Page 43 of The Sign for Home

Professor Bahr raised her dagger eyebrows. I had hit a mark.

“But I’m just not sure where to begin,” she said. “I’m curious as to whether Arlo’s parents even read to him as a child.”

“You’ll need to ask him,” I said. “But I do know something like eighty-eight percent of hearing parents with Deaf children never even learn sign language. If they communicate with their child at all it’s via homemade gesture, or they hope their kid lipreads enough to get basic information. Great lipreaders are few and far between.”

“You’re telling me Arlo’s parents didn’t even speak to him in his own language growing up?” Professor Bahr was aghast.

“Again, I can’t talk about Arlo specifically, you’ll need to ask him.”

“Not speaking to your child is unforgivable!” Professor Bahr pounded on her desk. Her earring bees raged. “It’s abuse! They should be jailed!”

“Then you’d be jailing the vast majority of those parents. I read it’s something like sixty percent of Deaf kids who won’t learn sign language until they start school, which is way too late. It’s called language deprivation. So learning a second language like English becomes even harder. But when a Deaf child does have early access to sign language, it can make a huge difference. The best Deaf writers usually come from either parents who were Deaf or hearing parents who learned ASL right when the Deaf child was born. Also, I’ve noticed—and this is just my own anecdotal opinion—that these kids are also way more emotionally intelligent. But I wanna be clear: I’m not saying there isn’t hope that a Deaf student can improve. And I want to repeat myself: There are genius Deaf writers out there who can write as good or better than most hearing writers. But there’re also a whole lot of Deaf folks like Arlo who find writing English very challenging, and in my opinion it’s wrong to assume they are learning disabled, because they aren’t.”

At that point I picked up Arlo’s paper again and read some more. Then I jumped to his concluding paragraph.

Yes, yes, yes! Whitman very good, smart poet with many beautiful words, and very touch my heart ideas. The sublime was very important feeling for me. If not sublime, life empty. Life feels flat like cold black tar road. My long time ago best friend make me understand the sublime. Doesn’t matter Deaf and low-vision! Experience awe I CAN! Also experience with mama who die six years ago. Even though mama gone, best friends gone, things gone, but also still maybe here like metaphor. Like Walt Whitman important poet say at end of section 6 ofLeaves of Grass:

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, / And to die is different from what any one / supposed, and luckier.

After reading the paragraph I had to stop myself from screaming with joy. All of that held inside Arlo’s head, and almost no one had gotten the chance to see it. And there it was on the paper in front of us. At the same time, I felt incredibly angry that what Arlo was capable of was being hidden because society wasn’t willing to look.

“What you read in Arlo’s paper was an ASL transliteration into English,” I said. “With his own attempts to translate that into what he thought was good English structure. Trust me, I have no doubt Arlo worked very hard on this paper. And as far as whether he’s gaining anything from your class, just look at this. He probably never would have even attempted to express that before. And I’ve seen it in his emails to me. His English grammar is improving. Sure, it may never be Strunk-and-White perfect, but it’s better than before. And he’s expressing…”

My voice cracked. So much for being able to control my emotions.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve just broken about a dozen interpreting rules. Please just forget about it.”

Professor Bahr averted her gaze to the floor. I wasn’t sure whether she was moved or annoyed. When she looked up, she had a curious look on her face.

“Cyril, I admire you. It’s good to care about your work. Sometimes we get so beaten down, it’s hard to maintain. Had you always wanted to be an interpreter?”

“Huh?” I asked, trying to pull myself together. What did any of that have to do with Arlo staying in her class? But then again, I was relieved we were no longer talking about Arlo.

“Not really. Interpreting was kind of an accident. I had originally wanted to be a teacher and maybe a writer, but you know, it was one of those plan B things. You aim for one thing and then end up doing something totally off course, but sometimes it ends up being a good thing. I definitely consider myself lucky, falling into this. I love Deaf people, and they seem okay with me, so, you know, it beats being an assistant manager at the Home Depot.”

Professor Bahr laughed.

“You would be a terrible assistant manager. I agree. But I totally understand what you mean. I myself had hoped to be an actress when I was younger. I wanted to be one of Charlie’s Angels. But growing up, there were no parts for women who looked like me. I was always voluptuous. My family emigrated from Saint Kitts to Westchester in the 1970s, when I was only twelve. When I was fifteen, I got brave enough to audition at the local community theater. I was devastated when they didn’t offer me the role of Laurie inOklahoma!Later, in graduate school, I fell in love with writing poetry and then with a poet who became my husband. But poetry never paid the bills, nor did my husband. And then one thing, then another, and so I am an adjunct professor.”

“As Arlo said, you’re a great teacher.”

Professor Bahr smiled, half-sad, half-proud.

“Am I?”

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and by the awkward sound of it, I knew it was Arlo. Professor Bahr invited him and Snap to sit and relax while she reread his essay. I described Professor Bahr’s expression as she was reading, her head shakes, nods, grimaces, as well as the red marks on the page, and the bad grade. Arlo looked disappointed but also like he expected as much. I also filled him in on everything I had discussed with Professor Bahr.

“Sorry if I overstepped my role as your interpreter,” I signed. “I guess I just wanted her to know what I thought. But it wasn’t appropriate for me to do that.”

“It’s okay,” he signed, barely blinking an eye that I had broken his confidentiality.

Professor Bahr, finally finished, circled a sentence in Arlo’s essay several times, then lifted her head.

“So I’ve decided,” she announced, “that you have a lot to learn about English grammar, Mr. Dilly. However—and this is important—many ofyour mistakes are consistent, which will make it easier to address them. Upon rereading I see now that your ideas and passion are truly outstanding. So I’m adjusting your grade.”

Professor Bahr scribbled out the D and wrote a large C+ on the top of his page. Upon hearing this, Arlo started to smile and rock back and forth. I tapped him on the leg to let him know Professor Bahr wasn’t finished.

“You will improve your English, Mr. Dilly. I am certain of that. As your poet Walt Whitman once said: ‘Urge, urge, urge!’ You have inspired me! I have something for you!”

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