♫Back to [grad] school, to prove to dad that I'm no fool♫

     I finally heard back from all my PhD program applications.  Only one of them completely accepted me so it made the choice a lot easier.  I was honestly worried about choosing the right path to balance what I’m good at and what I want to accomplish with my life.  I kept feeling like one or the other program would open some neat doors and close some others that I didn’t want closed.  So, the choice is removed and it’s just up to me to make what I’ve got work.  Sort of like an arranged marriage: you don’t have to worry about silly details like “does he fart in bed?” or “will she really keep calling her friends for 3 hours a night?”  You’re married so you stay in love and treat each other well because…that’s what you’re committed to.

     So the program will be Instructional Psychology and Technology at BYU.  This kind of psychology will not involve me prescribing people drugs.  And actually it will not take me so far away from the second language teaching and learning that I felt I should be doing.  The program focuses on research, instructional design, evaluation and measurement.  Basically I will learn how to help improve both the in-class and out-of-class experience for students.  I will have a second language focus and will be able to bend all my learning towards foreign language teaching and learning, whether that be during my program or afterwards.

     BYU will be great in its own way.  Tuition is cheap, housing is relatively cheap and the education is good.  Finding regular funding will be harder, though.  It’s a quieter campus and we like that; I’ll be there to study.  And it’s not like we want to take our children to all-night parties.  We have our own wild parties every night at home: they involve poopy diapers, karaoke to the same song 12 times in a row at 3am, and waking up in different bedrooms than you fell asleep in.  We won’t be missing anything.

     The hard part is that a position at Hawai’i just popped up.  It’s a place Trish worked and studied before, and the people there love her and want her back.  It’s a real salary compared to scrimping and saving while I get ready to be fully employed.  But we wanted to switch out and have Trish at home while I work, so this will be a bit of an adventure and lesson in humility and creativity (for both of us).

     I’m not sure all our friends will understand or agree with our decision.  But if you know us and the kinds of things we value and enjoy, the kinds of challenges we love to take on, then it probably will make more sense you’ll see how it fits in with who we are.  Trisha isn’t giving up her training or education, she’s applying it in a different way.  She certainly won’t be giving up mentoring or teaching—I’m not even talking about our daughter.  She’ll be helping me be a good graduate student.  In fact, a lot of my understanding of graduate school and a lot of what made my statement of purpose strong(er?) was based on principles that I’ve learned from her.  Furthermore, she’s more likely to go on foreign adventures in following my career track—yet another thing we value.

     So that’s the latest news.  We’re excited.  Perhaps best of all is that we finally know where we’re going next.  It’s like “I don’t care if you send me to a prison camp in the freaking Yukon Territory making Nutella out of ice cubes, just pleeeeeease tell me where I’m going already so I can start making some plans.”  The long weeks of desperation are over.

Speaking with the gift of . . . hands

     Speaking different languages has always been something that I’ve defined myself by as I’ve grown up.  In my last church congregation I was probably the most fluent French speaker and was asked to translate services for the French-speaking African immigrants and refugees.  I really enjoyed that. 

     In my current congregation we just had some deaf folks move in.  While I’ve known French for years, studied it at the university and spent a year and a half living in France, I’ve only audited 1/3 semester of ASL and then taken a few week long night school course in it.  So, comically, I’m once again the guy translating services.  Imagine a speaker, instead of just speaking, reading every letter of every word of their talk to you over the pulpit.  That’s me as I translate for deaf services.

     On the other hand, I think it’s a valuable Christian lesson for these deaf church members.  More than any lesson they are taught at church, more than any sermon they hear, each Sunday they have practical application of the gospel principles of 1) not laughing in my face at me, 2) patience, and 3) the gift of “tongues” (you should be laughing at least by that last one).

     It doesn’t take much for me to admit that I actually really love doing it, hard as it is.  Here’s a group of people that have been unintentionally marginalized in their own native culture.  For an immigrant, you just have to put in the time studying or hashing it out pointing at stuff until you start picking up some words and a bit of grammar.  But for a deaf person it doesn’t matter how hard you try, they will never get “an ear” for the language.  Even reading is, actually somewhat, based on oral speech.  What different does a letter make to you if it doesn’t represent a sound (or two or three :D )?  So learning through reading is still a bit hard.  So it gives me a greater-than-normal thrill to be able to help deaf people feel included.

     After services, there are usually a couple people who make the nice comment that they think it is “so cool” that I can sign.  I’m grateful for the kindness but I try to refrain from laughing out loud about how atrociously bad my signing ability is.  It makes me proud to be able to speak different languages and it does give me a certain pleasure that people notice it.  But secretly I wish the comments were more about how awful of a signer I am and that they should actually start signing themselves so they could do a better job of it all.  Then at least there would be a bunch of people able to communicate with our deaf friends.