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

I featured a local deaf student in a recent issue of the magazine DEAF SUCCESS. Last Saturday, one of her classmates came up to me and said, “I’m angry! Nobody ever told me about this magazine! I wish I knew so I could have my family subscribe! I loved the story about. . .”

As she said this, I started wondering about why many teachers or schools don’t include deaf-oriented publications in the classroom. In fact, I recently got a letter from a deaf teacher who wrote that the magazine was too advanced for his high school students in a mainstreamed program.

If they’re too difficult to read, isn’t it the school’s duty to make the publications accessible or interesting? There are so many ways this could be done, especially by using different activities and assignments. For instance, with DEAF SUCCESS, which profiles deaf people from all walks of life that have achieved success in some way–teachers could require students to do presentations on a person, or to do skits about a person. For THE TACTILE MIND QUARTERLY, teachers could have students analyze or translate the poetry or stories for their literature or reading classes. And of course, Deaf Studies classes could easily use these publications.

Sure, schools have to follow specific standards and requirements. I don’t care. They still should find a way to incorporate deaf publications in their classes. We all know how powerful the printed word or picture is. Besides, students do benefit from these publications, “advanced” or not. I know because I was one of these kids once.

The “hearing-impaired office” (sic) at my high school placed deaf publications on a magazine rack, and I went into the office each week to read the newest issues of deaf publication. It was in this very office that I discovered my deaf role models. I also started believing that I could become a writer, because I saw how they were published in some of these publications.

I don’t see how schools can NOT incorporate these publications in the classroom, regardless of whatever reasons they come up with. I guess, to me, it’s a no-brainer.

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

For about two years, I was on a constant high.

I discovered Home & Garden TV (HGTV) a few years ago when Mom, who’s an interior designer, was watching a show that actually was captioned. Within five minutes, I understood why paint jobs and flooring choices matter to people.

I became hooked and couldn’t get enough. Room by Room, Decorating Cents, Designers’ Challenge, and Designing for the Sexes–all captioned! More and more shows came on that were also captioned, like Curb Appeal and Weekend Warriors. I tuned in whenever I could. When TLC began airing Trading Spaces and While You Were Out, I was in heaven. The shows were like comfort food to me–cheery hosts with design experts on hand reassuring viewers that we, too, could make our homes beautiful on a budget.

But the unthinkable seems to be happening. I’ve noticed that, lately, less and less home decorating shows are captioned. New shows on HGTV, like Mission: Organization, aren’t captioned. Even Trading Spaces and While You Were Out aren’t captioned regularly anymore.

With a new house, this has become somewhat of a crisis for me. I like the happiness I get from knowing that I, thankfully, will never do as bad of a job as Hildi does on Trading Spaces. And don’t even get me started on how wonderful Vern Yip is.

Maybe I’ll take the lead of a friend who wrote to the FCC when Court TV didn’t caption programs. Court TV now offers captioning on the majority of its programs, and I’m incredibly grateful for that.

But one thing’s for sure: I’ve learned that I shouldn’t ever take captioning for granted.

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This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column. This issue featured a “topic issue” with articles answering this question: Who Should the Next President of Gallaudet Be?

The ideal Gallaudet president, for me, must have firsthand knowledge about the university’s impact upon the deaf community–as a child, as a student, and as an adult.

Here’s what I mean by that. I grew up often browsing through my parents’ Gallaudet yearbooks, wondering about the stories of the people in the photos. I had people constantly telling me about their experiences at Gallaudet. I heard so many rumors–both good and bad–about what life was like at Gallaudet. But I always knew Gallaudet existed, and I’ve long understood its impact upon us as a whole. Bottom line: I grew up with Gallaudet in my life.

I. King Jordan, the current president, became deaf in his 20s, and didn’t have any clue about Gallaudet’s existence until after he became deaf. He isn’t a product of any educational system as a deaf student–he doesn’t really know firsthand the struggles a deaf student often goes through with teachers’ lousy signing or low expectation. In fact, it’s been printed that he calls himself a hearing person who has a hearing loss. In fact, a recent article on Jordan reports, “Asked how he responds to critics who say he’ll never really understand Deafness, Jordan shrugged and said, ‘They’re right.'”

I believe that Jordan’s lack of childhood knowledge about Gallaudet is why he has struggled so much in maintaining student support in many areas. Certainly, he’s done a lot for the university in terms of fundraising and maintaining relationships with Congress and hearing people, and he certainly is a nice fellow. But students’ and alumni’s mistrust of the administration is at an all-time high. Even I find myself astounded by the choices some of the administration has made, especially within the past decade.

