LJ Idol Season 6 Week 1 - Swallowed by a Wave
o/` "My girl, linen and curls,
Lips parting like a flag all unfurled.
She's grand, the bend of her hand
Digging deep into the sweep of the sand." o/`
-- Summersong" performed by The Decemberists
A living time capsule, the city of St. Augustine encompasses everything from the site of the first Catholic mass held in the New World to a nest of fashion boutiques and upscale eateries. Not many people know, however, that it's also the site of the state's School for the Deaf and Blind. The tuition free boarding school has been educating eligible individuals since 1885 and has some of the best academic standards and awards in the state.
This, of course, means that there's a thriving deaf/blind community in the area...and that they use ASL. I loved this mysterious language of empty gestures from the first time I saw it: the wide, sweeping motions; the angular bending of the hands and fingers, the fluidity with which human hands were made to tell a story in single, open-air movements.
At the time I began studying ASL, it had been truly a matter of convenience; I knew I had a better chance of being hired as an educator if, in addition to Spanish, I could also communicate with the deaf. The local community college did not offer a course and the nearest was offered through Gainesville in a master's program to which I had no access. I bought the books for the courses anyway and studied from them. The language fascinated me but it also began to be a necessity, not just another piece for padding a resume.
I've had mild to moderate hearing impairment since I contracted meningitis at the age of eight; the disease and subsequent brain damage left me with reduced hearing in the middle range of the human hearing spectrum. As I got older, it only got worse. Now, in my late 30s, there are some human voices I cannot hear at all and others which register only as an annoying hum. I still hear well in the bass and higher frequencies (including some which most humans aren't supposed to be able to hear) but the middle range is largely lost to me. The left ear hears better than the right; if the conditions are ideal --- the person is facing me and talking toward the left --- I can still get the gist of what most people are saying. Unfortunately, conditions aren't always ideal. I quickly discovered that in American society at least, staring at someone's face to watch lip movements is considered very rude, even if you tell the person why you're doing it. Similarly, they don't really like you placing a hand on their throat or cheek to feel the vibrations either.
I was left in a world rapidly growing silent and it was a world hostile to the means of communication I had left to me.
Nothing hurts more than having someone say "never mind" after you've had to ask them to repeat what they were saying for the fifth time. Friends avoided me because they knew I couldn't hear most of what they were saying. I grew fearful of my voice control and developed a habit of never talking above a whisper after being told that I shouted in conversations. Fox and I would have to mouth 'later' to each other in crowded situations and often as not, we'd end up forgetting what we'd been wanting to tell each other. ASL could help that, and the few friends I had left were willing to learn.
I already knew some sign for basic functions such as "hungry" "thirsty" "restroom" and for polite social expression such as "no" "yes" "I love you" and "excuse me". At one time, I'd known how to finger spell but was advised by my deaf friends to forget about it. Most of them regarded finger spelling and single signs with disdain. They told me those isolated pieces were of no use unless I immersed myself in the language and the culture. Well, I understood that. The same had been said in my Spanish courses and I'd worked hard for years to learn proper grammar and syntax, to find out the cultural significance behind gestures and words, to learn as much about the people using the language as possible. I nodded eagerly...and then they dashed my hopes by telling me that it wasn't possible for me. As long as I had some hearing and could speak, I would never accomplish that. Furthermore, to use that beautiful fluid language would be an insult and the ultimate act of cultural appropriation.
They'd known exactly what phrasing would most get the point across to me. I quit my studies and never touched the books I'd bought...until a few months ago. Back in March I was misdiagnosed with an infection and hospitalized. The massive doses of heavy duty antibiotics they used on me caused permanent brain damage. I now have aphasia. I would be able to see the object I wanted in my mind's eye, but I could no longer come up with the word for it nor could I point to it or describe around it. It doesn't pass; that information is gone forever and never coming back. Frustrated, I found my hands making strange gestures. We thought, at first, that it might be a kinesthetic component to the brain damage but as he watched, my husband finally identified it as finger spelling.
I couldn't say the word, point to it, or describe it but I COULD spell it out in sign.
I still don't use ASL fluently and probably never will, but I've expanded my vocabulary and I keep adding words, phrases, and gestures as I go. Those dynamic, freely spaced empty gestures spell freedom.
