A Selection from Alone in the Mainstream: A Deaf Woman Remembers Public School

In her introductory comments to this issue of Sign Language Studies, Brenda Jo Brueggemann refers to the notion of a "crack-dwelling book." In spite of its evolution on the road to publication, my book, Alone in the Mainstream: A Deaf Woman Remembers Public School, remained a crack dweller. It is a story not just about my life but also about the lives of sixty other people who themselves were the only deaf or hard of hearing child in their K–12 schools. My book also includes a brief introduction to Deaf education and Deaf people—I considered my audience to be parents, teachers, and counselors, who may not have a clue about these subjects.

The audience, in my mind, would include my own brothers and sisters. I wanted to write in a language that would enable them to easily finish my book in a day or two, if they were to pick it up. So I wanted the average reader—mainstream Americans—to be able to really get a sense of what I was trying to say. Finally, I wanted to give a variety of voices to a common experience that many people shared: We thought we were "alone in the mainstream," but truthfully there were and still are many of us.

For this article I will share an excerpt that refers to my relationship with two very special young women who are now both students at Gallaudet University. The following is from chapter 7, "The Best of Both Worlds":

Justin was eight and Jessica was six when I married their father, Rick, in 1992. They are now adults, and I count them as dear to me. Justin and Jessica taught me much about two elements of the Deaf community. Justin, being hearing, is a CODA (child of Deaf adults), and Jessica, by virtue of her mother's line, is a DOD (Deaf of Deaf).

I first met Jessica when she was not yet three years old. Her proud papa brought her over to meet me one lovely summer day. She had on the cutest little blue flowery outfit. This was probably the first time I had a deaf child in my house. Little Jessica was very personable, as she remains today. With her dark curly hair and lovely little face, she was captivating from the start. Rick and I decided to take her to a playground, and she followed me upstairs to my bedroom so I could change into more appropriate shoes. I had a pair of sneakers for each activity: racquetball, running, aerobics, walking, and gardening, and my shoes were neatly lined up on my closet floor. When Jessica looked at them, her eyes grew wider by the second. She looked up at me and signed in fluent ASL with her pudgy little hands, complete with appropriate facial expression, "WHOSE SHOES ARE THOSE?" I looked at her and signed MINE with a facial expression that said, "But of course!" Her eyes grew about as wide as humanly possible as she signed back, ALL OF THEM? with a facial expression that said, "That's impossible!

"Her facial expression included a specific mouth movement that is well known to native ASL users. This mouth movement conveys the idea "They can't possibly allll be yours!" The incredulous look on her face matched the mouth movement so precisely, as one might expect from a much more mature language user. I will never forget how stunned I was that she was able to appropriately use a slang sign that had a very intricate meaning and that her language was so evolved at her young age that she could convey this nuance. It would be like a hearing two-year-old saying, "Oh, Mom, get real!" at a culturally appropriate moment. I realized then that my knowledge of ASL was going to increase exponentially if I continued to spend time with this preschooler.

Another remarkable incident occurred around Christmas just a few years later, when Jessica was four. I already knew that she loved music and loved to sign songs. We were...