I’m Dottie, 22, and hard of hearing since birth. My best friend Maya is completely deaf, and we often chat in sign language at our favorite café. On one typical Tuesday, we were laughing and signing when a boy at another table watched us with innocent curiosity. I smiled and signed “hello,” and he tried to sign back. His mother, however, wasn’t amused.

She scolded him and kept glaring at us, clearly irritated. Eventually, she stood up and marched over to our table. “Could you please stop that?” she said, referencing our hands. “It’s disruptive and looks aggressive.” Maya froze. I stood my ground and calmly explained we were using sign language, a valid and beautiful way to communicate. The woman snapped, “It’s weird and inappropriate.”

The entire café went silent. That’s when James, a waiter we knew, stepped in. “The only person causing a disturbance is you,” he told her. “Sign language isn’t disruptive—harassment is.” He offered us cookies on the house and told her the café didn’t tolerate discrimination. A soft applause spread across the café. The woman, flustered, grabbed her son, but before they left, the boy signed, “I’m sorry” and asked how to say “friend.”

Maya taught him, and he beamed as he signed “friend” once more before leaving. We sat back down, touched by the moment. James shared that his brother is deaf too, which made his defense even more heartfelt. As we left, I thought about Tyler’s curiosity, the mother’s fear, and how kindness always has the power to shift something in the world—even if just a little.