Introspection: Part II

In "Introspection: Part I," the included post included some reflections/memories of how it was that I left Gallaudet University in D.C. (October 2006) in order to return to Texas and care for my family. The reflection is set in 2007 when my family (mother and four younger brothers) had to relocate to San Antonio in order to get my grandmother cared for. I did not transfer to Baylor until August 2008. Some might consider the post overtly personal and unrelated to philosophy, but I would disagree.

When it comes to religion, there is a system of punishments and rewards. Though there are many exceptions, the overall consensus among religious followers is that good followers get rewarded and the bad followers get punished. Aristotle appears to touch on this question when he writes"…is it completely wrong to track a person's fortunes like this? For they are not where living well or badly is located, but rather human life needs them in addition, as we have said, and it is activities in accordance with excellence that are responsible for our happiness, and the opposite sort of activities for the opposite state" (106).

As Aristotle says,"..it does not make a small difference whether people are habituated to behave in one way or in another way from childhood on, but a very great one; or rather, it makes all the difference in the world." It seems to me that every person has their own philosophical milestones in which idealism needs to be reconciled with reality. When those mountains slap you in the face, you encounter that disillusionment that seems to resemble Plato's description of the light first hitting the faces of the cave-dwellers.

While there were other milestones, my larger questions relate to the problem of suffering. The branch offs seem to concern whether or not the rules of morality change in the event of extreme pain and suffering. While discussing The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, that rule concerning morality in suffering deeply disconcerted me. Both Kant and Aristotle call it immoral to commit suicide. Kant calls it immoral because humanity is supposed to be an end unto itself—life is to be cherished over death (essentially). Aristotle is similar in his articulations against suicide when he says: "and the most fearsome things is death; for it is an end, and there seems to be nothing any longer for the dead person that is either good or bad" (133).

To bring this back down to earth a little bit, during the Civil War the courts were shut down in some areas of the union that were under martial law. In Ex parte Milligan, the court argued that because the military was attempted during a time and place when the civil courts were open, the civil courts have jurisdiction over citizens. They did stipulate that if the country existed under a state of anarchy, traditional rules (the civil courts) would no longer apply because the necessary system that they are built on are unavailable. So apply that to morality. If a person or group of people have their entire system of morality crushed under the trials of pain and suffering, how is it rational to assume that the same moral approximations would still be valid?

That, dear readers and non-readers, is my question.

 

Aristotle mentions approximation: "Actions have to do with particulars, and the requirement is that we should be in accord on these. So we should take these cases, from the chart. Thus with regard to feelings of fear and boldness, courage is the intermediate state" (118).

 

Where is the courage? How do we really ascribe courage when it is only necessary when the rules change?

 

How does the statement below really work?

"But one should not be courageous because of constraint; one should be courageous because it is fine to be so." (pp 135)

 

 

 

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Leia Mais…

Introspection part I:

Summer is over, but it is 6 o’clock and the sun is barely lowering its gaze on our little trailer in the country.  We’re celebrating.  Grandma has gone a week without complications at dialysis and picked enchiladas for dinner.  My grandmother periodically shouts little instructions from the living room into the kitchen because it’s my first time flying solo.  As the oil in the pan crackles and pops, I soften up the corn tortillas.  The radio interrupts the silence with vaguely familiar 70s disco music and transports me back to when we used to dance together.  As an eight year-old nothing compared to the rare chance to get decked out in Grandma’s art deco jewelry, boa feather scarves, silk robes and sequined high heels—except for when she joined me in my efforts to sort out the ‘dancing stuff’ to the likes of Elvis and The Beach Boys. 

But it was 70s disco music that I needed the most help dancing to and Grandma was happy to break it down for me.  While simultaneously demonstrating each of the movements, she would tell me:  “Stand with your feet apart!  Roll your shoulder,” but I didn’t see what that had to do with dancing.  Flustered, I rolled my right shoulder anyway.  She’d continue, “…now roll the other one” and I rolled my left shoulder, still not getting it.  “Good, now alternate,” and I’d roll my right shoulder then the left, then the right again and the left again.  “Shake your hips,” and I’d shake my hips discordantly from the music; I just wasn’t getting it—“How did this constitute dancing?” I wondered.   “Feel the music,” she told me, while giving me time to match my movements to the rhythm.    “Put it all together now,” she told me while shaking her hips and shimmying her shoulders looking like a disco queen.  I, on the other hand, probably resembled a frog caught in a blender.  But it didn’t matter.  When we it all put together, the parts made sense; I just hadn’t gotten a handle on them. 

