Miss-Delectable
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The Enquirer - A place to be a teen
'Can deaf people become professional actors?" Melissa Shaffer asks, using American Sign Language to address a small group of teens seated in a conference room at Springfield Towhship's Powel Crosley Jr. YMCA.
She receives "yes" signs from a couple of students.
"Can deaf people become professional dancers?" Shaffer asks next.
This time, the teens hesitate, hands in their laps, with a lack of response that seems to indicate uncertainty rather than indifference.
Inspired by Oscar-winning deaf actor Marlee Matlin, who is competing on "Dancing with the Stars" (8 p.m. today, Channels 9, 22), the Hearing, Speech & Deaf Center used the language of dance to show deaf and hard-of-hearing teens that limited hearing doesn't have to mean limited social or professional opportunities.
The center's Deaf Teen Club is open to youths ages 11 to 18 who have any type of hearing impairment. Its membership stands at about 15.
Although each monthly meeting addresses a specific topic - in February it was problem-solving, in April it will be how to avoid drugs and alcohol - the goal of the club is to provide deaf and hard-of-hearing teens a place to be teens - without interpreters or barriers to communication.
According to national and state boards of education, 86 percent of students with hearing impairments attend "mainstream" schools, where they rely on an interpreter for their education and interaction with peers.
"More families have been choosing mainstreaming, so we've just been trying to support them in that," says Carole Donnellon, outreach specialist and coordinator of the Teen Club along with Shaffer.
"We want them to feel a little more comfortable if they want to go to the prom. And to understand (that) just because they can't hear doesn't mean they can't participate in things."
'FEELING' THE MUSIC
Although the question of how someone can dance if they can't hear is understandable, the deaf and hard-of-hearing, who are used to watching others closely and using their body to communicate, could have a slight advantage over their hearing peers, says Rachel James, a sign-language interpreter and professional dancer who taught the Teen Club dance class.
"Dance is a visual thing. And sign language has rhythm, just like dancing," James says.
Depending on the construction of the room and the volume of the music and bass, people who are deaf often can "feel" the music, James says.
Rachel Viacava, a seventh-grade member of the club who attends St. Rita School for the Deaf in Evendale, plays drums and piano and sings along in church as her mother points in time to the words.
Although the acoustics of the YMCA conference room aren't ideal, the students - many of whom have some residual hearing, assisted by hearing aids or cochlear implants - pick up on the beat.
While an interpreter signs her words, James verbally explains the moves and uses visual cues to direct the dancers - patting her thigh to indicate a direction change or which leg to use, and twirling her finger above her head to show which direction to turn.
The students - and a couple of brave moms - keep up with James' heavy-stepping choreography to Mark Morrison's "Return of the Mack" as deftly as any novice dancer.
The teens look slightly embarrassed when James instructs them to "shimmy" during a spicy Latin number.
A BREAK FROM ISOLATION
Between songs, the interpreters and students use sign language to make small talk. For those who don't speak their language, it's a taste of the isolation many deaf students face in mainstream schools.
"We moved up here for the school (St. Rita)," says Rachel's mother, Michelle Viacava.
The family moved to Wyoming from Fort Lauderdale, Fla., where the closest school for the deaf, in St. Augustine, was six hours away. Rachel attended a "mainstream" public school, where a sign-language interpreter accompanied her to her classes.
Lunch, Rachel says, was the worst time of the day, when she was without an interpreter and her hearing aid amplified the background noise in the cafeteria, making it difficult to have a one-on-one conversation and nearly impossible to keep up in a group.
"If you get three or four people and everyone's talking at the same time, which happens when you have big groups of friends, there are things they miss out on," says Angela Frith with St. Rita School for the Deaf. "They might not hear someone say, 'We're going to meet at 7.' "
People often view the deaf student and his or her interpreter as a "unit," which can lead to greater isolation from peers, says Barbara Raimondo, a lawyer with the the National Association for the Deaf who specializes in education.
"Kids more and more are being mainstreamed into schools, which has its pluses and minuses," Donnellon says. "They often don't have other kids to communicate with, or have free conversations without an adult around. It gets kind of old if you're in high school and always have an adult with you."
Malcolm Tennyson, a ninth-grade member of the Teen Club, attended St. Rita until last year, when he and his parents decided he should try public school in Finneytown.
"He likes it for the education, but socially, that's why we come here," says his mother, Latrina Wright.
