Connecting with Deaf Awareness Month
I never set out to make art with sales in mind, and so far I don’t make much profit from these occasional sales, but it’s a joy when something I create resonates deeply enough for someone to bring it into their home. I know that feeling well. The pull toward an independent artist’s work, the desire to support them, and the spark of recognition in their vision. To be on the other side of that exchange is humbling, and in this case, it reminded me of an important part of my own story: my years (1998-2006) working as a notetaker for Deaf college students.
My path into this work began almost by accident. In 1998, my mother passed away, and I drifted through community college feeling wayward and unfocused. Then a classmate, a girl I’d befriended who was dyslexic, asked if I could sit with her in her Spanish class and take notes. I said sure, no problem. A few days later, she walked me into the Students with Disabilities office and introduced me around. Suddenly I had an official, paying job for something I already enjoyed: taking notes in college lectures.
Some courses I sat through I didn’t care for, but most of them I loved. Marketing, modern art, graphic design, art history, music history, sociology, African folklore, architecture. I wasn’t transcribing every word verbatim. My job was to listen closely, process what I heard, and shape it into clear, structured notes that the student could use, making the material more organized and accessible. It made me pay attention in a new way, even to subjects I never would have chosen.
One Deaf student I worked with transferred to another college and wanted me to come along, so I went- just across the East River, from downtown Manhattan to downtown Brooklyn. The program in that college was more developed, with a larger Deaf community and a fuller team of interpreters. That’s where I really began to immerse: learning to be more responsible, more professional, and more sensitive to Deaf culture.
I saw firsthand the values, needs, and biases the Deaf students navigated daily. I picked up bits of sign language and realized how much it opened up in terms of expression and connection. I also came to understand the interpreters’ world- the juggling act of accuracy and nuance, the moments they found rewarding, the ones they found frustrating, and the awesome ways in which humor and joy slipped into the work.
The first Deaf student I was paired with was the same one who brought me across to Brooklyn. She was Jamaican and lived in the Bronx. The professor in one of her night classes screened the film Sankofa. It kept running long after class was supposed to end, and though the interpreters had to leave, I stayed behind and kept taking notes for her. I didn’t live far, had no pressing commitments, and it just felt like the right thing to do. Plus, it was fun and interesting to see this film.
I remember one of the interpreters confronting me after I’d skipped a couple of classes whether it was because I overslept, didn't “feel up to it”, or just plain forgot. She emphasized the importance of showing up. “Students’ grades are on the line here.” That was all it took for me. I was convinced and took the job way more seriously from that point on. If I couldn’t make a class and no substitute was available, the student would record the lecture and I’d play it back later, writing notes from the recording.
Friendships grew too, with both interpreters and students, many of whom were around my age. I learned how to use a TTY on the phone, got invited to Deaf events, and spent time in simpler ways too: pizza nights, hanging out outside, even attending an auto show one year. One friend and I ended up having our sons the same year. I was invited to their baby shower and honored with a speech- a moment that meant so much.
Along the way, I picked up pieces of ASL. I can’t recall the first sign I learned, but I do remember the revelation that there were distinct sign languages in other countries like British Sign Language for the U.K., and even regional variations within the U.S. (not unlike spoken languages). I also absorbed lessons about the difference between translation and interpretation. Translation refers more to written work, whereas interpreting is more verbal and visual. As my supervisor once explained to a professor: “I’m not translating every word. I’m processing the idea and then interpreting it into sign.” That distinction shaped how I thought about communication as a whole.
I learned that you always speak directly to the Deaf person, not to the interpreter. Saying things like, “Tell her I like her shirt” or “Could you ask him to move seats?” however unintentional, effectively erases the person you're trying to talk to.
I also came to appreciate the interpreters’ world. They often worked in pairs, switching every 20 minutes because of the sheer physical and mental strain of interpreting nonstop. It isn’t like casually signing your own thoughts- it’s carrying someone else’s words, ideas, and tone, moment by moment. I admired their resilience and their humor, and the way they supported each other in a demanding role.
Even now, those years echo in small ways. I still fingerspell to myself sometimes to better grasp the spelling of a word. I keep in touch with some of the students and interpreters through social media and calls. And I carry a sharpened respect for the many ways people communicate.
Looking back, I see that notetaking wasn’t just a side job that carried me through college. It was something that opened me up to Deaf culture, to the many shapes communication can take, and to the value of showing up with care and precision. Those lessons still echo when I draw, write, or simply try to listen better. So when someone bought Connect ASL during Deaf Awareness Month, it felt like a lovely little reminder that connection, once made, has a way of lasting.
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