For instance, when I edited Silent News, I decided to run a story on a department’s decision to close down (or “merge”) a major. I contacted that department to get an official statement. Their response? The acting dean (who was hearing), threatened me with a lawsuit, even though it was hardly a blockbuster story. What were they afraid of? When I shared this with a deaf administrator, he said, “Nothing new. Welcome to the world of Gallaudet administration.”

While it’s true that this separation between administration and students is common at many universities, I don’t think it should exist at Gallaudet, given the size of the school and the close-knitted nature of the community. Gallaudet is a pillar of the deaf community, whether we want it to be or not.

The next Gallaudet president has to have an in-depth understanding and firsthand experience of being a deaf person–not a late-deafened person, but having grown up deaf from childhood to adulthood. S/he also has to have a true appreciation of Gallaudet’s importance to the community. Hiring a president who truly gets it is the only way the university can win back the trust of alumni and students.

NOTE: The article about Jordan can be found at
http://www.psychologicalscience.org/observer/getArticle.cfm?id=1364

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These originally appeared in a twin issue of The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

A lot of things annoy me (which probably comes as no surprise to some of you), but there’s one thing that really, really annoys me. Because of my published writings, people sometimes recognize my name when we’re introduced. It never fails–they will say one of two sentences: “Wow, you sign beautiful ASL!” or “Wow, you are really Deaf–I thought you were oral! How come you write such good English?”

Apparently, if you’re Deaf, use ASL and don’t speak, and you can write well–it’s a miracle!

Why is it such a big deal? What’s with the low expectations? Is it because of that overrated belief that deaf people generally read at a third-grade level? That people who grew up with ASL as their first language can’t read or write English? I don’t understand why people are still so hesitant to believe that bilingualism works. I can rattle off the names of about 100 deaf people who grew up with ASL as their first language and have incredible English skills.

And in case you were thinking I always had good English skills–not true. I have a piece of napkin from when I was 6, where I scribbled to my hearing grandmother, “AUNT KATE ATE FINISH WRITE ME LATER” (Aunt Kate had finished eating and would talk with me later). There’s plenty more where that came from. Just pay my parents a visit; they’ll be all too happy to demonstrate my childhood memorabilia.

It wasn’t until the fourth grade when all the English rules made sense to me, which is a typical point in any child’s life, I think. I credit my deaf parents’ constant communication with me in ASL and my love of reading for my language development. I didn’t take any private training; I wasn’t put in any special courses; I didn’t have teachers who signed well. But I had family (both deaf and hearing) who communicated with me and made sure I understood both ASL and English.

I’m Deaf. No, I don’t speak. Yes, ASL is my first language. Yes, I can read and write English.

Get over it.

*****
Sometimes it’s easy to move on, putting memories of terrible events behind us.

This Sunday–September 28–will mark three years since Plunkett was murdered. Plunkett, of course, was the Gallaudet freshman from Minnesota beaten to death by classmate Joseph Mesa. Mesa went on to stab to death Benjamin Varner, a freshman from Texas, that following February.

I don’t think anybody could have prepared for the sense of panic and fear that spread among the deaf community at the time. I can’t even fathom the feelings I would have had. When I was at Gallaudet between 1991 and 1995, we had plenty of tragedies, but none as grisly or calculated as the murders. Never would I have imagined that a fellow student could’ve murdered me–especially in a freshman dorm, of all places.

The sense of invincibility among people was probably heightened at Gallaudet before the murders, the so-called Mecca for deaf people pursuing higher education. How in the world could there be anyone with murderous instincts on campus? After all, Mesa listed on his freshman website that his favorite book was TUESDAYS WITH MORRIE. Murder was unthinkable at Gallaudet; everyone knew murder only happened outside of the fences surrounding the campus.

As I think about the three-year mark, I can’t help but wonder if people are gradually forgetting about Mesa’s killings. There has been almost no media coverage about Mesa since he was convicted and sentenced to life in prison. The freshman dorms at Gallaudet have been renamed, and may be renovated or razed. Plunkett and Varner are not household names in the Deaf community so much anymore.

Yet how could we ever forget the tragedies of September 28, 2000 and February 3, 2001?

We should move on, but we must not forget Eric Plunkett or Benjamin Varner.

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

The unimaginable has happened. I have become a band groupie.

I was in Tampa, Fla., over the weekend, and went to a performance given by Beethoven’s Nightmare (BN). BN is an all-deaf musical band, featuring Ed Chevy, Bob Hiltermann, and Steve Longo.

Mind you, I’m not into music at all. Ask me what a guitar riff is and I’ll give you a blank stare. I, like many deaf people, do appreciate loud, rhythmic music, but beyond that? Nah.