'Can deaf people become professional actors?" Melissa Shaffer asks, using American Sign Language to address a small group of teens seated in a conference room at Springfield Towhship's Powel Crosley Jr. YMCA.
She receives "yes" signs from a couple of students.
"Can deaf people become professional dancers?" Shaffer asks next.
This time, the teens hesitate, hands in their laps, with a lack of response that seems to indicate uncertainty rather than indifference.
Inspired by Oscar-winning deaf actor Marlee Matlin, who is competing on "Dancing with the Stars" (8 p.m. today, Channels 9, 22), the Hearing, Speech & Deaf Center used the language of dance to show deaf and hard-of-hearing teens that limited hearing doesn't have to mean limited social or professional opportunities.
The center's Deaf Teen Club is open to youths ages 11 to 18 who have any type of hearing impairment. Its membership stands at about 15.
Although each monthly meeting addresses a specific topic - in February it was problem-solving, in April it will be how to avoid drugs and alcohol - the goal of the club is to provide deaf and hard-of-hearing teens a place to be teens - without interpreters or barriers to communication.
According to national and state boards of education, 86 percent of students with hearing impairments attend "mainstream" schools, where they rely on an interpreter for their education and interaction with peers.
"More families have been choosing mainstreaming, so we've just been trying to support them in that," says Carole Donnellon, outreach specialist and coordinator of the Teen Club along with Shaffer.
"We want them to feel a little more comfortable if they want to go to the prom. And to understand (that) just because they can't hear doesn't mean they can't participate in things."
'FEELING' THE MUSIC
Although the question of how someone can dance if they can't hear is understandable, the deaf and hard-of-hearing, who are used to watching others closely and using their body to communicate, could have a slight advantage over their hearing peers, says Rachel James, a sign-language interpreter and professional dancer who taught the Teen Club dance class.
"Dance is a visual thing. And sign language has rhythm, just like dancing," James says.
Depending on the construction of the room and the volume of the music and bass, people who are deaf often can "feel" the music, James says.
Rachel Viacava, a seventh-grade member of the club who attends St. Rita School for the Deaf in Evendale, plays drums and piano and sings along in church as her mother points in time to the words.
Although the acoustics of the YMCA conference room aren't ideal, the students - many of whom have some residual hearing, assisted by hearing aids or cochlear implants - pick up on the beat.
While an interpreter signs her words, James verbally explains the moves and uses visual cues to direct the dancers - patting her thigh to indicate a direction change or which leg to use, and twirling her finger above her head to show which direction to turn.
The students - and a couple of brave moms - keep up with James' heavy-stepping choreography to Mark Morrison's "Return of the Mack" as deftly as any novice dancer.
The teens look slightly embarrassed when James instructs them to "shimmy" during a spicy Latin number.
A BREAK FROM ISOLATION
Between songs, the interpreters and students use sign language to make small talk. For those who don't speak their language, it's a taste of the isolation many deaf students face in mainstream schools.
"We moved up here for the school (St. Rita)," says Rachel's mother, Michelle Viacava.
The family moved to Wyoming from Fort Lauderdale, Fla., where the closest school for the deaf, in St. Augustine, was six hours away. Rachel attended a "mainstream" public school, where a sign-language interpreter accompanied her to her classes.
Lunch, Rachel says, was the worst time of the day, when she was without an interpreter and her hearing aid amplified the background noise in the cafeteria, making it difficult to have a one-on-one conversation and nearly impossible to keep up in a group.
"If you get three or four people and everyone's talking at the same time, which happens when you have big groups of friends, there are things they miss out on," says Angela Frith with St. Rita School for the Deaf. "They might not hear someone say, 'We're going to meet at 7.' "
People often view the deaf student and his or her interpreter as a "unit," which can lead to greater isolation from peers, says Barbara Raimondo, a lawyer with the the National Association for the Deaf who specializes in education.
"Kids more and more are being mainstreamed into schools, which has its pluses and minuses," Donnellon says. "They often don't have other kids to communicate with, or have free conversations without an adult around. It gets kind of old if you're in high school and always have an adult with you."
Malcolm Tennyson, a ninth-grade member of the Teen Club, attended St. Rita until last year, when he and his parents decided he should try public school in Finneytown.
"He likes it for the education, but socially, that's why we come here," says his mother, Latrina Wright.
