Planned Giving

Three Life Lessons

I am pledging to give to Hearing Health Foundation because I hope discoveries funded by HHF can help us prevent or cure hearing loss caused by ototoxic drugs in neonatal intensive care units, which is how I developed my sensorineural hearing loss. I appreciate HHF’s commitment to being a good steward of the funds that enable groundbreaking research on hearing loss, prevention, and cures. Here is my story.

By Betsy Glick

Among other interests, Betsy Glick continues her artwork today with her pet sketching business.

Opposite page: Glick (on the right) with her twin sister Bari at age 3.

When I was in sixth grade, I was in the spelling bee. When I got to the edge of the stage to spell my first word, I found I couldn’t hear it. I thought maybe I heard the word fine, everything is fine, so I spelled “F-I-N-E, fine.”

But it was the wrong word, and everything was not fine. I tried again, maybe it was fun? So I spelled “F-U-N,” but it was the wrong word again. Now with my anxiety rising I stared desperately into the dark theater looking for clues.

Then my identical twin sister Bari came to rescue me. She walked across the

stage and stopped right in front of me and said, “Betsy, the word is vine.” Through tears I got the word right and ended up getting through several rounds, finishing 11th out of 300 contestants.

But by then, the word “vine” wasn’t a place where people picked grapes; it was how kids picked on me. When they passed me in the halls between classes, they’d pretend to rub away tears and blurt “vine” sarcastically between feigned sobbing.

My twin sister and I were born prematurely. I came out second, feet first, which is to say upside down from the way you’re supposed to come out. I was not breathing, and the drugs they gave me in intensive care gave me permanent hearing damage. In one fell swoop, I lost my ability to understand consonants and hear words in most situations.

As a youngster, I wore one hearing aid, because when at age 6 I was fitted for two, the experience was so overwhelming I threw one of them on the floor. Fast forward, and on that day at age 11 on the spelling bee stage, the damn hearing aid battery died—and right along with it, my self-esteem.

There are moments in life that define us; some are positive, and some cut us deeply. I have learned, though, that we have a choice to rise or fall. We can accept our challenges or run from them. This is what I learned from my impairment. I overcame my challenges and developed the skills and confidence necessary to become a national spokesperson, surpassing the spelling bee stage.

I chose to prevail instead of cower to the negative pressure. Now when I meet others who are struggling, with hearing or really any impairment that is holding them back, I like to share three lessons to help them move forward.

The first lesson that I learned is: It’s okay to be different. If you march to the beat of your own drummer, you’ll eventually find an orchestra that needs you. When I got teased as a kid, I became determined to prove I was neither deaf nor dumb. I never got used to the cruelty, and it fed my anger—but it also fueled my effort to succeed even more.

Since kids teased me about not being able to hear, mocking me for needing everything repeated, I learned to turn a deaf ear to the mockery. I chose to become helpful and kind to everyone because I knew what getting treated like crap felt like.

I developed workarounds when I could. I mastered hobbies where hearing really didn’t matter all that much— soccer, softball, basketball, art, piano, flute. Playing sports, if you keep your eye on the ball and have studied the game, memorizing plays and strategies, you can get by pretty well if you keep aware about where other players are, where the runners are, and where the ball is.

With music, I can hear most instruments without my hearing aids in, and I like how I can make and practice My twin sister and I were born prematurely. I came out second, feet first, which is to say upside down from the way you’re supposed to come out. I was not breathing, and the drugs they gave me in intensive care gave me permanent hearing damage. In one fell swoop, I lost my ability to understand consonants and hear words in most situations.

Growing up, Glick developed workarounds for her hearing loss, mastering hobbies where hearing wasn’t so important.

I didn’t realize it then but those tragedies were why I chose jobs where I could make a difference, where I can highlight the work of unsung heroes and perform my own kind of public service.

music without having to interact with someone talking. I can tell how loud I am playing by how hard I am hitting the keys (piano) or how much air I am forcing out on the instrument (flute). Learning how to make time for sports, music, art, and some parttime jobs led me to graduate high school ranked in the top 10 percent academically and with several varsity letters in sports and band. Later I graduated cum laude from the University of Pennsylvania.

I learned resilience, coping strategies, and good habits early on. Being the target of taunting taught me compassion. I learned to listen with my heart, push past failure, and ultimately triumph through sheer perseverance.

