Archives for May 2004

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

Mary Thornley, a TTMW columnist, wrote a fantastic e-mail in response to my column last week about people asking me to slow down my ASL. Portions of her e-mail follow:

In regard to Trudy’s article about signing rapidly, and that she has never known a deaf person who asked her to sign more slowly; I am deaf and grew up oral. I learned sign only lately, and I have occasionally asked other deaf to ‘pls sign slow for me.’

Everyone thinks a deaf person who is learning sign is ‘odd’ although I don’t know why when we know sign has been targeted for eradication for many years.

I remember in graduate school (not a deaf campus) one professor often said to me, “Oh I love sign language!” every time she ran into me even though I had told her more than once I did not know sign. She didn’t know sign either. Maybe she just couldn’t think of anything else to say.

When I arrived at Gallaudet in 1999 I began attending sign classes. Often I would be the only deaf person in the class. The others, mostly staff, would stare at me as if they were thinking, “What are you doing here?”

The attitude is akin to oralism. Anyone who does not know sign must ‘pick up the language’ through exposure or immersion. No one should ask anyone to repeat or slow down–the same things I was told as a lip-reading child in grade school.

Of course Trudy’s complaint is not about others asking her to slow down but that they present their request as a criticism: she should not be signing fast. Trudy would like to have the same freedom in using her language as hearing people enjoy, and she would prefer that hearing people don’t feel it’s okay for them to criticize her delivery.

Trudy, I might need to ask you to slow down sometime. I hope this is okay.

My mother didn’t learn sign language until she was 17. She knew how to fingerspell, but she functioned as a hearing person growing up. My family has long found this fascinating, considering she’s the most deaf of the family, audiologically-wise.

She is today culturally Deaf, and continues to be able to speak very well. What this has made for is an odd style of ASL. She mouths a lot as she signs, and uses a lot of initialized sign–yet her signing is still ASL in a peculiar way. I’ve long given up on trying to describe it, because her ASL is truly something you have to see for yourself.

Her unique style of signing has created for a lot of nasty situations. When my mom and stepdad were in town one weekend, I took them to a spaghetti dinner benefit at a Deaf club. The clubhouse was packed, and my stepdad, a fluent ASL user, was seated at a table chatting with one of the local deaf leaders. I was in line for my food as I watched them chat.

Mom walked over to sit down at the table. The deaf leader looked at Mom asking my stepdad to get napkins. What she did next, I’ll never forget: she frowned at Mom’s signing, and shook her head in disgust. She then made a show of turning her back to my mother. My heart broke when I saw the hurt and humiliation on Mom’s face.

I got my plate, and walked to the table. The deaf leader lit up as she saw me and said, “Hey! Me introduce you to man…” I told her that he was my stepfather. She smiled as if this made sense. I asked, “Have you also met my mother?” As I pointed to my mother, the deaf leader looked visibly stunned. “That’s your mother? But you two look so different!” I nodded, and ignored her for the rest of dinner.

This, my friends, is why I refuse to ‘reject’ Deaf people who may be oral or slow in their signing. How could I reject my own mother? So, Mary, I will happily sign slower for you. If you’ll be patient with me, I’ll be patient with you.

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.

Whenever an ASL student or interpreter approaches me and says, “Gosh, you sign too fast!” I often grimace silently to myself.

I know they don’t mean anything personal by saying that, but it does strike a nerve. It’s not because of my high school interpreter constantly mocking my signing speed. She would, for the benefit of hearing students, mimic my signing speed by speaking quickly using nonsense words. The students would crack up or nudge me knowingly whenever I signed and the interpreter became lost, even if I signed slowly and in English order. She truly had an impact on my confidence about my ASL for years. I’ve written about this many times, and will always write about it because it’s a disgraceful example of interpreting. But that’s not the reason I grimace.

The real reason is because when a hearing, non-native user of ASL tells me I sign “too” fast, the burden of not communicating clearly is placed squarely upon my shoulders. A person who uses ASL as a second language is telling *me*, a native user of ASL, that I am the one who causing the communication barrier? I often respond with a wry chuckle and sign, “Or maybe you eyes-receptive slow!” and throw the hot potato back.

I can certainly understand the need to slow down for presentations and/or workshops–and I *do* sign fast. But is going up to someone and saying, “You sign too fast” really an ideal solution? What is “too” fast? Interestingly enough, when I told other native signers I was going to write about this pet peeve, they all nodded in agreement. One of them said that he is told he signs “too fast” by hearing people all the time, but never by another deaf person. As he said that, I realized that it was true for me, too–never has a deaf person told me that I sign “too fast” or even “fast.” Go figure.

So, how about this: if you’re a hearing signer who truly finds someone’s signing faster than you can understand, ask with a smile, “I’m slow at understanding ASL, would you mind slowing down a bit?” Accept the responsibility of being the one who carries the communication barriers, rather than dumping it on the deaf person. And please don’t sigh and say “Too fast!” as you shake your head in disbelief. This will bring increased patience on both sides of the issue. Or at least for me, anyway.

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.

Mrs. Most, Mr. O’Donnell, Mr. Kendrick, Mrs. Hummel, Mrs. Bruner… That’s how I remember my teachers: by their last names. Of course, I don’t sign the “Mr.” or “Ms.”–I sign their last names (or in Mrs. Hummel’s case, a K-H diagonally across my chest). Ask me their first names, and I’ll have to think a bit before responding.

Yet, last week, I watched as kids at a track meet talked about teachers, the principal and the superintendent by their first names. Name signs were used, but when spelling out, the first names were always used instead of the last names. Coincidentally, a friend had paged me about this same topic and said he couldn’t imagine ever calling his teachers by their first names even though he grew up at a deaf school and came from a deaf family.

