Actress and Honorary CEO Marlee Matlin gave this keynote speech at AOL & Dove's 2nd Annual Chief Everything Officer Awards luncheon, held May 17, 2006, at New York's Gotham Hall.
Thank you for that very nice introduction. I am truly humbled to be in the company of such deserving women -- these Chief Everything Officers -- who make a difference just by being themselves, by defying labels and pushing forward despite what society has told them they can and cannot do. I had never thought that living such a life -- one marked by the determination to conquer obstacles no matter what others thought possible -- would qualify me for such an honor. But if that's part of what being a CEO is all about then I shall wear the badge proudly. My life's path has certainly prepared me for this day.
Growing up in the suburbs of Chicago in the 1970s was not much different for me than it was for anyone else. In fact, life on Ozanum Avenue in Morton Grove, Ill., was pretty much like an episode of 'The Brady Bunch.' Every day was a "sunshine day" -- it was all about "keep on, keep on, keep on groovin." I had my hearing aid firmly planted in my ear and walked around like I was the most popular girl in town, an attitude my parents totally encouraged. I envisioned myself as a deaf Marcia Brady with long, luxurious hair, skating down the street saying "hi" to everyone in the neighborhood.
In our household it was all about chutzpah. To my parents, it was me, not my deafness, that was notable. Whether or not the world liked it, I was going to be treated like any child should be treated, with love and respect. So every day my parents opened the door and encouraged me to explore. They allowed me to roam the neighborhood on my own, walk to stores by myself and even let me meet new kids on my own. Yes, I was "different." And, yes, people were often cruel but -- deaf or not -- that was just part of growing up. Growing up as a Matlin, however, meant there was an answer for everything.
When kids made fun of my hearing aids, I would tell them they were just big globs of bubble gum. And when some kids made fun of my speech, my brothers would jump to my defense and say, "Our sister doesn’t talk funny. She just has a mysterious accent because our parents are foreign spies."
In our household it was all about chutzpah. To my parents, it was me, not my deafness, that was notable. Whether or not the world liked it, I was going to be treated like any child should be treated, with love and respect. So every day my parents opened the door and encouraged me to explore. They allowed me to roam the neighborhood on my own, walk to stores by myself and even let me meet new kids on my own. Yes, I was "different." And, yes, people were often cruel but -- deaf or not -- that was just part of growing up. Growing up as a Matlin, however, meant there was an answer for everything.
When kids made fun of my hearing aids, I would tell them they were just big globs of bubble gum. And when some kids made fun of my speech, my brothers would jump to my defense and say, "Our sister doesn’t talk funny. She just has a mysterious accent because our parents are foreign spies."
But it was when I faced my biggest barrier -- my own attitudes about my hearing -- that my parents helped me understand that deafness was all in my mind and not in my ears. It happened when they got the city to put up a big yellow sign right in front of our house that said, "Caution: Deaf Child Crossing." At first, I fought that sign hard; I thought it would remind people that I was "handicapped." But my mom and dad offered a different perspective. They told me that the sign wasn’t for the handicapped -- it was an announcement that people were coming to Marlee's neighborhood. Though it might have said, "Deaf girl lives here, you better slow down," they told me to see that the sign had another message. It said, "Hi, I'm Marlee. Want to stop by? I’ll be your best friend!" Besides, they told me, what other kid in the neighborhood had their own sign?!
Well, eventually that sign became one of the defining moments of my life, and for that reason, it's why I used it as the title of my first novel for children, 'Deaf Child Crossing,' about a young girl who just happens to be deaf, dealing with the ups and downs of growing up in a suburb of Chicago over the course of a summer. It's funny, it wasn't until I was researching the book, that I got my dad to admit that he had another motive for putting up the sign. You see, whenever my dad's poker buddies got lost coming to our house, he would just simply tell them: "Just drive around until you see that big yellow sign with the deaf kid warning on it and that’s where you know to park your car." No wonder no one ever got lost coming to our house!
This "can do" spirit -- the idea that I could do anything I set my mind to despite being deaf flowed freely from my family -- particularly from my mother. It was my mom who helped me discover my love for acting. She saw it as the perfect outlet for the girl who loved sitting down with a Judy Blume book in hand or in front of the bathroom mirror, performing stories and creating fantastic characters. You see, in my world of books and mirrors, there were no barriers. In books, I would never have to struggle to hear the printed word and in my mirror, everyone signed perfectly.
Well, eventually, my mother helped me find a more productive outlet -- the small community theater called The Center on Deafness -- a place that served both hearing and deaf children a few minutes away from our home. I was just 7 years old when she brought me there and as soon as I walked in I learned that they were putting on a production of 'The Wizard of Oz.' No need to tell you who got the part of Dorothy.
I've been acting ever since, but somewhere along the way, I stopped playing Marcia Brady. Today I am the mother of four. I am also a Girl Scout leader, cook, car pool driver, mediator, closet organizer and pretend math whiz. Whatever fantasies I entertained at 11 years old about being the beautiful Marcia Brady have given way to another reality: I have morphed into Alice. Goodbye Marcia, Marcia, Marcia.
Well, eventually that sign became one of the defining moments of my life, and for that reason, it's why I used it as the title of my first novel for children, 'Deaf Child Crossing,' about a young girl who just happens to be deaf, dealing with the ups and downs of growing up in a suburb of Chicago over the course of a summer. It's funny, it wasn't until I was researching the book, that I got my dad to admit that he had another motive for putting up the sign. You see, whenever my dad's poker buddies got lost coming to our house, he would just simply tell them: "Just drive around until you see that big yellow sign with the deaf kid warning on it and that’s where you know to park your car." No wonder no one ever got lost coming to our house!
This "can do" spirit -- the idea that I could do anything I set my mind to despite being deaf flowed freely from my family -- particularly from my mother. It was my mom who helped me discover my love for acting. She saw it as the perfect outlet for the girl who loved sitting down with a Judy Blume book in hand or in front of the bathroom mirror, performing stories and creating fantastic characters. You see, in my world of books and mirrors, there were no barriers. In books, I would never have to struggle to hear the printed word and in my mirror, everyone signed perfectly.
Well, eventually, my mother helped me find a more productive outlet -- the small community theater called The Center on Deafness -- a place that served both hearing and deaf children a few minutes away from our home. I was just 7 years old when she brought me there and as soon as I walked in I learned that they were putting on a production of 'The Wizard of Oz.' No need to tell you who got the part of Dorothy.
I've been acting ever since, but somewhere along the way, I stopped playing Marcia Brady. Today I am the mother of four. I am also a Girl Scout leader, cook, car pool driver, mediator, closet organizer and pretend math whiz. Whatever fantasies I entertained at 11 years old about being the beautiful Marcia Brady have given way to another reality: I have morphed into Alice. Goodbye Marcia, Marcia, Marcia.
