Deafiquette Rule Number One

A recent encounter has prompted me to take a break from writing about El Deafo’s early days in order to introduce the topic of Deafiquette, which means how to behave when you interact with a deaf person.

I can’t speak for all deaf people, especially since I am somewhere in the middle of being a deaf person and a hearing person. I’m extremely deaf without hearing aids; moderately deaf with them; I do not sign, I read lips. Really well.

Remember, I have been reading lips for 35 years. That’s a long time. I can read lips when someone is looking straight at me, or in profile, or in three-quarter view, or in one-eighth view — you get the idea. I spy on dinner conversations between feuding lovers (no one said that I have good etiquette myself), I enjoy the curses of coaches in all their %&*$# glory. If you talk to me without making any sound (a useful tool for gossiping when the victim is in the room), I will get 99% of it right.

On the flip side, however, I cannot look away from the person who is speaking to me, even when his mouth is full of chewed up bread-and-mayonnaise-and-steak-umm. If you told me that the radio announcers were speaking French (when they were really speaking English all along), I would believe you. If you have a beard, or a moustache, then I really am in trouble. Granted, it’s not always the easiest thing to do. And granted, it is sometimes understandable that when people find out that I am deaf, they tend to overcompensate.

Which brings me to the aforementioned encounter. Several weeks ago, I met a woman, a client for a freelance job. She did not know that I was deaf, and because I quickly assessed that she would be easy to understand, I did not need to tell her so. We discussed the job, some ideas, and deadlines. Not once did I have to say “What?” or “Huh?” or “Could you repeat that?” A very easy interaction. Then, a few days ago, I met with her again. The exchange was totally different. She was speaking loudly, embarrassingly so. She was over-enunciating: C  E  E  -  C  E  E,     T H I S       L O O K S       W O N D E R F U L.  Her eyes brimmed with pity. What had happened?

She had met with other members of the committee, she said. One of them knew me well, she said. That person told her that I was deaf, she said. You are so very special, she said.  I was crushed. The real pity of it in my own eyes is that I am crushed in this manner quite often.

So, Deafiquette Rule Number One: If, upon meeting me for the first time,  you do not realize that I am deaf and that I am reading your lips, and you are talking to me like a normal human being, then, by all means, talk to me in exactly the same way when you later find out that I am deaf. Do not suddenly forget our previous encounter, when yes, you did speak to me like a normal human being, and not as if I were a complete and utter idiot. Do not shout at me. Remember that when you contort your mouth in new and exaggerated ways, it is actually harder for me to understand you, because people do not talk like they are chewing air at the same time. And above all, no eyes of pity! I am truly, truly fine. For those of you who have met me once, found out the truth, and changed nothing upon our future encounters, I salute you with the mark of True Friendship.

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