I don’t remember where I saw this Microsoft form, but it had a field I had never seen on a form before — at least, not from a company that doesn’t deal with products primarily for the deaf and hard-of-hearing.

I’ve put all but one TTY into the closet where they are turning yellow in spite of protection from light. The one TTY in my office is the voice-carry over (VCO) phone with no keys. I use the Internet to take care of most of my calls as it saves desk space and uses my comfortable keyboard.
So if I need to call a TTY number, what can I use on the Internet? Using the old method of Hyperterminal didn’t work. Searching for this info yielded no results — all of the results sent me to current relay resources, but not TTY to TTY or computer to TTY.
What’s out there?

For the first time, I’m joining a tennis team… two of them, actually. The coaches and team captains are working to pair us with partners. So I have to start thinking about tips to help my partner communicate with me during the game.
Funny thing, I can’t recall how I communicate with my volleyball, basketball, and softball teams. Probably because it wasn’t a big deal. I did my job and called “I got it!” “Out!” “Foul!” But if I had the basketball, how did I know who was open? It was about using my eyes. I’ve never had a teammate complain to me about not doing something.
Gotta watch that competitiveness business too. One league is more laid back and the other league is very competitive. So I hope it’ll provide a balance, but still — in practice, I find myself building up that competitiveness feeling. It’s tough not being a strong player, which makes it easier to get frustrated or mad at myself.
I let the other team know that I don’t always hear “Out!” so that if I keep playing, it’s only to be on the safe side. People don’t always remember to raise their hand making a one — the signal for out. Surprisingly, there’s no signal for in like in volleyball. When the ball heads for my partner, I move sideways to watch her get the ball and move back to my previous position as soon as she hits it — that way I know where she is. Besides, that’s standard practice in doubles tennis.

Would I be as competitive and a perfectionist had I not been born deaf? I don’t know. Growing up, sports was my thing. I loved playing team sports. I tried golf and tennis lessons, but gravitated toward teams. Thinking about that, you’d think I’d prefer individual sports since you don’t have to worry about communications as much as in team sports.
Anyway, sports can make anyone competitive — not just deafness. But being a deaf person, I constantly wanted to prove that I was as good or better than everyone else. Hence, the perfectionist and competitiveness. This applied to everything I did — grades, sports, and work. While I did well in high school and college, I wonder how much better I could’ve done if I could hear and not miss anything the professor said or fellow students in group discussions.
Competitiveness got me in trouble and I learned from it. After losing a softball game, I was mad and not being a good sport. My behavior caused me to lose a spot on a tournament team. I worked to improve my sportsmanship — but sometimes it was hard to keep it inside of me.
After college, I rarely played sports. Life got in the way… work, kids, and other things. So I had get exercise the boring way — treadmill, stepper, or go outside. I channeled my competitive energies into my career. It drive me nuts when people on my team got promoted and I couldn’t reach that or they’d move to another team because of an invitation.
I did something about the lack of promotion. I applied for higher jobs within the company and landed one. Unfortunately, it was a terrible move as the team was falling apart. Would’ve rather stay on the previous team and be a lowly contributor than move to this one. Work was a horrible feeder into my competitiveness. Politics, knowing the right people… things beyond skill can move a person up.
Before I had my second child, I wanted to climb the ladder fast and become a team leader and then manager. That changed when I realized my managers spend most of their time in meetings — many of them in conference calls. It’s a fact that people might not like a deaf person be their superior in a similar manner to a 23-year-old becoming the manager of a team where no one is under 30. So it may not have bode well for me to get into an official leadership role.
Since leaving the corporate world for my own business, the competitiveness in me has subsided … that is, until I finally found a sport to make exercise fun and started tennis. I love it. Thankfully, the lessons learned help me keep a level head in the game. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get a little frustrated or mad. I keep reactions to myself — much easier than in the past.

I went to a company Web site to read more about its products and possibly place an order. Unfortunately, there was a huge barrier plastered all over the site — “Call if you want more information!” Call … call … call … this toll free number. No online chat. No e-mail. No contact form. Nada. I used the customer service form (not for new orders or questions) and asked for a way to communicate by e-mail. No response in over a week.
The company had a qualified lead and lost it. While I could use the product, the barriers made it easy for me to decide not to buy. I’m checking out the company’s competitors’ products.
Some companies prefer to have people call in so they can upsell or drive the sale home. AOL was one of them — if you wanted to unsubscribe to the free trial plan, you had to call. And in making the call, the customer service personnel challenged us in preventing our unsubscribing every step of the way.
Toll free numbers are worse than regular numbers. They tend to have a recording that lengthens the relay call and bumps up the frustration level.

On Mother Father Deaf, a CODA (child of deaf adults) discusses that CODAs “are not normal or the same as the rest of the hearing world.” I think it depends on the deaf adult and communication preferences. But even if a deaf parent speaks and lipreads, CODAs do experience life a little differently.
I have three kids, all hearing. Don’t want to ever be a burden or an embarrassment to them. I talk about this in a past entry describing my experience in talking to my son’s second grade class. It took a long time before I could muster courage to talk to his class as I didn’t want my deaf accent to reflect how my son’s classmates treat him (stupid, but reality).
I avoid using them to help me in conversations where I’m not catching what someone says. In talking to the second grade class, I relied on the teacher to let me know what a child asks NOT my son. If my son wants to call a friend and Paul (hubby) isn’t around, then either I have him call the friend himself or have big sister help him. Sometimes eight-year-olds don’t accurately recall a phone conversation.
Unless it’s grandma or a close family friend, I don’t answer the phone or let the kids answer it when it’s a service company or doctor’s office. They’re not my administrative assistants and I don’t want their help in anything hearing- or communications-related (in other words, cleaning up is something I expect them to do, but not translate phone calls). If it’s important, the person can leave a message or call Paul’s cell. While some of my kids’ friends’ parents use e-mails, it isn’t always possible to use it when time is a factor. They’re not all e-mail checking freaks like me. Those who are — I do e-mail them.
I imagine for ASL households, it’s a different story in terms that the children might learn ASL first and become bilingual (always a big plus!) at a young age. Actually, I doubt any CODA household is identical with the various factors that can affect CODAs’ lives.