Signs

After learning my new cousin was a Teacher’s Assistant at the Georgia School for the Deaf, I eagerly asked her to teach me some signs. My teenage self was intrigued by this new language and I wanted to know more.

Language and lexicon have fascinated me since I was a child reading the big dictionary and World Book Encyclopedia my grandmother kept at her house in Jackson, Mississippi. Public libraries were my second home in Chicago, but Black folk like me weren’t allowed in the Jackson public library and I was desperate for something to read when we visited Jackson. I’d already learned the Greek alphabet and used it to write my diary in a language my parents didn’t understand.

But this sign language was a new language to explore. When we returned to Chicago from our visit to Georgia, I dug out the alphabet card I was given by a deaf man sometime in the past year or so. And I practiced the letters again but now I knew there was more than the alphabet to signing. Not knowing where to go next, I pushed it aside for a couple of years until my 18^th summer.

Unpacking my suitcase after my first year in college, that ABC card fell from the pages of my diary. I took it as a sign that it was time to explore once again. That’s when I found that the Chicago Hearing Society offered American Sign Language classes. With no hesitation, I paid the fee for the next Beginners class. And so the adventure began!

When I passed the first Intermediate class, I considered becoming an ASL interpreter as I entered Intermediate II. For the first time, I was not the lone African American student. I'll call him Aaron, though that was not his name. (See the NOTE below.)

Aaron was at least 15 years older than I and he was also CODA, a child of deaf adults, who grew up in segregated Arkansas where his family was mostly isolated because of race as well as deafness. Although he was a proficient signer, other students in the class had trouble understanding his signs. However, our instructor (the second deaf teacher for the classes I took) and I did not.

Looking back, I wonder: Did the instructor perceive dismissal of Aaron by other students? condescension? attitudes of “you don’t belong at our level?” I know they were reluctant to partner with him for conversation practice (no vocalization, only signs!) but the instructor required us to switch regularly. I was Aaron’s partner as often as I could be because his story drew me in. And I was eager to learn the special “family” signs he knew.

Aaron’s story came back to me when I received information about Black ASL. (See the link to the video below.) I never knew! But, thanks to Aaron, I actually did. Instinctively. But I never made the connections before.

I don’t want to tell Aaron’s story; I don’t think I can do it justice. But I can tell you mine.

I knew that after I relocated to Minnesota, I did not have a connection to the deaf community and no longer took classes. I was told my signing wasn’t good enough to take even the Intermediate level and I would have to start at the Beginner level.

 

“But,” I argued, “I already know the basic signs! I just want to refresh my signs so I can keep in practice and perhaps sign songs at church.” No sale.

Looking further back, I do remember that I was often criticized for not signing closer to my body: always below the forehead, not too far below the breast, not too far to the left or the right, not too far to the front or the back. I recall how I watched the Sweet Honey in the Rock signers with unspeakable joy and now suspect the joy, in part, was because they broke all those rules. And that was how Aaron signed!

When I joined IRID (the Illinois Register of Interpreters for the Deaf) as a novice still thinking about interpreting, I delighted in the workshops, especially the ones where I got to work with deaf actors. I was encouraged to move with abandonment, freely expressing myself using more than my hands.

 

Although disconnected from the Minnesota deaf community, I still practice my signs at church with people who took the free sign lessons I taught and learned more after me. I also sign from my pew most of the songs we sing; I taught a couple of short songs to some fellow church members who often sign along with me. I’ve also taught signs to kids at Vacation Bible School and for some Christmas Pageant songs.

 

It was a revelation meeting my sister’s friend who, like me, was hearing and not CODA. Also like me, she was told her signing was not good enough to interpret in Minnesota. We met at a coffee shop, signing our common frustrations with each other.

 

She had relocated from the east coast where she had studied at Gallaudet University, “the only university in the world where students live and learn using American Sign Language (ASL) and English.” She was willing to take whatever test they wanted to give her but Minnesota wanted her to learn signs the “right” way, starting with classes at the Beginner level. 

These are just pieces of my signing story. There is more, of course, but I'm saving those stories for another time. 

In lieu of sharing Aaron’s story, I give you this link to a video about Black ASL. It mentions two segregated schools for Black deaf that might sound familiar – in Georgia and Arkansas. It explains much better what I’m trying to say here. Please leave comments with your reactions to what I’ve written here as well as to the video. Signing Black in America

NOTE: Aaron is not his real name. I chose this name because in the Bible, Aaron was Moses’ brother. Moses was reluctant to speak before large groups because he feared his speech impediment would make him misunderstood. God told Moses to let Aaron speak for him. My Aaron story that I reference above speaks what I didn’t have the knowledge or experience to speak so my story could be understood in context.