This takes place in a sort of AU in which the "hearing thing" is being tackled now, not saved for later for the sole purpose of torturing us, the innocent(?) viewers. :)
No money to be made here (no kidding—unless I can get paid to stop inflicting this on the world!).
I've made little to no attempt to "gloss" any ASL that appears here—because my knowledge of ASL grammar sucks too badly to expose it to the world.
Thanks to Wynd Communications and the Deaf-Hearing mailing list at Yahoo! for the technical assistance they didn't know they rendered. ;)
I have chosen to go with the "Grissom's mother having gone deaf at eight" interpretation of the signed conversation at the end of "Sounds of Silence" because, in my half-baked opinion, it fits more closely into what we know of Grissom. It seems to me highly unlikely that he would have acquired such a knowledge—and comfort within the fringes—of the "big-d" Deaf community if his mother had been deafened in adulthood, not childhood.
Most adults that lose their hearing in adult tend to retain a strong identification with the hearing world; they tend as a group (i.e., in a general sense) not to be terribly interested learning ASL. Those that chose to study it or some other signed language are at a disadvantage; ASL has an extremely complex grammar and structure unique to it that adults have a hard time mastering. So, I'm choosing to conclude that Griss' signing skills and knowledge of Deaf culture and etiquette were transmitted to him (as culture in a general sense is usually handed down) by a mother who herself had been integrated into the community.
If somebody wants to make me, I'll cite my sources…:)…but I really doubt that anyone cares about an annotated bibliography being attached to a mere bit of fluff.
Lady Heather needed a last name for my twisted purposes; I don't recall the show ever supplying one, so I pulled one from the ether for her use. Hope it's okay with her.
All mistakes are solely the author's fault…
Enjoy (I hope)!
…from the Americans with Disabilities Act (as digested at )
SEC. 102. DISCRIMINATION.
(a) No [company with 15 or more employees] shall discriminate against a qualified individual with a disability because of the disability of such individual in regard to job application procedures, the hiring, advancement, or discharge of employees, employee compensation, job training, and other terms, conditions, and privileges of employment.
(b) The term "discriminate" includes:
(1) limiting, segregating, or classifying a job applicant or employee in a way that adversely affects the opportunities or status of such applicant or employee because of the disability of such applicant or employee;
(3) utilizing standards, criteria, or methods of administration
(A) that have the effect of discrimination on the basis of disability
(5)(A) not making reasonable accommodations to the known physical or mental limitations of an otherwise qualified individual with a disability who is an applicant or employee.
Prologue
It was all the fault of the evil genie, clad in Aladdinesque blue and black satin robes…
No. Too simplistic. His job had taught him long ago that the division between black and white, of right and wrong, was rarely so clear-cut.
All right, then…it was a despairing, weary genie, suffering from millennia of being endlessly trapped and released by those greedy, depressingly predictable, hardheaded humans that just couldn't seem to get it.
Okay. He was on his third wish, and…
No, not the third one. He was not a vain man, nor was he self-righteous—well, not usually—but he just knew that he would find it within himself to free the genie with the third wish. So this had to be the second one. He knew that, with his luck, he would have accidentally wasted the first one in some way. "How I wish it weren't so hot," or some other inane conversational sally. Poof.
The second wish.
The genie would turn those bleak but kindly eyes toward him upon hearing it.
"No, no, no! Trust me, you don't want that. You may think you do, but I can promise you that you will curse me for granting it to you within minutes of it coming true. Please, Master…could I perhaps interest you in a nice shiny bright-red sports car? The phone number of that nubile young clerk at the corner convenience store, perhaps?"
He scowled at the genie.
"She's a pretty girl. I'm allowed to look, you know. Men do that. But, no. I know what I want. I thought you weren't supposed to question my will, anyway."
He imagined he could almost feel the unearthly gust of wind the genie's sigh would have caused.
"Sheesh, sorry for trying. For some reason, I find myself caring what happens to you, though I'm sure you're no different than all the rest. I'll be back in that wretched bottle until some other schmoe finds me…"
The scowl intensified.
"I resent that. Just to show you I'm not like that, I pledge that my last wish will be your freedom. But not unless you hop to it."
"My eternal gratitude for my coming freedom, Master. I only wish I could convince you to spare yourself disaster." The genie held up a cartoonish, four-fingered hand to forestall further reprimand from his liberator. "But since your wish is my command, so be it. Please restate your request."
"I wish they would all just…go away for a while, stop interfering, give me some space so that I can deal with and resolve this...whatever this is...by myself."
The genie's dark eyes were sorrowful—for a second, they really reminded him of someone else who Must Be Dismissed Immediately from the Consciousness—okay. All gone. That was close, but he was fine now.
"Very well, Genie. My third wish is to grant you your eternal liberty."
He would have thought that the apparition would jump for joy and quickly disappear in a puff of smoke, but although gratitude could be seen in those fathomless eyes, the sorrow remained. "Master, I can't begin to thank you for your mercy. But, please, next time…"