Deaf Bothell football player shines

BOTHELL — Everything goes silent in an instant.

Students stamping on bleachers. Coaches screaming from the sideline. Referees blowing their whistles. All vanish.

When Bothell High School's Thomas Guidon's hearing-aid battery fails, that's the only time, in football or in life, that he feels disadvantaged, vulnerable.

The staccato of opponents' footsteps disappears, and he's left with only his sight as his defense. The next thing he knows, his helmet's in the turf after a block he never heard coming.

"I get really upset when that happens," he says. "I like to be the hammer. Not the nail."

Guidon was born deaf. But that hasn't stopped him from hammering kick returners for three years for Bothell, the second-ranked team in Class 4A and last year's state runner-up.

And this spring, Thomas will become the first deaf student in the history of the Northshore School District to go from the first day of kindergarten to high-school graduation as a mainstream student.

"He's truly a success story as far as inclusion," said Sonya Garrett, his educational interpreter provided by the district for the past 14 years.

Between vibrations of text messages from his friends and girlfriend, Guidon shrugs off any notion his hearing has held him back.

Guidon plays football and he pole vaults. With the help of his hearing aid, he plays the drums and listens to hip-hop. He's an avid reader and even more enthusiastic about fishing. Calculus terrifies him. And occasionally, he'll sleep in class (often advanced biology. Sorry, Mrs. Barrows.).

He is 5 feet 11, 180 pounds; he hasn't grown much since middle school. His speech and lip-reading, though, have grown vastly since then, so much that he can navigate the most difficult of adolescent scenarios: the high-school lunch table.

"I'm just a typical teenage guy," he says.

As he says that, his mother, Brenda, beams from across the Guidons' patio table. That's what she and her husband, Dan, always wanted, ever since a summer day 16 years ago. That day, angels above gave a sign that they should have their infant son's hearing tested.

A family's vision

Five jets of the Blue Angels soared in formation above during a family trip to Seafair. Brenda rushed to cover Thomas' ears. The crack of jets breaking the sound barrier didn't distract Thomas, then 18 months old, from watching a bug on the ground.

He didn't even look up.

The diagnosis — profound deafness, the most severe degree of hearing impairment — confirmed earlier fears. Thomas always reacted to movement, never to sound.

His parents immediately started Thomas in speech therapy and began sessions with audiologists, who treat and manage hearing problems. At the time, the only educational program offered in the Northshore School District for hearing-impaired students would separate him from his next-door neighbor, Robbie, and the rest of his friends.

When he was 4, Thomas and his mom drove past Frank Love Elementary School, less than a mile from their home. Thomas glimpsed the kids playing at recess.

"I want to go to school there with Robbie," he told his mom.

"That," Brenda says, "is what started the whole adventure."

The Guidons fought to move Thomas into the same schools as his friends, a struggle that almost went to court.

"Thomas' parents have always had a clear vision for the life they wanted for Thomas," said Lynn Brewer, special-education coordinator at Northshore School District. "They have been wonderful advocates for him."

"Get the ball. Run"

Thomas flourished. He did well in class; he did even better in sports. He was one of the fastest, strongest kids in school, and excelled in wrestling, soccer and track.

"I remember soccer; he was the fastest kid out there," said Craig Monson, Guidon's teammate and classmate since elementary school. "He never got tired."

Guidon started playing football in eighth grade at Canyon Park Middle School. As a running back, he began with an organic strategy: "Get the ball. Run."

Bothell coach Tom Bainter can't forget the first time he saw Guidon's plan in action.

It was an eighth-grade game between Kenmore and Canyon Park middle schools. On the second play, Guidon dashed past everyone for an 80-yard touchdown. Bainter asked who the quick kid was, and learned that Guidon came with an interpreter.

"Wow," Bainter said at the time. "He can make it happen here. We'll make it happen."

Guidon made it happen, earning a varsity spot as a sophomore on special teams, covering punts and kickoffs. Bainter discovered he was welcoming two additions. Garrett, Guidon's interpreter, doesn't miss a practice, a game or even a summer camp. She helps interpret every film session, every scouting report, every halftime speech.

Yet when he's on the field, Guidon is on his own. Bothell is no ordinary high-school football program, having made the playoffs the past seven years. Bainter's complicated schemes almost always call for changes before the play, which the coaches shout from the sideline. Guidon doesn't always understand, and sometimes he has to make his own adjustments.

"Thomas almost has to know the game plan as well as the coaches," Bainter said. "If he doesn't, he's going to be in the wrong set or the wrong front or the wrong blitz. That's been his biggest challenge."

Guidon has taken on challenges as long as he can remember. He has more to come, including plans to attend a four-year college, maybe as far away as New Jersey, to pursue a career in the outdoors.

He'll miss football, particularly special-teams coverage, where he excels. For a few plays every Friday night, Guidon basks in his element.

Then, he doesn't have to hear the coaches on the sideline.

Then, it's as simple as this: Run. Get the ball.

Then, Guidon becomes the hammer.

And not the nail.

Tom Wyrwich: 206-515-5653 or twyrwich@seattletimes.com