Gloria Gaynor’s “I will survive” comes on the radio and now I’m back in the present.   In front of the stove I start shaking my hips, rolling my shoulders, and resembling a frog less than ever.  Seemingly reading my mind, Grandma makes her way from the couch then bursts into the kitchen in time to sing me the third line:  “…Kept thinkin’ I could never live/ without you by my side/ But then I spent so many nights/ thinkin’ how you did me wrong/and I grew strong/ and I learned how to carry on.”  She shoots me a meaningful glance and my eyes start welling up as my throat tightens.  The tempo changes, “But now you’re back/ From outer space,” and I move the pan of hot oil away from the burner; I know what’s coming next.  Grandma grabs my hand and yanks me to the center of the kitchen.  She shakes her hips and shimmies with her robe sash across her shoulders, and I get to dance with the disco queen again.   My mother joins us; together we belt out the chorus, “Oh no, not I/I will survive/as long as I know how to love/I know I’ll stay alive/I've got all my life to live/I've got all my love to give/and I'll survive/I will survive,” and dance as if Gloria herself is in the kitchen with us. 

At the end of the chorus, Grandma sits down to rest her legs.  I go back to listening to the oil crackle and pop while the corn tortillas bubble up slightly as they soften.  I’m so consumed by my thoughts that I barely notice my mother has added the beef and garlic to the caramelized onions.  “Lean on me” comes on the radio, and my mother knows my aching.  We hug.  She sings, “Sometimes in our lives/we all have pain/we all have sorrow/but, if we are wise, we know that there’s always tomorrow” then hugs me tightly until the chorus is almost over.  When she lets go, she wipes the tear off my cheek and we return to cooking. 

After we set the corn tortillas and meat aside to cool, I start boiling water in our largest saucepan.  Red sauce is the most temperamental part of making enchiladas.  With both determination and apprehension, I whisk together a little bit of flour and water and add the mixture to the boiling water, repeating the process until the sauce starts to thicken.  My brothers gravitate towards the aroma of the browned meat, garlic and caramelized onions--stealing bits of the goodness here and there.  When the sauce is near the right consistency, I start beating chili powder in with the water and flour mixture before pouring it into the saucepan.  The technique is repeated until the chili powder causes a deep terra-cotta color to bleed through the grayish liquid.  Grandma limps over to the stove to survey my progress.  “More chili,” she says.  “More salt,” she adds at the next taste test.  The end result is a medium-thick sauce with just enough salt to make the chili powder pop.  Grandma exclaims in approval, “Ay!  See?  I told you!”

Mom preheats the oven.  Immediately after I quarter another onion for the Spanish rice, the stench sets fire to my eyes.  My mom takes over the raw task of dicing the onions for me; she’s always been tougher like that.  I go outside to get some fresh air but my mind works against me and summons how we came to live in Comfort, Texas.  The name of the town seemed optimistic before, but now it seems bittersweet considering we’re in a double-wide trailer, without air conditioning or heat.  I remember the subject heading of the email:  “URGENT:  CALL HOME” and the phone call that I made to mom almost a year ago. 

“Sorry mom, it’s been crazy here.  What’s going on?  Is everything okay?” I asked her. 

“Grandma’s in the hospital.  Kidney failure.”  Sounds like crying.  “The doctors don’t expect her to make it through.”  More crying. 

“Clack-clack-clack,” sounds the keyboard as my fingers furiously pound the keys.  “Okay mom, I found a flight going from DC to San Antonio.  I’ll be there at 11 o’clock tomorrow morning.” 

The sun rises and I have already been in the air for an hour and a half.  For the first time, a sunrise looks mournful; seemingly crying with me as the yellows and oranges bleed through the blue horizon. 

            I shake off the memory and go back inside.  It doesn’t make sense yet.  Mom has fried the rice.  I take over; Spanish rice isn’t her strong suit.  After adding the water and tomato sauce, I wait till it hits a boil and then lower the heat to a simmer.  My grandma comes over to help me assemble the enchiladas.  We pop it in the oven.  In just a few minutes, our entire house is heavy with the potent essence of chili powder, garlic and onions melding with cheese.  Everybody’s mouth waters with anticipation.  We serve the enchiladas with shredded lettuce, diced tomatoes and a dollop of daisy (sour cream) on top with Spanish rice and refried beans on the side.  While sitting around and eating together, the whole makes sense.  