Lips parting like a flag all unfurled.
She's grand, the bend of her hand
Digging deep into the sweep of the sand." o/`
-- Summersong" performed by The Decemberists
A living time capsule, the city of St. Augustine encompasses everything from the site of the first Catholic mass held in the New World to a nest of fashion boutiques and upscale eateries. Not many people know, however, that it's also the site of the state's School for the Deaf and Blind. The tuition free boarding school has been educating eligible individuals since 1885 and has some of the best academic standards and awards in the state.
This, of course, means that there's a thriving deaf/blind community in the area...and that they use ASL. I loved this mysterious language of empty gestures from the first time I saw it: the wide, sweeping motions; the angular bending of the hands and fingers, the fluidity with which human hands were made to tell a story in single, open-air movements.
At the time I began studying ASL, it had been truly a matter of convenience; I knew I had a better chance of being hired as an educator if, in addition to Spanish, I could also communicate with the deaf. The local community college did not offer a course and the nearest was offered through Gainesville in a master's program to which I had no access. I bought the books for the courses anyway and studied from them. The language fascinated me but it also began to be a necessity, not just another piece for padding a resume.
I've had mild to moderate hearing impairment since I contracted meningitis at the age of eight; the disease and subsequent brain damage left me with reduced hearing in the middle range of the human hearing spectrum. As I got older, it only got worse. Now, in my late 30s, there are some human voices I cannot hear at all and others which register only as an annoying hum. I still hear well in the bass and higher frequencies (including some which most humans aren't supposed to be able to hear) but the middle range is largely lost to me. The left ear hears better than the right; if the conditions are ideal --- the person is facing me and talking toward the left --- I can still get the gist of what most people are saying. Unfortunately, conditions aren't always ideal. I quickly discovered that in American society at least, staring at someone's face to watch lip movements is considered very rude, even if you tell the person why you're doing it. Similarly, they don't really like you placing a hand on their throat or cheek to feel the vibrations either.
I was left in a world rapidly growing silent and it was a world hostile to the means of communication I had left to me.
Nothing hurts more than having someone say "never mind" after you've had to ask them to repeat what they were saying for the fifth time. Friends avoided me because they knew I couldn't hear most of what they were saying. I grew fearful of my voice control and developed a habit of never talking above a whisper after being told that I shouted in conversations. Fox and I would have to mouth 'later' to each other in crowded situations and often as not, we'd end up forgetting what we'd been wanting to tell each other. ASL could help that, and the few friends I had left were willing to learn.
I already knew some sign for basic functions such as "hungry" "thirsty" "restroom" and for polite social expression such as "no" "yes" "I love you" and "excuse me". At one time, I'd known how to finger spell but was advised by my deaf friends to forget about it. Most of them regarded finger spelling and single signs with disdain. They told me those isolated pieces were of no use unless I immersed myself in the language and the culture. Well, I understood that. The same had been said in my Spanish courses and I'd worked hard for years to learn proper grammar and syntax, to find out the cultural significance behind gestures and words, to learn as much about the people using the language as possible. I nodded eagerly...and then they dashed my hopes by telling me that it wasn't possible for me. As long as I had some hearing and could speak, I would never accomplish that. Furthermore, to use that beautiful fluid language would be an insult and the ultimate act of cultural appropriation.
They'd known exactly what phrasing would most get the point across to me. I quit my studies and never touched the books I'd bought...until a few months ago. Back in March I was misdiagnosed with an infection and hospitalized. The massive doses of heavy duty antibiotics they used on me caused permanent brain damage. I now have aphasia. I would be able to see the object I wanted in my mind's eye, but I could no longer come up with the word for it nor could I point to it or describe around it. It doesn't pass; that information is gone forever and never coming back. Frustrated, I found my hands making strange gestures. We thought, at first, that it might be a kinesthetic component to the brain damage but as he watched, my husband finally identified it as finger spelling.
I couldn't say the word, point to it, or describe it but I COULD spell it out in sign.
I still don't use ASL fluently and probably never will, but I've expanded my vocabulary and I keep adding words, phrases, and gestures as I go. Those dynamic, freely spaced empty gestures spell freedom.