Yesterday I went with the Other Greg and some co-workers on public transportation to a meeting in the city.  It was crowded and we had to stand and hold the rails. We suddenly realized that the many children on board were only communicating using sign language--mostly to themselves, but sometimes to young adults who signed back to them as they shepherded the entire crew.

One of the children passed a note to a co-worker standing next to Greg, who wrote a reply back to her.  From that point on, Greg and our co-worker engaged the girls with paper, notes, and responses.  From where I was standing, I could see some of the notes that the deaf children wrote:

ARE YOU FUN DAY?  YES NO (CIRCLE ONE)

ARE YOU MARRIED?

WHAT IS YOUR NAME?

Sometimes the girls had to consult with one of their adult chaperones for help with vocabulary, such as when Greg told a girl named Brianna that she shared the same name as his youngest daughter--"daughter"?  That’s an intimidating, monolithic word, but the girl’s face burst into smiles when she finally understood both the word and the connection that she suddenly shared with her new friend.

Greg also gave her a special pen to write with, one that glowed on the end.  At one point she gave the pen back to him, but he shook his head and grinned.  Understanding that she was the pen’s new owner, she brought it down to her lap reverently and clasped her hand around it.

Getting nearer to our stop produced a kind of anxiety; the kids wanted to get out as many questions and receive as many answers as possible before we all had to leave.  They picked up the pace of their efforts dramatically.  As I watched them scribble notes furiously to my friends and chatter enthusiastically to each other with their hands, I realized that this silent pocket of the subway contained the most talkative girls I had ever seen.