Leia Mais…

Wide Open

Once [Pythagoras] passed by as a puppy was being beaten, the story goes, and in pity said these words:

"Stop, don't beat him, since it is the soul of a man, a friend of mine, which I recognized when I heard it crying." (Curd 18)

During spring break I attended a funeral, and I attended another just this last week. I did not know the deceased at either of the funerals but attended to support those who lost a loved one. Still there was something surreal about the amount of emotions that people are capable of experiencing—particularly empathy.

Now maybe (or almost assuredly) Pythagoras was onto something when suggesting that we are all a part of one another. Isn't that just wide open? How does one reconcile the "take care of yourself first so you can take care of others later (hopefully)" mentality of college students when the larger goal, the larger point resides in the present?

The larger point that I refer to is connectedness. That connectedness resembles staring at something for so long that it blurs, goes out of focus.

People don't really know when anything truly begins or ends, but we're all co-owners of the "middle" of things. If the middle is the connector between the beginning and the end, and we're all in the middle of that beginning and end (if those are even distinct from one another), then we're all connected.

First he declares that the soul is immortal; then that it changes into other kinds of animals; in addition that thing that happen recur at certain intervals, and nothing is absolutely new; and that all things that come to be alive must be thought akin. (Curd 19)

So perhaps empathy is rooted in the basic understanding that one is alive in a body for the present, but that body will cease to be. To think of Pythagoras' principle in more accessible terms, Martin Niemöller's famous poem translated into English breaks down what is often forgotten—the connectedness and the responsibilities that come with it:

When the Nazis came for the communists,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.

When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.

When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.

When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I wasn't a Jew.

When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out.

Or to be more specific, Pythagoras "beaten puppy" could be the communists, the social democrats, the trade unionists, the Jews, or any number of things that are a part of us. This appears to be the root of empathy—the ability to recognize oneself in other people, animals, and living things.

Leia Mais…

Crabs in the Cave: Part II of II

Back to the subject at hand: Deaf culture, the crab theory, and the allegory of the cave.

Brief recap: I began by exploring the implications of the crab theory in a larger social context then honed in on the deaf community as a more specific and familiar example. Now we can make our way into the cave.

Essentially, Plato's allegory of the cave is a metaphor about how education affects the human soul. Ideally, education is meant to teach one how to reach the ultimate goal of goodness. Here are the opening lines of Book VII: the allegory of the cave.

"Imagine human being living in an underground, cavelike dwelling, with an entrance a long way up, which is both open to the light and as wide as the cave itself. They've been there since childhood, fixed in the same place, with their necks and legs fettered, able to see only in front of them, because their bond prevent them from running their heads around. Light is provided by a fire burning far above and behind them. Also behind them, but on higher ground, there is a path stretching between them and the fire. Imagine that along this path a low wall has been built, like the screen in front of puppeteers above which they show their puppets" (Grube 514a-514b).

It seems to me that the "cave" (much like the bucket) is meant to be deafness—not the lack of sound but the experience of being deaf. Many (but not all) become a part of this world from childhood. Particularly literal is "...They've been there since childhood, fixed in the same place, with their necks and legs fettered, able to see only in front of them, because their bond prevent them from running their heads around."

As deaf people, we are told that there is only so much we can accomplish because of the lack of sound (which really stems from a difference in communication abilities—i.e. speaking/writing English). This experience of the cave is similar to the experience of the bucket—the cave represents a limited intellectual growth while the bucket signifies a lack of interaction beyond the shared experience of "deafness". Since not all people who can hear are outside of the cave, one might contend that there's a bucket in the cave—subject to the similar conditions of the cave. 'Crabs in a cave' is a fitting metaphor since Plato also espouses a concept of innate intelligence that requires time to develop but speech to express it. [Aristotle says of deafness and education, "Deaf people could not be educated without hearing, people could not learn." But then again, Aristotle had a lot of buckets for people who weren't Greek citizens.]

Side Note: Contrary to popular belief, ASL does not translate directly to English. ASL contains a linguistic system just as complex as Spanish or English. It should also be noted that ASL is not universal, different countries and regions have their own systems of sign language. Thus, when in class my mind (and any other deaf student using ASL interpreters) is juggling two different languages and attempting to reconcile the differences. Similar to Lily, I'm sure (except that I've been juggling the two for ten years now).

In the bucket, the experience is also of seeing only what is in front of them, and naming the passing shadows of what is real. I suppose the shadows in the bucket would be more ambiguous, undefined, and completely interwoven. The shadows within the bucket are comforting because they are familiar. It seems that while being unbound is the first step to enlightenment for the natural citizens of the cave, the crabs are already unbound but are instead confined to the bucket.

