History text* :

Boule et Bill (comics):

One day, during a French class, Claudette projected an image from the comic strip “Boule et Bill”, showing characters with empty speech bubbles. I immediately understood what she wanted us to do. Writing sentences was a particularly laborious exercise. Then she handed out the same sheets of paper. While I was looking at the exercise sheet, Claudette called out to us, tapping her foot (the vibrations on the floor made us raise our noses):

• You… think… invent a story… match… bubbles. I don’t want that you write anything! You have to write… good French! Is that clear?
• Yes…, replied all the deaf.

I stared blankly, concentrating on my thoughts. Constructing sentences with words I didn’t know was impossible. I had ideas in sign language, but here I was blocked by my lack of French vocabulary. Claudette was unaware of this difficulty. I wanted to use the right word and the right formulation to make the story comical and match the image. I wanted to prove that I was capable of producing something good from the first draft, and that I had some perfectly valid ideas. But it wasn’t easy, as I had to think long and hard to find the right words. I was also very afraid of making a mistake, and of the consequences.

As explained above, my first language is sign language. I use it to communicate with my deaf friends. I remember having friendly discussions in LSF about the humorous content of these bubbles, and we all had lots of ideas. But we were stuck, because we didn’t know how to transpose them into written French. There are, however, spoken languages that are transcribed visually: certain Amerindian languages, ancient Egyptian, Chinese… visual languages that translate words or concepts into drawings, not words. And this happens naturally. I’ve never understood why such a restrictive approach was imposed on me, without ever respecting my language. Sometimes I was even forbidden to use it.

I had some ideas in LSF, but I didn’t have the words in French. I didn’t know what to do. The exercise had several bubbles to fill in, and I couldn’t move forward. The other students seemed to be in the same situation.

Back then, my hair was short, but thick and long enough to be grabbed. Claudette did just that. She grabbed me and twirled my head in the air, just as she had done before with Anne. I held on to the table to avoid flying. I was in so much pain that the tears came right away. I closed my eyes and waited for it to stop. Then Claudette yelled at me:

• So why you don’t do anything… ask! You suck! You can’t be serious! I’m sick and tired of you!!!

I wasn’t saying anything. I was sobbing. Then she added sarcastically:

• Oh, you’re… baby ; It’s over, you’re all grown up now. And you’re crying… Stop, it’s okay! You’re not doing anything!

I wiped away my tears and tried to catch my breath, refusing to answer. Claudette grabbed my chin and forced me to lift my head:

• Stop Cédric, hurry up! … angry again ; … would you like?

I wanted to find the words to this exercise, but I couldn’t, being at an impasse unable to answer despite all my good will. It was so frustrating to have thousands of ideas in sign language and not be able to apply them. Leaning over my sheet of paper, the tears came crashing down on the paper and the wet pen left traces. I had to erase them quickly to avoid getting yelled at once again. So I tried to breathe to calm down, but the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. And I still couldn’t write. Unable to control myself, Claudette came over and gently patted me on the shoulder, as if to say “don’t worry”. But I immediately reacted in self-defense, protecting myself with my arm – too used to blows coming out of nowhere. Then she smiled and said:

• So… wait, I’m not getting angry. I’ll… help you, tell me… word… you want and I’ll… write…

I didn’t know what to make of her behavior. Was she sincere, or was this yet another strategy to hurt me?

• Come on, give me a sign and I’ll… give the word…
• … greedy… I end up signing to him.

So she wrote the word GOURMAND and I copied it down. This was my way of learning new words and expanding my vocabulary. Eventually, she remarked:

• You didn’t knew how to write… word? You know… the sign, it’s too bad too bad!

How could we, as deaf people, be properly educated? Without a language bath at home or anywhere else. Claudette blamed me for a faulty system set up by hearing people. My low level of French must have shocked her. The problem was pedagogy, not me. Then she pressed me:

• Come onhurry up… find… other sentences… !

Yes, I had ideas, but in sign language, not in French. There were so many boxes to fill in. So I wrote simple, poor sentences, reusing the few words I’d learned. Claudette, standing next to me, was watching me. She was blocking me. I was in self-defense mode. Luckily, noon arrived. It was time to leave and breathe at last. But I hadn’t finished my work. So she summoned me:

• You must finish this job over the weekend. Do you understand?
• Yes…

I couldn’t stand the constant scrutiny and pressure she was putting me under. Luckily, the class was finally over.