Give Me a Sign(83)
I had to address this mainly because I’ve been instinctively tapping them, and they were getting annoyed. But it opened up the conversation, and I dove into other accommodations, such as letting me sit in the middle. Putting captions on without complaining when we watch TV. Rephrasing things that need repeating, rather than just dropping the subject and leaving me in the dark. Some basic stuff that would be a huge start to a more accessible friendship.
At first, I was nervous, because Kelsey and Riley sat quiet in the front seat, staring straight ahead. But Kelsey broke the silence. “That all makes sense. I’m sorry it’s been so difficult before.”
“Yeah, things like the cafeteria at lunchtime are just always going to be impossible,” I say. “So sometimes I’ll be quiet and not really engaged in the conversation, but that doesn’t mean I’m, like, ignoring you all or being rude. And keeping the radio down while we’re driving would be nice,” I say, nodding to the stereo ahead of me.
“All the time?” Riley complains, but I’m quick to reassure her.
“We can definitely blast it while we’re singing along to something. Don’t worry.”
“Perfect,” Kelsey says, smiling as she slows to a stop in front of my house.
They drop me off at home, and I head inside right on time for dinner. We’re two weeks into the fall quarter, which is also a couple of classes into the ASL course my family has started taking.
“Plates on the table, please,” my mom says and signs as I enter the kitchen.
“Are you gonna help?” I ask Max.
“No,” he signs. He flips through a stack of note cards, practicing the words we learned this morning. “I’m busy studying.”
Hopefully it’s a glimpse of what’s to come. For sign to fully work for me, the people around me actually need to use it.
However, I’m under no illusions. Learning a language is difficult; it takes time and commitment. One intro class doesn’t mean we’re all on the path to being fluent. But this is what I want, so I’m going to stick with it and encourage them to do the same. This is how I want to embrace my disability and the access I need. It’s not hearing loss—it’s Deaf gain.
Max has already decided to go ahead with the cochlear implant, so that procedure is scheduled for the start of next summer so he has ample time for recovery, as well as time to retrain his brain with the new device, before classes start back up. He’ll miss a season of sports, and a month of camp again, but not much school, which was obviously our parents’ idea. To play it safe, he’s decided that he only wants to get it on one side, even if his other ear ever becomes eligible in the future. “Part cyborg,” he said with a grin when sharing his decision.
After dinner, we sit around the table. My dad waves for my attention. “Your phone,” he says and signs.
“Oh.” I hadn’t realized it was vibrating, but I’m even more surprised when I see why. I’m getting a video call.
From Isaac.
We sent a few messages back and forth after camp, but I mostly haven’t heard from him, since he’s likely busy getting settled into college. Yet, now he’s calling me out of nowhere? I rush up to my bedroom and take a deep breath before answering.
“Oh, hi,” I sign, holding the phone out in front of my face.
“I thought you might need someone to practice your ASL with.” Isaac smiles. He’s calling from his laptop, sitting cross-legged in his new dorm room, with a Cubs poster on the wall behind him.
I grin. “I don’t know, Mackenzie did offer.” I shake my head as I take a seat on my bed, leaning back against the wall and propping my phone up between my knees so I can sign with both hands.
“Don’t worry, we’ll sign and have your ASL perfect, everyone will be amazed at camp next summer. And maybe soon you could come tour Gallaudet, too?” He raises his eyebrows questioningly, and I can sense his anticipation for my answer. “It’d be great to show you around.”
“I’d really like that.” I smile, leaning back against the wall and settling in for our conversation. “So what’s up?”
My hands fly effortlessly, and I can tell that, even though it’s not summer and I’m back to reality, who I was at Gray Wolf is still at my fingertips. It’s not just the fluency, but the confidence. I know who I am. I don’t need to be more hearing or prove my deafness.
I can bring both worlds together. Just being myself, I’m complete.
Author’s Note
Growing up, rather than struggling through spoken conversations, I’d hide away from interactions. You could find me in the corner, devouring a book and seeking comfort in the clarity of the written word.
Yet I was often disappointed with the representation I found there. In the rare references to hearing aids, the devices were typically worn by elderly side characters, whom the protagonists would trick or ridicule. Or if a young character was disabled, they only existed in the story to be pitied or helped by the hero. Why didn’t a kid like me get to be the main character? Why didn’t our experiences get to stand on their own?
The majority of deaf kids have hearing parents. From birth, the odds are against us ever getting access to language or community. In fact, the history of signing itself is fraught with obstacles. Oralism continues to stand in the way of early language access for children. And leaders of eugenics movements, including Alexander Graham Bell, have long wanted to prohibit deaf people from marrying or socializing or even being born.