Archives for December 2003

This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

Is it just me, or does the MCI commercial on television worry you, too?

It’s the one with a guy singing praise to MCI or whatever he’s saying. I have no idea what he’s saying because MCI, instead of captioning the commercial, has chosen to show closed captions about IP-Relay.

There are several other commercials that also put the TTY number (usually at the top of the television screen), when in reality the spoken words are providing the voice number.

Is this really acceptable? I didn’t really care before, and thought it was a great tool in publicizing TTY or relay services. But now, the more I think about it, the more I find it somewhat disturbing for one reason. If this trend continues, then people might think it’s okay to put in substitute messages instead of the actual text–and we might never know, unless we’re expert lipreaders or if someone notifies us. What’s to stop other companies from putting in their own messages/text instead of captioning the actual dialogue? Maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing, but the possibilities are not appealing to me.

I remember when I was little, I’d feel frustrated when Sesame Street ‘dumbed down’ its captions–Oscar would still be moving his mouth long after the captions, usually consisting of two or three words, ended. Captioning folks I spoke with said they reduced the number of words because deaf children’s literacy levels were so low. When I challenged this, they quickly changed their answers and blamed speed of dialogue for the dumbing down.

Whatever the reason–instead of having a bunch of hearing folks with probably very little direct experience (if any) with deaf people, I have a great idea. How about letting us decide for ourselves? Besides, MCI (or any other relay provider, for that matter) could do a television ad about relay services. Wouldn’t that be much better, and probably a great public relations move, for these companies? I don’t care if the money isn’t available. They certainly make enough money off my calls to produce a television ad.

Until then, I’ll just change the channel whenever the MCI ad comes on. I’d like to decide for myself whether I want to watch or not, thank you.

P.S. One of my first articles for this fine e-zine asked if anyone knew of deaf people working for captioning companies. The grand total to date is still at one hard of hearing person.

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This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

These are actual incidents that took place within the past few months.

At a NFSD brunch I recently attended, we were told of a conversation that an interpreter had overheard. The Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf girls’ basketball players had creamed a hearing team from River Falls, Wisconsin. One of the hearing kids was overheard telling one of the River Falls girls, “You got beaten by people who use closed captioning!”

So much for being called deaf and dumb.

At the same NFSD brunch, I was seated at a table with a married couple, both CODA and the only hearing people in the room. As I was chatting with them, they suddenly looked at the waitress, who had asked, “Anyone here who can hear?” So they identified themselves as being hearing. Later, the waitress (who never once tried to communicate directly with the deaf customers) came back, pointed at the male CODA, and called, “Hey, you hearing man!”

So much for identities.

I had a guy come to fix our modem, which had been down for a few days. When I realized he was at the door since my dogs were barking wildly, I was puzzled – I hadn’t seen the doorbell light flash, even though I was seated right in front of it for an hour. I asked the man – who has a deaf cousin – later, “Did you press the doorbell?”

He responded, “No, how would you have heard it?” His plan, he told me, was to stand there and wave at me through the door (which has a very narrow window) until I noticed him. When I pointed out the light to him, his jaw dropped.

So much for accessibility.

I went to Barnes and Noble to pick up a couple of crossword puzzle books. While I was at the register paying for the books, I was talking with my boyfriend on my Sidekick. The clerk spoke to me, so I looked up and indicated that I was deaf by the good ole point-to-ear-and-shake-head-no. I pointed to my check card on the counter, and went back to my pager.

As the worker gave me the receipt to sign, she suddenly stopped, as if a thought had just occurred to her. “Um… can you sign… um… can you write?” she asked, making gestures as if signing a receipt. Thrown off, I looked at her, and nodded. My boyfriend says I should have given her my business card, which clearly states my profession: “Trudy Suggs, T.S. Writing Services.”

So much for overcoming stereotypes.

Happy Holidays.

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This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

I can’t count how many times I’ve been at gatherings, sitting in a circle chatting, and suddenly realize that most of the people in the circle have deaf parents. I’ve always been fascinated by the phenomenon of deaf people who have deaf parents (or DOD–Deaf of Deaf) gathering with each other unplanned. And I’ve been told by deaf people who have hearing parents as they roll their eyes, “Nothing new! Deaf family always group-group, reject hearing family!” Even though most DOD people socialize with all types of people (it’d be impossible not to), I started wondering why this congregation tends to happen. The number of DOD people is supposedly now at seven percent, down from ten percent.

