I should have known something was up when my college buddies—the kind of guys who never grew out of their frat-boy humor—offered to set me up on a blind date. As a single dad to a five-year-old, my dating life was non-existent. “She’s perfect for you, David,” they laughed. “A real quiet type. She won’t argue with you at all.”
I showed up at the upscale bistro in downtown Chicago, nervous but hopeful. When I met Sarah, I realized what their “joke” was. Sarah was beautiful, but she was profoundly deaf. She had a small sign on the table explaining that she communicated through ASL or a speech-to-text app on her phone.
I looked over at the bar and saw my “friends” huddled in a corner, stifling laughs and filming with their phones. They expected me to be embarrassed. They expected an awkward, silent disaster. They thought a person’s disability was a punchline.
The Turn of the Tide
What they didn’t know—and what I hadn’t told anyone since moving to the city—was the reason I was a single dad. My daughter, Lily, was born deaf. I had spent the last five years immersing myself in Deaf culture. I didn’t just know “basic” signs; I was fluent.
I sat down, looked Sarah in the eye, and ignored her phone app. I raised my hands and signed perfectly: “You look stunning. I’m sorry if those guys at the bar are being loud; they don’t have very good manners.”
The look of pure, radiant shock on Sarah’s face was worth more than a million dollars. For the next hour, we didn’t use a single spoken word. We had a deep, fluid, and beautiful conversation in ASL. We talked about music (how she feels the bass), about my daughter, and about her work as a graphic designer.
The Confrontation
As we were leaving, my “friends” approached us, still snickering. “So, Dave? How was the… uh… conversation? A bit one-sided?” one asked, waiting for the laugh.
I didn’t yell. I didn’t get angry. I looked at them with pure pity. I signed to Sarah, “Wait one second, I need to take out the trash.” Then I turned to them and said, “The joke’s on you. While you were busy being cruel, I just had the best conversation of my life. Don’t ever call me again.”
I walked Sarah to her car. As she drove away, she signed, “See you Saturday for a playdate with Lily?” I nodded, my eyes stinging. My friends tried to humiliate a stranger, but all they did was help me find the woman who would eventually become my daughter’s favorite person in the world.