Raised by deaf parents, Cedar Rapids woman learned life’s lessons in sign language

As a child, Babs Haggin-Roy didn’t like her name. She wished she could have been Barbara or even Barb, but her mother chose to name her Babette.

In what may have been a fit of middle school angst, Babs asked her mother why she had chosen such a dumb name.

Her mother responded that she thought it looked pretty when she wrote it.

Immediately, Babs felt bad. She realized her mother would never hear her name, never know how it sounded.

Her mother was deaf. Her mother’s parents were deaf as well. Babs’ father was deaf too, the result of surgery that removed his ear drums and left him without hearing at 18 months.

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Without spoken words, Babs, of Cedar Rapids, said their home in Illinois, where she was raised, was quiet. No music, no singing, no telephone, no radio and no television. No 2-year-old tantrums, either. What would be the use?

Babs said her older sister Ann did not speak until she was 4 years old. A trip to the doctor confirmed what Ann’s mother already knew. She could hear. The doctor recommended that she go to preschool to learn to speak. That was the beginning of Babs learning to speak as well.

From an early age the girls were taught to be polite and well behaved.

“That was drilled into us,” Babs said. Their parents feared the girls might be taken by the authorities. Thinking in the 1950s was that it would be difficult, likely impossible, to give children a proper upbringing if you couldn’t speak to them.

At 12, Ann wrote out a list of questions for their dad.

“Am I pretty? Am I smart? Am I popular? Do I lose my temper? Am I stuck up? Am I mean, do I lose my temper?”

His responses provided a sound philosophy for raising any child — not just a deaf child.

“It’s better to be kind than smart. It’s better to be smart than pretty,” he wrote. “Are you mean? I do not think so. I hope you will be kind to all, even your enemies. It will serve you well. You do not lose your temper. If you do, it is rarely that you do. I always admire your sweet disposition so keep it.

“I always hope you will grow up to be a good woman and I will be very proud to say you are my daughter.”

He signed it, “Your loving dad.”

‘There’s a skill to interpreting’

The discipline and the resulting good behavior served Babs and Ann well. Not only were they allowed to remain in their home, they lived productive lives as adults.

Babs will retire in January after 46 years as a successful Realtor with Iowa Realty in Cedar Rapids.

Her sister, Ann Topliff, became a renowned interpreter for the deaf, working primarily in Colorado’s state and federal courtrooms.

“She was a big deal,” Babs said. She started the Center for Deafness in Denver.

Babs is quick to say that she isn’t an interpreter. She can sign and converse with people who are deaf, but no one would ever mistake her for a professional interpreter, she said.

“There’s a skill to interpreting, “It’s not just signing letters or words.”

“It’s hard,” she said. “An interpreter has to listen to what is being said and sign it, all the while listening to what comes next.”

She added that a simple change in emphasis can change the meaning of what is being said.

“You better hope the interpreter gets it right,” she said.

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Babs’ late husband Rondy Roy learned to sign as an adult with the help of library books. He wanted to communicate with Babs’ parents.

“My mother was thrilled he would do that,” Babs said. “If he had asked me to teach him, I’d have said ‘No, it’s too hard.’ He wasn’t fluent, by any means, but he learned enough to please my mother.”

Babs learned to sign from her parents. It was her first language and she learned it just like hearing children learn to speak — trial and error, repetition and patience.

A life of adaptation

Both of Babs’ parents worked in factories.

“Deaf people are good workers,” Babs said. “They don’t talk or gossip with co-workers. They just work.”

Before she learned to drive, Babs’ mother took the bus to a factory in Rockford, Ill., hoping to land a job. After the interview — conducted with written notes passed back and forth between Babs’ mother and her would-be boss — he concluded the interview with, “I’ll be in touch.”

Using the pen and notepad she responded one more time, “How will you do that?”

He thought about it and realized she was right. “OK, I’ll give you a try,” he said.

Babs’ parents, Dorothy Hart and Charles Sellers, met when they attended the Illinois School for the Deaf in Jacksonville, Ill.

Once there, Charles learned to sign and they both learned to read and write.

Babs’ mother was the valedictorian of her class and won a coveted scholarship to the prestigious Gallaudet College for the Deaf in Washington, D.C. She wanted to go but the scholarship was not sufficient to get her there.

Babs’ father’s parents were not deaf, so he lived a lonely life until he began living at the school for the deaf. Once there, he thrived. He made friends, learned to sign and met Dorothy, his future wife.

As a testament to his yearning for friends, Charles kept a notebook of quotes by famous writers about the importance of friendship. Babs treasures that little notebook. Some quotes hearken to those early lonely years while others revel in the friends he found once he attended the school for the deaf.

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His parents never learned to sign and therefore he was estranged from them for most of his life.

“He was always more comfortable with my mother’s family,” Babs said.

“It’s sad to be deaf,” Charles often said, “but it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Babs seldom gives advice to parents who have children who are deaf. But on this she is firm, “Don’t try to fix the child, and parents need to learn to sign.”

‘Everybody’s having such a good time’

The Sellers’ life had some ups and downs but there was plenty of laughter, Babs said, remembering the time her father’s taxes were audited.

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Babs volunteered to go with her father to meet the tax man.

“I got this,” he told Babs.

“No,” Babs insisted. “It’s too complicated.”

But he was firm, “I got this.”

When he returned, Babs asked him how it went. “It was fine,” he signed.

“He wrote something,” Charles said of the meeting. “Then I wrote something and he wrote something and I wrote something. He got tired first,” he said, savoring his victory.

When Charles and Dorothy had been married 45 years, their daughters threw an anniversary party for them.

“We hoped people would come,” Babs said.

They needn’t have worried. People came from all over Illinois and Wisconsin. There were classmates from the deaf school and friends in Rockford’s deaf community.

It was a simple gathering in a church basement consisting of a few decorations, refreshments and quiet conversation. When the party was over, their guests lingered in the parking lot.

Babs’ son Pete Haggin, then 8, observed the conversation of the quiet people in the parking lot signing their goodbyes.

“You mean Grandma and Grandpa never heard music?” Pete said. “They never heard a bird sing, a baby cry or anything?”

Babs nodded.

Then Pete added, “It was kinda weird to have a party with no music.”

He pointed back at the quiet people still reluctant to leave. “Wasn’t it great, Mom? Look at their faces. Everybody’s having such a good time.”