An insight to my
experience at camp the first year I went (2005). I had about the same experience as the lady
who wrote this. It is still an adjustment, but easier as I
prepare myself mentally ahead of time and after. It is totally a different Culture.
"At one time,
like so many other people who had not tried to learn American Sign
Language, I thought it was used only by
people too lazy or stupid to master signing in English word order. I had found
ASL confining. Using PSE I could make the sign for beautiful, gorgeous, striking, or pretty
while mouthing
the word to make my choice clear. This
appealed to my writer's heart, in love with the nuances of the English
language.
I didn't realize that skilled ASL
signers could show similar nuances with
facial expression and body movement that changed the meaning as surely as an English word
did. The more I devoted myself to studying ASL, the more I began to
appreciate its richness. The arch of an eyebrow, the expansiveness of a
movement, or a slight change in posture all added interesting meanings to a
sign. The masters of ASL wrote as skillfully with their bodies as any
of the best authors I had read.
I had gone to the
Gallaudet campus for a few brief visits since my Spring Week trip in college,
but it had little to offer me when I wasn't a skilled signer.
This time was different. I never knew that going to school could be such a pleasure. I had
always gone to classes in places
that were geared for hearing people. And I
had always been an exception. At Gallaudet, being deaf was ordinary and
acceptable. I had never experienced such
liberation.
When I went to the
cafeteria, I could ask questions about the food and easily understand the answers. If I stopped at the student center to ask for information or grabbed
someone on the recreation staff to ask the hours for the weight room, I
had no worries. Everyone knew sign language or could easily follow my "deaf voice." If they didn't, it was judged to
be some fault of theirs, not mine.
There were no raised
eyebrows at my high-pitched voice and no fumbles for a pen or paper. I
didn't have to contend with poor
lighting or people who mumbled. Everything was designed to accommodate someone
like me.
My teacher signed, and so did all the other students in my
class. For the first time I participated in classroom discussions. I went to lectures. I went to cultural events.
Everything was new and exciting and I just could not get enough of
it.
At the end of my first week at Gallaudet, I drove back to Winchester for
the weekend. I needed to stock up on groceries, so I stopped at a supermarket. I walked inside
the store, as I had twice a week for the past year, and suddenly, for the
first time, I felt frightened. The din was
unbelievable. And everywhere I
looked I was surrounded by people saying things I couldn't understand. It
was such a complete change from the past week that I could barely handle it.
This was the world I'd grown up in, but
suddenly I felt like a foreigner coming to it for the first time. I was so shocked by the depth
of my feeling that I clung to my cart for several minutes before my hands
stopped shaking. "
Heppner, Cheryl M.
“Seeds of Disquiet” – 136 & 137, Gallaudet University Press
1992