humanitarian or philanthropist. I generally keep myself concerned with my kids, where we live, that we have food on the table and that I have a job to support those things. There’s no time to think about other people or their needs. It’s easier just to write a check and say, “Here, go get what you need”. Right? I know I’m right, because millions of Americans do it every day. Not because we’re lazy – well, maybe some of us – but because there’s a social acceptance of selfish behavior. Selfish behavior. Seems so harsh when you say it like that doesn’t it? That’s what it is though; when you think of no one but yourself, and put aside simple tasks to help others because it’s not convenient for you, that’s selfish behavior.

Allow me to preface this blog by saying, I am among the masses. I in no way point the blame finger toward anyone in particular but am merely making an observation based on my own experience of an epiphany I had today while doing volunteer work for the United Way (sponsored by my employer SAVVIS, Inc.). You see, I volunteered to spend a day working with deaf children and completing some maintenance tasks around the campus at St. Joseph’s Institute For The Deaf.  When asked about this opportunity, I was given a long list of very noble and worthy charitable organizations of which I could spend a day working. I chose the institute though, for obvious reasons. Yes, I’m deaf. Not the kind of deaf you’re thinking of where sign language is used, but I do have a profound hearing loss (can not hear below 95dB level) that requires me to wear 2 very powerful BTE (behind the ear) hearing aids. Without them, I’m useless as tits on a boar hog.

Going in this morning, I conjured up an emotion worthy of the visit and pumped my chest out as if to warrant the over prideful attitude I was conveying. “Hey look at me. I’m a do-gooder. I’m being charitable and giving to those in need.”

Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.

As my group of coworkers and I stood at the front of the cafeteria, waiting to serve breakfast to these audibly challenged youngsters, they began to walk in..and it hit me. All of the sudden. These were children with deafness and hearing loss JUST LIKE ME! Except, I’m an adult. I’ve had 34 years to get used to this. I’ve had 34 years to overcome the daily pain of not being able to enjoy the simple sounds of rain drops on the glass or the dog’s nails chattering on the hard wood floor as she walks. Sure, with the help of aids, I can hear many of those sounds and I can recognize them now. But what if you’ve NEVER heard what an airplane sounds like as it passes over by. What if you never heard the sound of water raging through a stream. I was one of these children, a long time ago. But I didn’t have modern technology. I had my family, my mom and my dad, supporting me, taking me to every single doctor they could to get me treated. I so badly wanted to wrap my arms around each and every one of these children and let them know, “It’s going to be ok. It will be hard some days and you’ll often want to cry. It’s ok though. Cry. But push through that pain and that frustration, and realize that you can be whoever you want to be. One day, you’ll be an adult, and you’ll be living in mainstream America just like any other citizen in this country. You CAN overcome this!”

I had the honor of sitting with some amazing children this morning. We spoke of our likes and dislikes. We spoke about my daughters and our pets. I asked them about their favorite things, like colors and music and activities. My heart felt so at peace and at home with these children. They all pointed at my aids and wanted to know, “Mr. Dave, why do you have implants?” Many of these children have cochlear implants and they look very similar to hearing aids. I was so proud to tell my story to them. I was proud to tell them what I’ve been through and how my life completely rocks in spite of my deafness. Their faces lit up, like bright beams of sun, all with the hope I believe I filled them with.

Through the rest of the day, I worked along side my coworkers cleaning windows, moving trash, picking up wood scraps and moving them, pulling weeds and spreading mulch. Each time as I would walk through the halls, one of those children from that first class would see me, and they’d get this giant smile on their face and wave at me. I of course reciprocated with a wave and smile.

What did I learn today? I learned something that my old friend and pastor Jeff Mannel taught me years ago. God didn’t put me on this planet to suffer with deafness. No, he put me on this planet to live with deafness so that I could endure the pain, overcome the frustration and one day help others do the same. My mom always told me there was nothing different about me compared to other kids, except that I was more special. She was right. I am special. And so are you. You have something in your heart, your life, your past, that you can use to help change the lives of others in a positive way. There is no reward for being born free of anguish, but out of suffering endured, you can help others live free of anguish.