But if a crab were out of the bucket but still in the cave— what is seen seems grander, dominating, and more real—the reality of the world that moves but does not stop to explain why it moves. There are no other crabs to help name those shadows, and not knowing what to think of a thing is disconcerting. The shadows in the cave are now less ambiguous, more defined since there is now space for them to run their necessary sizes. This difference between the shadows in the bucket and the shadows in the cave would be perplexing because it is difficult to comprehend how reality is different from one experience (bucket) to another (cave).

If reality differs, then it is not static. If reality is not static then (to the best of my knowledge) this reality cannot be the root of experience. If this is not the root of experience, then it is not the ultimate reality but illusions layering over reality. The bucket becomes a layer, the cave, another layer, the fire another layer. Being dragged out of that cave sloughs off the layers of false knowledge but the problem is that few see the value in dragging a crab out of its cave.

What I refer to here is educating the crab—there are not enough philosopher-kings (teachers) committed to coming back down to the cave for the crabs. Instead several crabs must wait and continue naming the shadows in the cave or the shadows in the bucket, feeling uneasy, feeling controlled. Yet the citizens of the cave fault the crabs for not knowing any better than to be in the bucket.

Like Ella, the crab out of the bucket has to wonder: "who put the crabs in there?" and promptly return to its fellow crabs to let them know that a singular experience of the world does not define intelligence. Together the crabs have to work to establish a home outside of the cave.

 

Leia Mais…

This is what we call a “corny” post

A moment ago I was staring into my favorite oil painting that's on the wall. It's abstract, really it could be anything. To me it's peace. A swirl of blues, greens, and yellows. A blissful state that makes me think of air and water: the very things that make me free to live. To my luck this came on the radio (internet radio, mind you):

 

"Extra Ordinary Thing" by Aqualung (courtesy of azlyrics.com)

Cheer up it might never happen, oh, it might never happen; we, we'll see
As I sit here spitting and churning, oh, it's clear its happening right now to me

Make it special for a loved, for a stranger, peace is hard to hard to come by, extra ordinary thing

Why not believe in something, something's got to be better than nothing
Just because it's the end of the beginning doesn't mean it's the beginning of the end

Failing fractured broken busted all for nothing sing my heart out for a stranger
Extra ordinary thing song my heart out for a stranger extra ordinary thing

 

Now because of the History of Classical Philosophy, the pre Socratics are always sneaking into the forefront of my thoughts. Of course Thales deserves the honorable ninja sneak award for sneaking the fastest. Aristotle said of Thales' idea that the arche was water: "maybe he got this idea from seeing that the nourishment of all things is moist, and that the hot itself comes to be from this and lives on this (the principle of all things is that from which they come to be)-getting this idea from this consideration and also because the seeds of all things have a moist nature; and water is the principle of the nature of moist things" (Curd 2). Personally I love the story about Thales falling into a well while being engrossed in the study of astronomy. Maybe that Thracian serving-girl made fun of him for falling into the well because he failed to "notice what was in front of him and right next to his feet" (Curd 9). But once he fell into that well—it wouldn't be a stretch to say that he fell into the arche of things. Water is a treasure and a curse—we need it more than food, (just consult the Middle East, half the wars are about drawing the border lines to include the most water in their respective countries) but too much equates to a cruel loss of life (hurricane Katrina). Still you'll die fast from a lack of air. Even when submerged in water, it's not the water that kills you—it's the lack of air.

So what of air? When I think of Anaximenes I think of a creative cheeky youth trying very hard to be serious. Probably because he aims to please by trying to make the two opposing principles posited by his predecessors coalesce: Thales-water; Anaximander-the boundless. Still when reading Anaximenes' conception of air: air "comes to be and is without measure, infinite and always in motion" I can't help but feel freed and more understanding of why driving with the windows down, yawning, and controlling my breathing in Pilates class are immensely comforting to me.

Corny, yes. But it is what it is.

Leia Mais…

Crabs in a Cave? Part I of II

"Office" fans, please refrain from the "that's what she said" jokes. Just kidding.


 
In any case, this afternoon I had a minor epiphany. Are you ready for this? There's no more "that's what she said jokes"…but we'll manage.

Disclaimer: the views expressed on deafness and deaf culture are based largely on my own observations unless another source is cited via hyperlinks. Discussion of other minorities is also cited. Please note that these views are not necessarily nor intended to be representative of the whole of the deaf community, rather they are an expression of my own views.