I started asking friends who worked at deaf schools to see if this was the “Deaf way” or more of changing times. Most said students call them by their first names, or more commonly, their name signs. Their name signs usually were initialized signs of their names (i.e. R-S, J-J, S-B, and so on). But those who didn’t have name signs were called by their first names. However, one person also noted that older teachers–those well into their 60s, or already retired–often had name signs that used the last names only, which he felt was a sign of changing times.

Do students today feel more comfortable using first names because we are such a close-knit community, or because they have less understanding of the line between student and teacher?

My name sign is a “T” on the chest. Most people call me “Trudy,” though. I’m fine with either, regardless of how old you are.

******

Many months ago, in Week #3 of this column, I wrote asking where the deaf people were at captioning companies. To date, I’ve learned of one hard of hearing guy who works for NCI; and then two who work for private, small captioning businesses. But I still don’t know of any deaf people who work at NCI, CaptionMax, or any of the other heavy-hitters in the captioning industry. Make what you will of that.

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.

I first saw DEAFULA in the mid-1990s, and for the next 10 years, I searched high and low for a copy of the movie. A couple of weeks ago, a friend finally found it on a website that specialized in hard-to-find movies–and I was thrilled. I quickly ordered it.

As soon as I got the DVD, I sat down to watch it. I was once again transported into the 1974 movie’s cheesy and hilarious dialogue. The movie, an adaptation of Bram Stoker’s DRACULA, is done entirely in sign language with voice-overs. The lead character, Steve Adams/Deafula, is played by the movie’s producer, Peter Wolf (Wechsberg), who went on to produce movies like THINK ME NOTHING and I LOVE YOU, BUT. . .

Although the costumes were a bit tacky (Deafula had an unrealistically huge nose), and the dialogue made me roll my eyes sometimes, I was captivated by the eloquent sign language. Even though it was easy to identify which actors were hearing and which were deaf, the signing was something I seem to only see in films from the 1970s. I’m not quite sure what it is, but the signing from these days just seems different.

In fact, I have some footage of my dad as a high school student at the North Carolina School for the Deaf during the late 1960s. Students who are now in their 50s are seen signing the Pledge of Allegiance, Star-Spangled Banner, and poems. I also have other footage of my parents as twenty-somethings (were they ever really that young?!), signing on camera.

One thing is common among my parents, the students, and the DEAFULA signers: they all signed with their mouths shut. I don’t know if this is what made their signing seem unique, especially since many signed in English order. Yet their signing seemed like beautifully executed ASL (except for Amy in DEAFULA, who signed “W” for wonder and “H” for help). Sometimes the signing did seem unnatural, especially when there were no mouth movements that are customary for specific signs. Perhaps this was because they were being filmed, but their signs still seemed expressive.

As I chatted with people about the movie, I remembered so many signs I used as a child that I don’t use anymore: the “don’t” or “not” sign with both hands down by my stomach, as if gesturing “safe” in baseball; wiggling my fingers for “brown” (instead of the B-on-cheek I now use); and many others. I’m not sure why I stopped using these signs–gradual evolution of the language, I suppose. We also use mouth movements much more today. I don’t know if this is good or not.

But boy, is DEAFULA a great blast into the past. Watch it to gain some insight on how far we’ve come in filmmaking and ASL. You won’t be disappointed.

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

This article originally appeared in The Tactile Mind on May 5, 2004.

I first saw DEAFULA in the mid-1990s, and for the next 10 years, I searched high and low for a copy of the movie. A couple of weeks ago, a friend finally found it on a website that specialized in hard-to-find movies–and I was thrilled. I quickly ordered it.

As soon as I got the DVD, I sat down to watch it. I was once again transported into the 1974 movie’s cheesy and hilarious dialogue. The movie, an adaptation of Bram Stoker’s DRACULA, is done entirely in sign language with voice-overs. The lead character, Steve Adams/Deafula, is played by the movie’s producer, Peter Wolf (Wechsberg), who went on to produce movies like THINK ME NOTHING and I LOVE YOU, BUT. . .

Although the costumes were a bit tacky (Deafula had an unrealistically huge nose), and the dialogue made me roll my eyes sometimes, I was captivated by the eloquent sign language. Even though it was easy to identify which actors were hearing and which were deaf, the signing was something I seem to only see in films from the 1970s. I’m not quite sure what it is, but the signing from these days just seems different.

In fact, I have some footage of my dad as a high school student at the North Carolina School for the Deaf during the late 1960s. Students who are now in their 50s are seen signing the Pledge of Allegiance, Star-Spangled Banner, and poems. I also have other footage of my parents as twenty-somethings (were they ever really that young?!), signing on camera.

One thing is common among my parents, the students, and the DEAFULA signers: they all signed with their mouths shut. I don’t know if this is what made their signing seem unique, especially since many signed in English order. Yet their signing seemed like beautifully executed ASL (except for Amy in DEAFULA, who signed “W” for wonder and “H” for help). Sometimes the signing did seem unnatural, especially when there were no mouth movements that are customary for specific signs. Perhaps this was because they were being filmed, but their signs still seemed expressive.

As I chatted with people about the movie, I remembered so many signs I used as a child that I don’t use anymore: the “don’t” or “not” sign with both hands down by my stomach, as if gesturing “safe” in baseball; wiggling my fingers for “brown” (instead of the B-on-cheek I now use); and many others. I’m not sure why I stopped using these signs–gradual evolution of the language, I suppose. We also use mouth movements much more today. I don’t know if this is good or not.

But boy, is DEAFULA a great blast into the past. Watch it to gain some insight on how far we’ve come in filmmaking and ASL. You won’t be disappointed.

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