Archives for January 2004

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

A few weeks ago, I told a 16-year-old boy that his ASL was wonderfully fluent. He looked surprised, but grinned as he thanked me.

I did this because of a father I met a few years ago. I was asked to give a particular speech I had done at an earlier conference, this time to a group of parents. At the end of the speech, there was a question-and-answer session.

A father of a 14-year-old boy went into an explanation of how his “hearing-impaired” son was obviously smart, but he found it frustrating that his son struggled with where to place commas. I glanced over at his son sitting next to him, and the boy was clearly embarrassed. The father ended by asking if commas were found in ASL.

I thanked the father for asking a good question, and explained that there are the equivalent of commas (head pauses, body movement, etc.) in ASL. I also said gently that I, as a deaf person, would be more concerned about whether a deaf child could read Hemingway or communicate his feelings. I added that I preferred to encourage deaf children in expressing themselves, rather than pigeonhole their comma use. The boy smiled at me and nodded in gratitude. The father sat down, deep in thought. After the session, the boy approached me shyly, and I was blown away by how intelligent he was, and how gentle yet beautiful his signing was.

That afternoon, as I drove the 90 miles back to my home, I wondered: had anyone ever told the boy how good he signed? I immediately regretted not having told him.

Here’s why. When I returned to public school as a young teenager, my ASL was criticized by an interpreter who would laugh and mimic my speedy signing by voicing in shrill tones for the benefit of the hearing students. After a while, I started refusing to go to class, so Mom notified my guidance counselor/interpreter coordinator, who was also a CODA. He immediately took care of the situation. Even though the interpreter and I eventually became good friends, I still get self-conscious nowadays about my ASL. If only someone had told me back then that my ASL was beautifully fluent. . .

I promised myself on that drive home that I would start praising deaf people—especially children—on their ASL. They get criticized enough on their English and speaking skills, but are rarely complimented, if ever, on their ASL fluency.

Won’t you please do the same today, and praise a deaf person’s ASL?

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

We’re well into basketball season, and I’ve become a basketball widow for the ninth year. Randy, my partner, is the head coach of the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf boys varsity team, and I try to go to as many games as I can.

There’s almost nothing more American than attending high school games. The athletic talents the young fellows at MSAD have are just amazing, and I’ve seen some of them grow from little boys into young men. Each game I go to–whether the team loses or wins–makes me go home feeling uplifted and inspired. The moments of disappointment and joy hold wonderful life lessons for me.

Case in point: I was at an invitational tournament over the weekend at Pillsbury College in Owatonna, Minnesota, a Baptist college. The boys were playing a team that was expected to win. The game started out 0-7, MSAD down. The referees made some unfair calls, and many of us protested, saying among ourselves ‘hate deaf, favor hearing!’–the age-old gripe from deaf fans. It probably wasn’t true, of course, but it made us feel better saying things like that; it was our duty as fans.

After a few baskets, MSAD suddenly hit a three-pointer and managed to climb its way into the lead. The game ended at 59-44, in favor of MSAD. In addition to the excitement and loud roars from the MSAD crowd throughout the game, the other team was so frustrated at one moment that one of its own players, #20, walked up to #33 and grabbed his chest, spewing anger. The coach called a time-out, and #20 started spewing at everyone so much that the coach had to literally and physically push him down into his seat. This, of course, thrilled the crowd, and some people said, “Good, teach #20 a lesson!” While this was hardly mature behavior on the crowd’s part, it was all in the name of the game. But the lesson I took from this incident: no matter what we do, it has an effect on others. #20’s angry outbursts definitely lowered the morale of the opposing team, and I’m sure, embarrassed the team.

Even the hearing fans in attendance for other schools were cheering for MSAD. Was it because MSAD has a great team? Or was it because they wanted to root for the underdogs? Or because they wanted to see “deaf” succeed? I wondered, but didn’t care, as long as we could shout and clap all we wanted. Ultimately, the boys came in second at the tournament, as did the MSAD girls.