Today it dawned on me to connect the deaf community (or insert your favorite minority here) to Plato's "allegory of the cave". However, the most common metaphor applied to the deaf community is the crabs in a barrel syndrome a.k.a. the crab theory.

Background: The Crab Theory

As explained by the Gallaudet University Library, "the analogy is to a bucket of live crabs: whenever one crab attempts to escape the bucket by climbing out of it, the others reach up and pull it back down. The result, of course, is that no crab succeeds in escaping the bucket." Now, I wonder: could the "barrel" be likened to Plato's "cave"?

First, the problem of the crab theory is that it suggests that minorities will prevent members of their communities from succeeding through education, jobs, or the accumulation of wealth and/or honors. Should a member of a minority group succeed above all the others, those who are left in the barrel will mock, criticize, and all but disown the members that make it out of the barrel.

As far as social theories go, the crab theory is particularly pessimistic and cynical. It must be noted that in the case of African Americans (click here to see one of the crab theory's first applications), the crabs in a barrel analogy has been severely criticized by Nathaniel Turner as an oversimplified idea that makes systematic oppression seem like a figment of the imagination. However, it is also true that despite the crab theory's criticisms it is still frequently applied—take the case of various bloggers applying the crab theory to the latest presidential election and Obama's term (click here for one example).

Still, socio-economic complexities, power dynamics, and legal issues surrounding the theory are often glazed over with the application of the crab theory. Oppression in the deaf community is multifaceted much like oppression of any other minority group. There are stratifications within the community based on education, wealth, deaf roots (deaf child of deaf parents (DOD) or hearing child of deaf parents (CODA)), deaf participation, romantic competition, whether or not one is "deaf enough", (evaluated by accomplishments, use of assistitative technology i.e. hearing aids, cochlear implants, which sign language system is used), or being "hearing-minded" which means to be the 'other'.

This oppression within the deaf community or the basis for the application of the crab theory is known as Audism. Essentially, members of the deaf community are faulted for oppressing one another in addition to the oppression seen in job hiring policies, loans, business, federal assistance, the ignorance about needs of deaf individuals and so on.

Comparative examples of oppression within a minority group might include judgments of appearance (judging based on how un-ethnic one looks) or a critique of wealth that's often discussed in pop media such as "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" or "Introducing Dorothy Dandridge" or even in "Tortilla Soup". My point is that minorities are often accused of holding each other down. But again, this is overly simplistic.

While getting my ducks lined up prior to writing this blog, I came across a wonderful VLOG by Joey Baer that includes a video clip of Ella Mae Lentz's presentation at the summer 2006 National Association of the Deaf (NAD). Rather than take away from the quality of Ella's presentation I have taken the liberty of translating the video into English for those who are interested in watching the video while reading along. But I don't know how to truncate messages so I'm just going to put it all on here. (Click on Ella's name to see the video)


 

 

Transcribed ASL to English translation of Ella Mae Lentz's presentation at the NAD conference during the summer of 2006,

Understanding Deafhood: Our Language (part 2 of 4)

   

Is anyone here familiar with the crab theory? Can anyone give me a basic definition of what it means?

Pulling crabs down, right.

It's a story about the bottom of a pail filled with crabs and when the crabs try to climb their way out, other crabs will pull them back down with them.

I've heard that story many times over the years. The Crab Theory has been applied to the deaf community multiple times by arguing that deaf people pull successful deaf people back down by insulting, criticizing, and pointing the blame at each other.

Upon listening to this argument, I became deeply unsettled by the notion that the deaf community is responsible for preventing each other from succeeding.

But then I was inspired by a book I read [Understanding Deaf Culture: In Search of Deafhood by Dr. Paddy Ladd (2003)].

While reading it, I didn't know that I would come across that story again. Are you ready to hear it?

So, there's a pail with the crabs in it. But let me ask you, who put the crabs in that pail? Think about it, who put the crabs in the pail?

Someone had to. The crabs didn't get excited and decide to put themselves in that pail.

It's not normal for the crabs to be in a pail, someone/something had to put the crabs there. And while the crabs are crawling around the bottom of the pail, someone is looking down into the pail telling the crabs "it's your fault you're in the pail". But it's the person/people outside of the pail that are looking into the pail and the person/people who put the crabs in the pail that are really at fault. Not the crabs. [Emphasis added]

Now imagine that the crabs are dumped out of the pail and returned to their natural state of life in the water amongst each other. Do you think that the crabs will be in a hurry to take off and escape one another? I doubt it.

