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I first noticed them signing while I was waiting to board a flight from Denver to San Jose. One was a tall, skinny, balding white guy about my age and the other a black boy who was maybe 10 or 11 years old. There was nothing extraordinary about either except that they were signing. It became clear that the kid was bound for my flight, and that the adult was dropping him off before he went to catch his own flight to somewhere else. I watched their conversation as intently as I could, hoping to catch something of it. My ASL skills were too poor and slow, and I managed only to snatch the word “mother” and some obvious “you” and “I” signs. The boy pre-boarded the flight, and I stood waiting, thinking about my own experience with ASL.

Amy, Reid and I started learning American Sign Language as a method to communicate with Ava. As Ava has grown, so as my skill with ASL, but it’s very fair to say that I can only manage “toddler” ASL. Amy and Ava are much better, and Reid’s skills are stronger still. I’m very grateful for learning it, for it was only through ASL that we learned of Ava’s advanced reading and receptive language capabilities. Even though Ava has Down syndrome and is very delayed with her speech, we discovered that at age 3.5 she was reading at a kindergarten level. Without ASL, Ava would have been a very bright child trapped without much ability to express much beyond frustration.

I boarded the Southwest Airlines jet, and began to look for a seat. I noticed that the boy was sitting by himself near the window in a row toward the front of the plane. I took the aisle seat in his row, hoping that I might work up the courage to test my ASL skills and attempt to communicate with him. At the very least, I thought, I might be able to help him if he needed it. I sat surprised at my nervousness and at the level of adrenaline coursing through me. I leaned over and got the boy’s attention by tapping him on his arm.

I signed, “I. Know. Little. A. S. L.”

He got a pleasantly surprised look on his face and signed, “Thanks.”

I signed, “I’m s-e-a-n.”

He smiled and signed, “r-o-b-e-r-t.” At least I think that’s what he signed. I’m quite sure, but I was so nervous and shocked and giddy at the prospect of actually signing with someone that I almost forgot to muster the considerable concentration required of me to recognize even his slowly manipulated (for my benefit) finger-spelling.

I gave him a “Hi” sign and he returned the favor. Relieved that I had accomplished that much, and eager for a break from the anxiety of my first signing communication with anyone outside my family, I took the opportunity to settle into my seat. Robert seemed a typical kid of his age, and wasn’t terribly interested in conversation. Again, I was partly relieved, having sustained a high degree of anxiety that he would be frustrated at my lack of communication skills. When the flight attendant came by for drinks, I asked him if he wanted one. He said yes, but only shrugged when I asked him what he wanted. The flight attended suggested a Coke, and he agreed.

That pretty much summed up the majority of our communication, except for his nod and my wave when he departed. But it was enough for me. I can only hope that I helped eliminate some of his travel anxiety if he was feeling it. Robert gave me an expanded possibility for communication. And he gave me yet another reason to be grateful for my little girl, Ava.