San Francisco
Visiting the Deaf GLBT was interesting. I saw several hearing people who were learning ASL at Vista College. We talked about Ella Mae Lentz and Ken Mikos rewriting the books. I know only Professor Mikos, but I've met Ella Lentz in another Deaf person's house. After that event, in which good long conversations were a welcome break from reading lips and not understanding anything, a group of us (three hearing, one deaf, and me) decided to go eat at a French restaurant several doors away, whereupon we found a group of Deaf people there.
We ate, and after a while, we left. I looked behind while leaving, and saw a Deaf guy signing, "I thought they were Deaf. I didn't know they were hearing. Awful!"
I chuckled at the absurdity of that statement, the quaint little prejudice we hold within us to comfort ourselves of our position.
On the BART train on my way home from San Francisco, which is where the Deaf GLBT was, I saw this sick-looking guy barely crying. He was weeping and crying out, "I need five dollars. Can't anyone give me five dollars?"
That's all I could lip-read. He went on complaining about something. Mucus was dripping from his nose, and he wiped it away with his hands, and continued sobbing. He kept talking, until he became quiet and collapse on the seat.
I looked around, wondering whether I should just run to the next car to avoid him, even though he was sitting a few seats away from me.
Then a guy sitting ahead of me, after talking with his friends, went up and gave the sick-looking guy some money.
It was a nice gesture. I wish I could understand what he said. I also wanted to be generous and give him money, but I didn't know what he was talking about, mumbling in a semi-crazed state asking for money.
Maybe it was for drugs, or for a debt, or for food, or for something that I can barely comprehend, but it made him human. I would say that even though he was sick-looking, he bore a face that could have looked once handsome.
And then I considered, "He had parents, a mother and a father, possibly. Where are they now? How did they mislead him? How did he mislead himself? Why is he in that state, and why are people sometimes ignoring him?"
Therein the patient must minister to himself.
We ate, and after a while, we left. I looked behind while leaving, and saw a Deaf guy signing, "I thought they were Deaf. I didn't know they were hearing. Awful!"
I chuckled at the absurdity of that statement, the quaint little prejudice we hold within us to comfort ourselves of our position.
On the BART train on my way home from San Francisco, which is where the Deaf GLBT was, I saw this sick-looking guy barely crying. He was weeping and crying out, "I need five dollars. Can't anyone give me five dollars?"
That's all I could lip-read. He went on complaining about something. Mucus was dripping from his nose, and he wiped it away with his hands, and continued sobbing. He kept talking, until he became quiet and collapse on the seat.
I looked around, wondering whether I should just run to the next car to avoid him, even though he was sitting a few seats away from me.
Then a guy sitting ahead of me, after talking with his friends, went up and gave the sick-looking guy some money.
It was a nice gesture. I wish I could understand what he said. I also wanted to be generous and give him money, but I didn't know what he was talking about, mumbling in a semi-crazed state asking for money.
Maybe it was for drugs, or for a debt, or for food, or for something that I can barely comprehend, but it made him human. I would say that even though he was sick-looking, he bore a face that could have looked once handsome.
And then I considered, "He had parents, a mother and a father, possibly. Where are they now? How did they mislead him? How did he mislead himself? Why is he in that state, and why are people sometimes ignoring him?"
Therein the patient must minister to himself.
Labels: asl
posted by Alan at March 04, 2005
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