I imagine the crabs would stay near one another going to and from, pairing up with this crab or that crab to reproduce, go to and from while feeling free to stay together in happiness.

Well—that's the same as deaf people. It's the same thing, right? We are happy about see each other come and go, and then come back again.

You don't let people put you in a metal pail again. That's my point. Thank you.

 

The italicized section represents our jumping point for discussing the "crabs in a pail" in conjunction with Plato's Allegory of the Cave. If you're not bored to tears…stay tuned for further discussion of the philosophical implications.

 

 

 

 

Leia Mais…

In Response to Sterling

Sterling,

(apparently it's my turn to struggle with posting comments) 

First, I never think it's ignorant to wonder or to ask questions about what you wish to understand. 

That being said:  yes I do worry about the way that my comments are voiced to the class, but not only how they are spoken/translated, but also how they are conveyed.  What is most frustrating is that communication is an expression of individuality and I often grapple with the implications of having another communicate for me.  Luckily, the more time you work with an interpreter, the more naturally the translations come.  Admittedly, it takes a gift to "wear" someone elses' personality while translating something so conceptual.  I am fairly skilled at lip-reading so if there's a grave mistake, I usually catch it.  If it's minor, it's a pick-your-battles kind of thing. 

Based on my own observations, a person's whole persona affects the way they are perceived (i.e. tone of voice, body language, word choice, vocabulary, coherence, appearance,etc.) and I am narcissistic in that I wish to control (to some extent) how I am perceived.  So absolutely, yes.  Is this in line with what you thought the question suggested about yourself?

As for the blind, deaf, double amputee marathon runner--that's pretty extraordinary!  I tried to find the name, but to no avail.  While I appreciate the quote on a transcendent level in that while one's bodily circumstances aren't always controllable, the mind is.  But--at some point people as a whole have realize that until the reality of the situation (such as the limitations surrounding a disability) is acknowledged, there can be no overcoming it.  It reminds me of the "there is no spoon" scene in The Matrix. 

As for personal communication--I think every one has their own stash of awkward conversations.  "Could you repeat that, I'm deaf" elicits a range of responses from screaming at me to nervous giggles to over-enunciating and speaking far to slow for me to figure out where the syllables combine.  However, the struggle to communicate is usually good-natured unless I get shut out completely.  Most experiences leave me with a great deal to laugh at/with/in. 

As for being geared towards the homogeneous, the attempts to "normalize" everything and everyone are very disturbing to me.  For example, on a global level:  the effort to establish a democratic government in Iraq--the lack of cultural respect (Islamic beliefs call for a religion-infused governing system) and the assumption that democracy is a one-size-fits-all political system (Which we also see fail in South Africa) makes me think that maybe it's time to stop putting our hands in everyone's cookie jar.   

In terms of people:  society wants to "fix" everyone and hide what they can't fix.  Hearing aids are becoming almost microscopically small in hopes that others will never notice that something's different.  ADD/ADHD children are medicated and still marked by teachers as the "bad" ones rather than implementing a system of education that allows for multi-disciplinary/Montessori schooling which engages the students rather than alienating them is another example of "fixing" (meds) then "hiding" (alienating).  I suppose that also references the opposing forces that I mentioned.  In reference to my own experience, opposing forces would include the debate about whether or not hearing aids are a conformist symbol or if entirely embracing my hearing loss is equated with being a novelty item.  Does that make sense?  It almost seems like a rant than a discourse.  I'll take my chances. 

As for classes--Baylor offers sign language classes through the Communication Sciences and Disorders department (I take issue with that title, ASL is considered a foreign language everywhere else).  Besides that, if you're thinking a summer school option, I'm not sure about Baylor but I think MCC offers summer ASL classes.  A structured classroom is a great place to start, but the experience is best supplemented through interaction in the deaf community-which isn't difficult.  It's engaging, fun, and the linguistic system is fascinating. 

I did not learn ASL until I was an adult (17/18) but I went on to study at Gallaudet University for 2.5 years.  My ASL greatly improved because it had to and it was crucial in the social and academic sphere.  I began with SEE (Signing Exact English) which is pretty much the bastard child of ASL.  Now I'm still learning, but it's important to know that ASL is a living language--constantly evolving and improving.  It's a language that definitely requires persistence. 

I *think* I covered all the bases!  Apologies for the long wait, I hadn't realized there were any comments here.  Thank you for all the challenging questions!

Britt

Leia Mais…