changing hands

Recently, my Little Sister decided that she wanted to "try her hand" at sign language and asked that I would be her teacher. She has been practicing the alphabet on her own and insists that we spend the majority of our time together signing. She is determined to become fluent and, knowing her, she will soon surpass my skill level! This has brought back memories of my own acquisition of sign language...

In the beginning...

My family lived in Virginia when I was in the fourth grade. I went to an elementary school filled with "brats" from the local Army base, and reveled in my nerdiness as a safety patrol officer and Odyssey of the Mind competitor. And one day on the playground I became friends with a girl named Stacey.

I was really mad at Stacey when we first met because she kept ignoring me. I would walk up to her and she'd turn away and do something else. I was just about to give up on making a new friend when a teacher called out, "Do you know that she is deaf? She can't hear you ask her to play." I suppose I looked confused. The teacher tapped Stacey on the shoulder, signing an introduction. I was fascinated, thinking, "You mean people can communicate solely through hand signals?" The petite blond girl broke into a grin and started signing in response, her hands a blur of motion. Our eyes met and I recognized immediately that we'd be fast friends.

For the next two years, my "regular" teachers partnered with the teacher of the deaf kids, Ms. Allen (not the politically correct way to say it, but how we referred to the classes back then). I was allowed to go over to Stacey's class for an hour or two every week, where I rapidly picked up ASL. And once a week, Ms. Allen would come to my classroom and teach all of the kids a few simple sentences to sign. At the same time, Stacey and I discovered we lived within a five minute walk from each other and regularly had sleep overs and play dates. Needless to say, she was as mischievous as I was... and a great teacher! I became functionally fluent in sign without even realizing it.

The college years...

Fast forward about eight years and at least four moves to my college years. During this time, I had very little exposure to anyone who signed, but I had decided I would be a teacher of the deaf like Ms. Allen. I was attending the University of Arizona, which happened to have a strong program in deaf education as well as a school down the street called The Arizona School for the Deaf and the Blind (ASDB). I dove into courses enthusiastically, but soon discovered that, for me, languages are not like riding a bike- I couldn't just jump back on and go. I decided that volunteering at ASDB might help me not only with fluency, but getting immersed in deaf culture.

On my first day as a volunteer, I was assigned to PE classes. Two were for deaf kindergarten children and one was a mix of deaf and blind autistic preschoolers. I had a blast playing with parachutes, scooters, and rock walls, and I learned more sign in three hours there than in an entire semester of college classes! Later, I was assigned to be an assistant to a self-contained, third grade class. I sat in awe of the teacher who worked with about twenty students, and just tried to keep up! I also had the privilege of attending a K-12 talent show, in which there was no sound except the inadvertent noises that the performers made as they signed. I loved the sea of waving hands in place of the applause.

At the same time, I was learning more and more about deaf culture. My classes required us to study the debate over schools' use of sign language versus lip reading, as well as the cochlear implant issue. We were asked to interview a deaf person about their experiences with prejudice, so I asked my friend, Josh. He suggested over TTY that we meet for dinner at a local place he'd been wanting to check out. When we met that evening, just as we had numerous times before, I was struck by how often people openly stared at us as we talked. I asked Josh how he felt about the staring. He replied that it had bothered him when he was younger, but that he'd grown accustomed to it and rarely even noticed it anymore. He said that people often stopped him and tried to pantomime or yell, asking him about his "condition." I thought guiltily of the times I'd tried to read the conversations of strangers when I'd first learned sign (the second time around). Soon afterward, the waitress came by to take our orders and looked to me. I stated my order, then looked to Josh. The waitress kept staring at me, clearly expecting me to "translate" for him. I was livid; he was obviously embarrassed at her lack of manners. I pointed to the menu and told the woman that she could try treating my friend with dignity and allow him to point out his choice, but Josh put up his hand and signed, "Let's just go." I never returned to that place. It was another moment of clarity: There are a whole lot of ways in which humans can make others feel excluded, unwanted, or downright undesirable. And what still gets me is how great a person Josh is- so intelligent and completely capable of success far beyond anything that waitress could hope to achieve (and did I mention he was cute?).

Moving on...

Upon graduation and obtaining my teaching certificate, I looked askance on my level of fluency and doubted whether I could be a good teacher at a place like ASDB. I felt that I needed more practice, so I agreed to become an interpreter to two boys at summer day camps in Tempe, AZ. I spent my days planning activities, playing with kids, going on fun field trips, and interpreting. In the mornings, I worked with Mitchell, a shy, tiny little boy- he was seven but looked five- and he tended to stick by me or play with his protective, 11 year old brother. I soon learned the jokes that made him giggle, and spent the entire summer subtly introducing him to other kids and making interactions as seamless as possible. I'm not sure how successful I was; Mitchell remained glued to my side to the end.

On the other hand was Ian. This pre-teen could never be described as shy! Naturally extroverted, charming, and handsome, he drew kids to him like a magnet. I felt unnecessary most of the time, except that we got along really well and he needed an interpreter to hit on the pretty junior high girls! :) If a sport was on the schedule, Ian was in the middle of the action, looking to me to translate his angry outbursts to the ref or other players. The boys respected his bravado and quickly fell to learning the signs needed to argue back. A few weeks into the afternoon sessions, the staff announced a multicultural theme. Ian begged me to help him create a session in which students "experienced deaf culture." Together, we created an hour long event which in which everyone could only communicate with their hands and faces and we watched an episode of the Simpsons in closed caption without sound (and if you've ever watched closed caption- it's often badly worded or missing lines and very hard to follow!). We then talked about the experience for participants. It was a huge hit, and only made Ian more popular with the entire camp. After the camp was over, I continued to babysit for Ian and his younger sister at their home. Not because Ian couldn't care for his sister, his mother explained, but because he dabbled with chemistry sets which made her concerned that he might blow up the house! That fall, he won a $5,000 scholarship from NASA toward either science camps or college tuition if he studied a field of science. He also continued to play as a power forward for a competitive soccer team. Clearly, Ian was not going to let a difference in hearing get in the way of his success!

And now...

Well, as I'm sure you know, I never did become a teacher for deaf students. I regret it at times, especially not maintaining my fluency in the language. It's been fun to practice with my Little Sister, though. Who knows? Maybe I will be inspired to refresh my memory regarding sign. Either way, I'm thankful for the handful of fun and inspiring experiences I have gained in my brushes with the deaf culture.