ASL Crusade With Special Needs Ryan Gosling.

I killed this horse long ago, I know.

Deaf kids need ASL.

For some, that horse is alive and kicking.

This morning, I'm at Owen's school, speaking to the Early Intervention group at the school director's request. This is a group of parents with Deaf kids under age three, who are still considering all the educational options for their children.

I don't know where these parents stand, how much they know about Deaf culture and the Deaf community.

I don't know how 'normal' they want their children to be.

I do know that my job today is to sell them on ASL.

A  friend sent me this, which I've printed up and will give to the group;


I am an Oral success.

At around two and a half years old, I started talking.I started to learn to read at four years old.
Today I can (if I so choose), order a hamburger at McDonald’s without having to repeat myself.
I can speak to family, friends, and strangers, and they can understand me without problems.
I can call my children to dinner from another room, or sing them a good night song.
I can lipread with fairly good accuracy, and in a one-to-one situation, I can usually handle myself well.
I came to think of myself as a “Hearing person that cannot hear.”
This, you call a success.


Despite my speech, I still cannot hear.
In a group conversation of two or more, I usually find myself lost within five minutes.
I’d rather be alone with a book than with non-signing people at dinner or at a big family gathering.
This, you call a success?


I am a mainstreaming success.
Without the help of an interpreter, note-taker, or any support services, I attended public schools and got good grades.
I progressed at grade level, and learned to read well beyond my age and grade level.
I eventually got a Ph.D. from a major Hearing university.
This, you call a success.


In the “mainstream,” I always felt alone.


For thirteen years, I could count the number of my “friends” on one hand, and still have fingers left over.
These friends were themselves the “misfits” and “outcasts” who could not gain friendships with the “in group.”
I was bullied, shunned, and quietly ignored by both the “cool kids” and the “not so cool” kids.
I was pushed to the brink of a mental breakdown. One day, I stabbed one of my “friends” with a pencil – not because he’d done something bad to me, but because it was what I really wanted to do to those “other kids.”
I got labeled “emotionally disturbed.”
This, you call a success?


I am an ASL success.
I went to a school for the Deaf.
I learned to sign.
I was in school plays, on sports teams, and involved in student government.
Today, I teach Hearing students at a major Hearing university.
I own my own house and two cars.
I am married and have two children.
I cannot count the number of my friends on my fingers and toes, because I don’t have enough fingers and toes.
Some of my friends are Hearing; most are Deaf.
I no longer dread sitting at a table when I am surrounded by people who sign.
With ASL, I feel alone no longer.
This, you call a failure.

by Donald Grushkin

I love that.

Most, no, almost ALL of the Deaf people I've encountered online and in real life, who WEREN'T given ASL as children, consider it a mistake, and had to struggle to learn as teenagers or adults.


I'm a little nerved up about doing this.  Because I do feel so strongly about it, and I don't know if I'm going to face any strong feelings in the opposite direction.  I don't deal with conflict very well.

I'm probably going to fucking cry at some point.

Which is where my dear friend Ryan comes in.

Oh Ryan. That is very sweet of you.  But just so you know; the though of you nekkid will do precious little to calm me, or any female, down. 

Oh fuck it.  Let's go. You're coming with me.

See what else Ryan is up to in the Special Needs community with Sunday and the gang.