Sign Language for Dummies

Sometimes I think back to my childhood days, and how much those memories have scarred me forever shaped me into the person I am today.

One particular story that people enjoy is back from around 3rd grade…

[Insert Wayne's World "Flashback" Soundbite Here]

I was excited. I had spent the last several Sundays in Children’s Church preparing for our “Concert.” Each grade was split up and was learning a special song to sing in front of the adult congregation. I had perfected my grade’s song. I drove my parents nuts singing it in the car, around the house, in my sleep… I was ready. And today was the day.

We lined up by grade, and I won the election by a landslide to be Line Leader for the 3rd grade. We were ushered into the front few rows of the sanctuary, seated right next to the 4th graders, and we were called up grade by grade to perform.

5th Grade was up first (they saved the cutest least-talented youngest kids for last) and they were mediocre in my eyes. Nobody was gonna nail their respective song like I was. 4th grade was up next. The 4th grade teacher corralled her kids to the front… but for some strange reason, she thought I was the last 4th grader, rather than the first 3rd grader. I minor shuffle ensued, and before I knew it, I was standing in front of the altar with a dozen or so 4th graders, scared stiff.

I tried to explain a mistake had been made, as I looked at my still-seated peers. But it was too late. A very unfamiliar song came crackling over the PA, and I knew I had no choice but to fake it.

I’m sure in my little head I was thinking “ok, you got this… we’ve improved before…” but I was not prepared for what happened next. The words started, and I prepared to lip-sync my way outta this, but suddenly each students’ hands raised in unison, and it dawned on me… apparently this song included sign language.

I stuck out like a sore thumb. I stopped the Ashley Simpson act and focused on my hands. Or rather, the kid next to me’s hands. I couldn’t operate both body parts at the same time if I was making both up as I went. I had to look like a half-blind kid with a learning disability — mouth open, signing my signs about 2 seconds after everyone else, since I could only sit there and play catch-up.

The 3-minute song seemed to last an eternity. I took a brief glance up at where my parents were sitting. My mom was smiling big, swaying her head with the music, and jazz-handsing it up in delight. My father had a disappointed scowl and slightly hung his head in shame, as if to say “yup, that’s my Special boy…”

After the agony of the 4th grade song was over, I felt maybe I could redeem myself in the third-grade song I had practiced so religiously (pun totally intended).

But no. Apparently I was still being mistaken for a 4th grader, and the Sunday School teacher thought I was trying to crash the 3rd grade song, so I was ushered off the stage.

Of course, after Church, I was greeted with laud and praise over what a great job I had done. It was at that point I realized that adults lie. Maybe every “great job” I had ever done was equally as embarrassing. Maybe I was horrible at soccer, checkers, nintendo, and being a son in general. Maybe “great job” is adult code for “We tried, but he was trapped in the birth canal for several hours, and we’re still waiting for a malpractice settlement” or “at least his sisters turned out ok.”

But, as I said, it is life events such as this one that mold us into the people we are today. And the reason I pee my pants and cry whenever I see the deaf communicate with each other.

I’m gonna go tell my 6-month old what a great job he’s doing.

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