I wasn’t really expecting much from BN’s performance. Besides, I’ve been to too many musical productions “for the deaf” that were an absolute waste of my time. I also couldn’t imagine how the very friendly BN members I had met beforehand could make decent music, given how audiologically deaf they were.

As soon as the interactive performance started, I was blown away–almost literally. I sat in the front row, near huge, towering speakers, and my ears didn’t stop ringing for a few hours afterwards.

The band was phenomenal. Deaf and hearing people of all ages–children, senior citizens, and everyone in between–were dancing and pumping their fists in the air. Even a hearing hotel manager was dancing animatedly and shouting along with the crowd.

Some of us talked later about how engrossed the performers were in the music as they played. Bob, in his own world as he banged away at the drums, made his pleasure at playing evident by a non-stop grin. Ed’s wonderfully wild performance was unbelievably heartfelt, quite a contrast to his usual calm demeanor. Steve had a cool, mysterious presence, with a laid-back attitude that clearly showed his comfort with his guitar.

I can’t help but chuckle about what the hearing hotel customers must have thought, because the music was so loud that we could hear/feel it on some of the floors above.

To hell with ‘N Sync. I’ll take Beethoven’s Nightmare any day.

I have to go now and send them a fan letter.

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This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column. This issue was a “topic issue” with articles answering this question: Interpreters: What is Their Place in Our Community?

Earlier this year when I was still living in Chicago, my mother and I had individual appointments with the same accountant. When we arrived at the accountant’s office, a woman greeted us, saying she was our interpreter. I looked at Mom with puzzlement. “Did you ask for an interpreter?” I asked, because we both didn’t want one for our appointments.

It turned out that the accountant had asked her friend from church to “sign” as a favor. The interpreter said that she interpreted at a local school “helping hearing-impaired children.”

Obviously unqualified in her choppy signing and poor receptive skills (and voicing throughout the entire conversation, even though there wasn’t anyone nearby that needed the voicing), I asked if she was certified.

The interpreter said with a defiant look on her face, “No, I am not.” That solved the situation. In Illinois, freelance interpreters are not to interpret without having successfully passed an evaluation (http://www.legis.state.il.us/legislation/ilcs/ch225/ch225act442.htm ), as prescribed by the state of Illinois (although there are quite a few loopholes in this act, which is currently being re-evaluated).

I reported it to the Illinois Deaf and Hard of Hearing Commission the next day. I had taken the appropriate steps in reporting her, and the interpreter was subsequently penalized for her illegal action, right?

Wrong.

In Illinois, interpreters working without certification are not penalized if they get caught. In fact, all the commission does is send them a warning letter, and that’s only if the commission knows where to find the interpreter. In this situation, the commission had only a first name, and no further information. The interpreter basically got away scot-free, and is still illegally interpreting for all I know.

How can we tell interpreters they are to go through training, certification processes, and much more, when deaf agencies or watchdog groups don’t even help enforce the law in many situations? How can interpreters know what their places in the deaf community are when there isn’t even a standardized concept among deaf people of what interpreters’ roles within the community are? How can Illinois deaf citizens assert their rights when the state commission doesn’t even enforce one of its own laws?

Before the deaf community starts assigning places and roles, we better get our act together.

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

I sat in front of the stage, trying not to show how restless I felt.

I was one of three judges for a deaf state-level pageant, trying to endure a ballet performance given by one of the three contestants. We had just watched another contestant do a signed song with her eyes frozen to the floor.

Bored with the dancing, I reflected upon the weekend’s events. The interview process had been grueling–for the judges. Example: A contestant, who could barely sign, was asked what she had found most enjoyable about the pageant experience. She said with genuine awe, “Deaf people are sooooo friendly!” Never mind that she was deaf herself.

Last week, I wrote about how state association conferences aren’t so well attended anymore. This is also true for state pageants, which often have low contestant turnout or are cancelled. In fact, the 2000 Miss Deaf America pageant only had 25 contestants. Nowadays, we’re lucky if we have even two contestants at the state level.

Again, like with the state conferences, I’m not sure why participation is so weak. We could probably come up with a hundred reasons why, but the real question is what we can do to better represent our state associations (and ultimately the national association).

In 1993, members of the Maryland Association of the Deaf approved a resolution, proposed by Robert Weinstock and Astrid Goodstein, that would have changed the pageant structure. Instead of having young women strut their stuff on stage, a female and a male would be chosen to represent the state as “young ambassadors.” They could make presentations, work with legislators and various entities throughout the state, and then enter a national competition with their counterparts from other states.

