It is around about a year ago now that we started using British Sign Language to communicate with Ivy. We started very slowly, with a few simple, key signs, teaching ourselves, and then, as it became clear that Ivy is profoundly deaf, picked up the pace a lot, with a sense of urgency. Thanks to our friends and family, the crowdfunding campaign earlier this year enabled us to study intensely with Deaf tutors and get to a level where we feel somewhat confident. We can hold conversations with Deaf people we meet at the museum over a cup of coffee, read aloud children’s picture books to Ivy, chat at the dinner table, where we have a BSL-only rule, and plan our days and talk about what we’ve been doing with Ivy. We are by no means fluent. Not even close. BSL teaching and learning is closely regulated in the UK, in line with the national qualification standards. To give you an idea of how far we have to go, level 6 is the highest level. The level 6 qualification puts you at ‘complex’ language use level, a C1 or ‘effective operational proficiency’ on the Common European Framework of Reference for Languages, or the equivalent of an honours degree in modern languages. We have done level 2. There is a long way to go before we can have complex conversations with our daughter. Conversations like ‘why there are so many leaves on the ground in Autumn, and why are they all different colours?’ or ‘what is that light shining outside the window at night? (the moon)’. Conversations we wish we could have now.
Why all this bother, then? For us, and for our friends and family? Why are we encouraging the people we care about to learn BSL or Auslan? Ivy has a cochlear implant. She can hear some sounds. She is starting to copy some speech sounds, and say some words in their correct context. Surely she will be oral, and we all won’t *need* to use sign language with her?
Ivy is Deaf. With the implant off, she is Deaf. With the implant on, she is Deaf. This is, and will always be, an important part of her identity. It gives her great gifts and great challenges, and means we all have to work a little bit harder to support her. Sign language is the only fully accessible, natural language for people who are Deaf. It enables Ivy to be 100% herself, to use her face, her body, her arms, her lips, her eyes and her hands to express what she thinks, feels, wants, or needs. We want our child to be able to be 100% herself for as much of the time as possible. We want her to be a part of her community.
Children need language to develop. Their brains need language to grow, to make neural connections, to learn. This is the most important time for brain development and language facilitates this. We do not want to hinder her brain development.
She tells us she is sad when we say we don’t have any raisins in our bag for her to snack on. She tells us when she sees someone jogging in the park who looks like someone we know. She knows the colours pink, purple, silver, grey, green, blue, red, yellow, white, black, and orange. She can tell us which animal she wants to go and see next at the zoo. She has thoughts and opinions and feelings and needs and we want to know what they are. We want other people to know what they are as well.
We want her to be able to choose the language that she feels comfortable using when she is older. It might be a different language with different people, but it should be her choice.
Bilingualism is brilliant. It is good for brains. It is good for literacy development, which is often a problem for deaf children.
She might not develop a great command of English - speaking, listening, reading, or writing. She does, however, have a great brain, a great personality, a kind heart, and a great sense of humour. All of this is shared through language. We want her to be able to share all of this.
Technology fails. Medicine fails. And a cochlear implant is not worn constantly. Sometimes she wants it off, if she’s tired or fed up. She might not want it at all, when she is older. At some point that will not be our decision any more. It can’t be worn in water. Heavy rainfall, bath time, swimming, splashing in the shallows at the beach. We all need to be able to communicate in those situations. Batteries run out, implants get broken, they fall off when hats or helmets are on. They are also very hard to use in noisy situations - busy restaurants, train stations, out on the street, in indoor play centres. Ivy needs to communicate in those settings as well.
BSL is Ivy’s natural language. She signs in her sleep; she doesn’t talk. She makes up signs to be funny. She is getting the hang of some grammar points that are foreign and hard for us. She watches adults and children signing with a focus that we don’t see in any other context. She connects naturally with people who sign with her - no matter how basic or fluent their sign language is.
BSL is a gift to our family. It is a rich and fascinating language. Learning it challenges us every day. We are terrified we will not get good enough, fast enough. We will always make mistakes. Ivy will not. We hope we can teach her to be tolerant and accepting of our mistakes and mishaps and ramblings and mis-signs, and to correct and teach us as we go. And we are grateful for the people who are living this challenge with us, who have been doing it from the beginning, or who have stepped in recently, or who are about to step in now. It’s not too late!
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