Watching these kids play a competitive game in a small town in the middle of Minnesota–now, that’s my idea of good, clean fun.

Copyrighted material. This article can not be copied, reproduced, or redistributed without the written consent of the author.

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

The State of Virginia apparently believes that deaf people walk using their ears.

It’s the only reason I can think of why Virginia grants disabled license plates to deaf residents so they can park in handicapped parking spots.

I didn’t believe that this could even be possibly true when I was first notified. I went to Virginia’s Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) website to check it out–and sure enough, it’s for real.

“DMV offers parking placards and plates for customers with temporary or permanent disabilities that limit or impair their mobility. They are also available to customers with a condition that creates a safety concern while walking (examples are Alzheimer’s disease, blindness or developmental amentia),” the website said. “These placards and plates entitle the holder to park in special parking spaces reserved for individuals with disabilities. Institutions and organizations that operate special vehicles equipped to carry persons with disabilities may also obtain parking placards and plates entitling them to special parking privileges.”

On the application form, under “Permanent Disabilities,” the applicant is to choose one of the following that best describes him:

“Has been diagnosed with a mental or developmental amentia or delay that impairs judgment including, but not limited to, an autism spectrum disorder; has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease or another form of dementia; is legally blind or deaf; Other condition that creates a safety concern while walking because of impaired judgment or other physical, developmental, or mental limitation.”

Uh… do deaf people really want to align themselves with disabilities where mental functions are challenged? Wouldn’t that pretty much support the notion that deaf people are helpless, lacking, and ‘impaired’? Doesn’t that contradict with the whole notion of resisting the “hearing impaired” label?

I, for one, think the idea of deaf people with no other disabilities using handicapped parking spots is ridiculous. I can understand deaf people with additional disabilities having disabled plates–that’s completely justified. But to be deaf and want disabled plates just to get handicapped spots? I don’t care if the plates come in handy for holiday shopping in December. It’s just silly, and a flagrant abuse of the system, even as legal as it may be in Virginia.

Besides, what’s wrong with walking?

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

I feel old-fashioned, because I prefer using Internet relay rather than using video relay services (VRS). Whenever I tell friends this, they look flabbergasted. “But you strong ASL! Why prefer type? Time waste, slow.”

I can’t seem to get comfortable with VRS yet, even though there are so many pluses to using VRS. When I called my grandmother using VRS for the first time, her immediate response was a surprised “Oh, this is fast!” It was definitely much more convenient for me to use my native language, and I loved how quick the conversation was. It was so much more natural for both my grandmother and me.

But I hated not being able to save the conversation, and I hated not being 100% in control of the words used. That’s the control freak in me: I like knowing that the words spoken are the exact words I have in mind. When I use interpreters in “real life,” I monitor, usually by lipreading, the interpreters constantly to make sure they’re speaking the exact words I have in mind. It’s a bit harder to lipread VRS interpreters, and that’s a drawback for me.

I also feel almost a bit too exposed when I use VRS. It’s that much less private for me, even if I have no idea of who most of the VRS interpreters are, and they’re bound by ethics. I just feel exposed when I discuss personal matters via VRS.

Good example: I received a letter from the Internal Revenue Service saying I owed back taxes to the State of Illinois for the year of 2001, even though I didn’t live in Illinois that year. So I had to call and try to straighten this out. Before I gave the phone number to the VRS interpreter, I felt compelled to defend myself, explaining to the poor interpreter that I didn’t owe taxes, was a law-abiding citizen, and didn’t owe anything. After it was confirmed that the letter had been sent to me by mistake and I was disconnected from the hearing caller, I smiled and said, “See? I knew I was innocent.” The interpreter nodded politely with a knowing smile, and we hung up. She probably thought I was crazy.

I don’t think I’d have felt as self-conscious if there hadn’t been a face staring back at me on my computer. I’ll continue to use VRS whenever I can, but if it’s a personal matter, I’ll use Internet relay services. I guess I’m just funny that way.

UPDATE (10/07/05): I now prefer VRS to Internet Relay. 🙂

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