When I first learned of this idea, I thought it was the best thing since sliced bread. Unfortunately, this bill never made it through at the national convention, but I’m still convinced by this idea.

I’m convinced that having not one, but -two- representatives would command more attention from hearing legislators and community leaders. It’s hard to take someone seriously when she wins a contest based on how good her evening gown and talent presentations were.

The ambassadors would definitely bring an updated image to the state associations. And trust me, I’d enjoy the ambassador competition far more than ballet or signed songs.

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.

Attendance has been disappointing at several state associations of the deaf conferences this year. A conference on Saturday in a state with one of the largest deaf populations had only 50 registered participants.

My (hearing) high school had a Junior Illinois Association of the Deaf chapter, and that’s how I came to really understand the importance of being involved. But guess how many of the 80-plus Jr. IAD members are involved with their state associations today?

One. Me.

Why aren’t people participating? The standard reason given by leaders seems to be, “Too many mainstreamed kids don’t know about or aren’t interested in deaf organizations.” Another common explanation is that people are busy doing their own things. Both reasons have merit, although I think we shouldn’t be quick to point fingers at mainstreaming because I don’t see too many deaf school graduates getting involved, either.

But I asked a few people why they weren’t members of their state associations or didn’t go to the conferences. One said, “Because nobody has asked me to join,” adding that he didn’t really know anyone involved with the association. Another said it was because she had tried to get involved, and felt rejected by the old-timers who thought she was too eager. Yet another said, “I got better things to do than deal with by-laws and boring workshops.”

Whatever the reasons are–we gotta do something.

We need to get off our arses and start figuring out a way to get people to realize the importance of being involved with state associations. I’m no expert on how we do this, but I know we have to do something.

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

When I gained 25 pounds my freshman year in college, a friend I hadn’t seen in a while said to me, “Wow you gain! Fat!” I smiled and nodded as if I didn’t care. Ten minutes later, I was bawling my eyes out in the privacy of my dorm room, humiliated by what I’d just been told.

Years later (and 20 pounds lighter), I brought this conversation up with the same friend to see if she remembered it. She was embarrassed and said, “But I was just being blunt– that’s Deaf culture!”

Is bluntness really a trait of Deaf culture?

Maybe you’ll disagree, but I don’t think saying how fat someone looks qualifies as being part of Deaf culture. That’s just being rude. I find it jarring when people new to the deaf community intentionally say something rude, and say gleefully, “That’s part of Deaf culture!”

Yet, do a search on the web using the words “deaf culture blunt,” and you’ll find page after page saying that being blunt is part of Deaf culture. I don’t know if I should buy it. Nor do I know if we should accept bluntness as being a trait of Deaf culture.

We all know deaf people are close-knit and more comfortable with each other where they can be more open and upfront about their thoughts. And of course, in ASL, the sign for “overweight” and “fat” is basically the same, much like “losing hair” and “bald” have the same sign. It’s easy to see how one could be more straightforward using ASL rather than if English was used. But where’s the fine line between being open and quick to comment, and being rude?

I’m a straightforward person by nature. But it’s not because I grew up in a Deaf family nor is it because I am culturally Deaf. It’s simply because that’s who I am. I think we need to tread carefully before attributing bluntness to being part of Deaf culture.

There’s a fine line between being rude and being straightforward. And we all need to find this fine line, regardless of whether we’re deaf or hearing.

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

Here’s what I think is one of the best resources on deaf history.

Program books.

Yup. Program books. As I wrote last week, I’ve just moved to a new house, so this has been a summer of unpacking for me. I spent a lot of time today going through the boxes of program books picked up over the years from family and friends. The program books are from various places: basketball camps, athletic tournaments, conventions, conferences, and even pageants–dating back decades.

As I looked through these pieces of history, I marveled at all the details. I pored over listings of presentations at various conferences and read the biographies of renowned individuals. I also giggled at some of the photos of high school athletes at various tournaments–kids who are now community leaders and at the forefront of their professions. In these photos, they looked so innocent yet determined. Did any of them know exactly where they would be in ten, twenty years when they posed for these pictures?

Program books are also a great reflection upon how far we’ve come in certain areas, especially in the development of community identity. Workshop listings are also a great way to see who presented what, and see where these people are today. More often than not, these people are still working doggedly in their fields, still championing their causes, and still working for a better community.

And most important of all: these program books are genuine. They aren’t scholarly. They aren’t “research.” They aren’t fancy stuff. They’re simply developed by deaf people who want to have a successful gathering.

Being able to revisit history and remember events–whether present or not–and reading about people’s hard work are the sole reasons I think program books are the real remnants of deaf history.

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