When I lived in South Carolina, I attended the elementary and middle schools that catered to the district's deaf students. While most of our classes were segregated, we did unite for school spirit events, gym class, and a few other electives. Part of the standard curriculum for all students was basic sign language to foster friendship and communication. Somehow, despite this massive communication barrier, I became friends with several deaf students and found myself spending recess running around the playground with my hard-of-hearing cohorts. We laughed in the same language. Through the years, I have forgotten most of the sign language I learned. However, I remember basic phrases such as "Hello, my name is..." and "Santa Claus is coming to town" and even the pledge of allegiance.
Today, I made a startling discovery. On my way to my top floor apartment, I stopped to say hello to my neighbor, my arms full of books and fresh pineapple. I cooed briefly over her 4 month old son. My neighbor's sister stared, smiling, but didn't say a word. After a few moments of pleasantries, my neighbor turned to her sister and motioned with her hands, translating my broken Khmer into sign language. The girl smiled and responded, her nimble fingertips artfully gliding through the air in front of her. She is deaf.
Immediately, I placed my books onto the ground and signed "hello" to her. "How are you?" I asked. A moment of shock, and she responded. We exchanged names. She knew the same signs as me, the same alphabet, the same gestures. Despite having learned the language on two different continents, nearly 9,000 miles apart, we suddenly spoke the same language. How exceptional! To find that my limited sign language allowed me to communicate with her with the same level of fluency as my limited Khmer allows me to communicate with her older sister. In fact, this is even more extraordinary - the language used to communicate with deaf American children is the SAME as the language used to communicate with deaf Cambodian children. The magnitude of this fact astounds me, even now. She asked me to return, to be her friend. She promised to teach me more.
What a surprising and beautiful world.
Today, I made a startling discovery. On my way to my top floor apartment, I stopped to say hello to my neighbor, my arms full of books and fresh pineapple. I cooed briefly over her 4 month old son. My neighbor's sister stared, smiling, but didn't say a word. After a few moments of pleasantries, my neighbor turned to her sister and motioned with her hands, translating my broken Khmer into sign language. The girl smiled and responded, her nimble fingertips artfully gliding through the air in front of her. She is deaf.
Immediately, I placed my books onto the ground and signed "hello" to her. "How are you?" I asked. A moment of shock, and she responded. We exchanged names. She knew the same signs as me, the same alphabet, the same gestures. Despite having learned the language on two different continents, nearly 9,000 miles apart, we suddenly spoke the same language. How exceptional! To find that my limited sign language allowed me to communicate with her with the same level of fluency as my limited Khmer allows me to communicate with her older sister. In fact, this is even more extraordinary - the language used to communicate with deaf American children is the SAME as the language used to communicate with deaf Cambodian children. The magnitude of this fact astounds me, even now. She asked me to return, to be her friend. She promised to teach me more.
What a surprising and beautiful world.
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