How is it that such DOD folks, as few as they are, seem to always end up together at events?

So I decided to survey several DOD people to find out why this natural attraction to each other happens. Mind you, the folks I surveyed are hardly elitist. Some are married to hearing spouses; others to deaf spouses from hearing families; some are partnered with other DOD people; some are from public school backgrounds; others are from deaf schools; and so on.

Yet most of the people I talked with said the same thing: it’s probably because we grew up in the same culture with the same values. When we get together, even if our backgrounds are vastly different, we automatically chat as if we’ve known each other all our lives. It’s also easy for us to quickly detect a person is from a deaf family. Perhaps it’s the language fluency. Perhaps it’s the deeply embedded cultural aspects of having grown up with minimal or no communication problems. Or perhaps it’s just because we all come from the same childhood.

The respondents were also in agreement on one thing: it’s almost never intentional. I often find myself feeling a strong, unspoken kinship with DOD people and CODA, even if I meet them only once. I can’t explain why. When I’m with these people, I know we share an intimate understanding of how it is to grow up attending deaf events as early as a baby, seeing our parents go about their lives, and having full access to their conversations and thoughts.

There is a family here that I visit often. As I chat with the deaf parents, their three deaf kids often sit and watch our conversations, soaking up every word. This always takes me back to my childhood, when I would sit and watch my parents talk to their friends, absorbing everything, especially the adult topics and cuss words. This is an experience that can be best understood by those who had parents that provided full communication access, such as hearing of hearing or DOD.

I wonder: if DOD folks formed an organization of sorts–much like CODA International–would it cause bitterness among the rest of the deaf community? Would we be ostracized as being too elitist carrying a hidden agenda? Hard of hearing people have their own groups, late-deafened people have their own groups, oral people have their own groups, and so on. But they aren’t called elitist, are they? Hmm.

What I do know is that deaf individuals who have deaf parents have a natural, unintentional bond. And I will never, ever apologize for this bond.

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This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

As I walked into Target, I saw a beautiful yellow lab in front of me wearing a yellow hearing dog vest. I quickly checked if the woman walking the dog was anyone I knew, but she wasn’t. She went to the customer service desk, somewhat struggling to walk the dog as she pushed a cart, and started speaking easily to the customer service representative. Obviously she was either hard of hearing or could speak well (she had no hearing aids on, but seemed to understand the representative’s spoken words as she looked away)–and I started thinking. Why would she need a hearing dog in Target? Why would anyone, for that matter?

Mind you, I think dogs are the best companions on this earth. Ask my friends and they’ll tell you I can literally talk for hours about dogs. I am blessed with two dogs, and wish every single day that I could own thousands more. I probably can understand better than anyone why people would want to bring their dogs anywhere. I believe hearing dogs serve a wonderful purpose, especially when at home. I’d love to have one someday.

But hearing dogs in Target? What’s up with that? Are there dangers lurking around every aisle corner in the store? Running children and aggressive cart-pushers will be in your way, dog or no.

Once, I helped organize a health care reform panel, with distinguished panelists. A deaf panelist brought her hearing dog–an adorable mini-poodle–up on stage with her. I wasn’t sure what the dog’s role was, when all the participants were deaf and there were interpreters standing by. Needless to say, it became distracting to watch the dog instead of the panelist.

Many people have gotten fake IDs or claim that their dogs are hearing dogs in order to have their dogs travel with them on planes and go into specific places. In fact, I did that once. I went on a solo camping trip to the Rocky Mountain National Park, and found out that they didn’t allow dogs on most trails. Since I was alone and couldn’t just leave the dog in my truck, especially after driving hours to get where I was–I decided to tell the park ranger that my dog was a hearing dog. I didn’t have an ID or anything, and would have left if they said no. But they believed me, and we hiked happily all day. I think this is called working the system.

Still, would I ever try to bring a hearing dog (or claim that my dog was one) in a store or a movie theatre? I don’t think so. I like to believe that I’m independent enough that I can navigate a movie theatre or a restaurant using the best tools I have: my eyes and common sense.

To each his own.

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