My second lesson is to recognize the mentors and friends who are your “angels.” I could not have succeeded without mine and I’m grateful for their help. You know who yours are—either we find these angels or they find us, or maybe nobody comes to mind for you because you had to be your own angel.

My angels include my mom, who stood up to the school principal and made sure I got accommodations so I could hear in class. My second grade teacher, Mrs. Mesnicoff, saw my potential and helped me to not only catch up with my classmates but also accelerate. My friend and Penn classmate Marty Gordon told me about an incredible NBC internship that really shaped my professional career.

And my former boss David Woods did something different with me than other angels: He called me on my B.S. He kept telling me, “Stop doubting yourself; you’re better than you think you are.”

Actually David and I taught each other something. He once wrote on my performance review the words “despite her hearing impairment,” following it with a glowing evaluation. When I saw that I challenged him to take the caveat out because I didn’t want to be treated differently. I want to be judged the same as everybody else. He later thanked me for teaching him how to focus on people as they are, not what they’re not.

My third lesson is to embrace your fears and challenges and make them work for you. As a child I escaped to my room, often writing and dreaming about the ideal world I wanted to live in, one that was kind and full of nice people, because in reality my world was neither ideal nor kind.

In first grade I got bullied and even pushed off the school bus. I cracked my chin and still have a scar that I hide with makeup. When I was a teenager my young dad died unexpectedly. Then my mom was in a car accident caused by a distracted driver and ended up in the hospital with broken ribs. And I saw a dear family friend suffer from her family’s substance abuse.

I didn’t realize it then but those

I want to be judged the same as everybody else. I want to teach others to focus on people as they are, not what they’re not.

tragedies were why I chose jobs where I could make a difference, where I can highlight the work of unsung heroes and perform my own kind of public service.

Ten years after my mom’s accident I became a spokesperson for the American Automobile Association, creating a Most Dangerous Accident Corridors report.

After my dad’s death and the life insurance benefits ended up paying for my Penn tuition, I orchestrated a national educational campaign called “Life Insurance. It Isn’t for the People Who Die. It’s for the People Who Live.” I’m living proof. The campaign that uses real life stories to encourage people to create a financial safety net still continues today.

After my friend’s home life was ruined by her relative’s addiction, I orchestrated national communications for 5,000 community antidrug groups.

Later, in complete contrast to all the bullies and tormentors who pushed me around and treated me like I didn’t matter, I was the employee handpicked by my bosses at the American Battle Monuments Commission to give actor Tom Hanks, the memorial spokesman, the very first official tour of the National World War II Memorial in Washington, D.C., immediately after President George W. Bush dedicated it in 2004.

Afterward, I joined Mr. Hanks at the newly dedicated World War II Memorial, located on the National Mall, to say thank you to the visiting World War II Medal of Honor recipients who risked their lives to defeat Hitler’s bullying and oppression.

In my work now I’m fortunate to help tell the stories of unsung heroes who safeguard our national security, developing informative workshops for the TV and movie industry as well as victim-focused television public service announcements. Most recently I helped bring a six-part true crime series to primetime on CBS, airing in the fall of 2020, that showcased a federal agency’s most complex and heroic crime-stopping efforts.

People have told me that I’m so lucky to work on such high-profile projects, and yes it takes a little luck to be in the right place at the right time. It’s also my own determination shaped from my experiences, my angels, and my personal choices that enabled me to embrace those opportunities once I got there.

For everyone reading this today, please keep your eyes and ears open— glasses and hearing aids or not—as well as your minds and hearts, and please remember my three lessons: One, it’s okay to be different; two, thank the angels in your life, or be one; and three, embrace your challenges and make them work for you—lean into them and see them as opportunities. There’s the saying, “You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.”

What ending do you want? I hope my story inspires you. Please, don’t let your dreams and opportunities die on the proverbial V-I-N-E.

This is adapted from Betsy Glick’s acceptance speech for the 2020 Joseph Wharton Award, given by the Wharton Club of D.C. Hearing Health Foundation sincerely thanks Glick for her support. A Virginia resident, Glick was also the 2019 Top Women in Communications Honoree by PR Daily for her extensive work in media relations. See her artwork at pets-by-bets.com.

Share your story: Tell us your hearing loss journey at editor@hhf.org.