Miss-Delectable
New Member
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2004
- Messages
- 17,160
- Reaction score
- 7
Deaf Sisters Face Mainstream Challenges at School - washingtonpost.com
It's dinnertime at the Rogers home in Springfield, and everyone around the table has something to say. But almost no words are spoken.
Instead, eyes dart and fingers fly as five of the sisters -- Angela and Melissa, both 8; Julia, 9; 16-year-old Lianna; and Amanda, 24 -- talk in sign language about school, friends, the yummy noodles their mother has made and the challenges of being deaf.
Angela says she is excited about the new school year at Mantua Elementary, a school in Fairfax County where deaf and hearing students go to class together -- called "mainstreaming."
Angela's hand gestures are translated by her sister Jessica, who is 9 and learned sign language as a toddler. Jessica is not deaf, but she knows what it's like to be different: Because of a spinal condition, she uses a wheelchair or pulls herself around with her arms. Jessica enjoys being the go-between with her sisters and a visitor who doesn't use sign language.
In classrooms where most everyone can hear, it's not that easy for deaf kids to make friends.
"Some of my [hearing] friends have learned to sign," Angela says via Jessica, who asks which friends she is talking about.
"Sara" is the answer.
Jessica mentions another of Angela's classmates -- Brandon. Hasn't he learned some sign language?
Angela rolls her eyes. "I don't talk to him! He's a boy!"
As schools and students prepare to mark Deaf Awareness Week starting Sunday, classrooms such as Angela's -- where deaf and hearing students are together -- are held up as examples of how kids who are different can learn from and accept one another.
Not that it's easy. Even at schools such as Mantua, where adults trained in sign language help deaf children, a lot is lost in translation.
Lianna goes to W.T. Woodson High School, where she, too, is mixed in with hearing students. Some of her classes are difficult; but if she has a question, she can't just raise her hand and ask the teacher. She must first sign to a school-assigned interpreter who then asks the teacher, gets the answer and signs it back to her. It can be a time-consuming and frustrating process.
"Last year I was the only deaf student in Latin and geometry," Lianna says. Whether she understands everything she needs to "depends on whether the interpreter is any good."
The difficulty in communicating also means that deep friendships don't form easily with those who hear normally. Deaf students at Woodson tend to cluster in an area they call the "deaf hallway" where they chat in sign language.
The Rogers family is unusual, not only because of the number of deaf siblings but because all six of the girls are adopted. Phyllis Rogers, a single mom who teaches at Gallaudet University, a nationally known school in Washington for the deaf and hard of hearing, adopted them from outside the United States.
"I had the resources to provide these children with something very important," she says. As she joins her daughters at the table, Rogers signs each word she speaks. "They deserve to know what's being said here," she says.
After dinner, there's a rush to the basement playroom, where the younger girls are building a tunnel. Soon, things start to get rowdy. When Mom decides it's time for calm, she quietly stands at the top of the stairs and flashes the light switch off and on.
That's the sign. The giggles stop. The ruckus quiets down.
It's dinnertime at the Rogers home in Springfield, and everyone around the table has something to say. But almost no words are spoken.
Instead, eyes dart and fingers fly as five of the sisters -- Angela and Melissa, both 8; Julia, 9; 16-year-old Lianna; and Amanda, 24 -- talk in sign language about school, friends, the yummy noodles their mother has made and the challenges of being deaf.
Angela says she is excited about the new school year at Mantua Elementary, a school in Fairfax County where deaf and hearing students go to class together -- called "mainstreaming."
Angela's hand gestures are translated by her sister Jessica, who is 9 and learned sign language as a toddler. Jessica is not deaf, but she knows what it's like to be different: Because of a spinal condition, she uses a wheelchair or pulls herself around with her arms. Jessica enjoys being the go-between with her sisters and a visitor who doesn't use sign language.
In classrooms where most everyone can hear, it's not that easy for deaf kids to make friends.
"Some of my [hearing] friends have learned to sign," Angela says via Jessica, who asks which friends she is talking about.
"Sara" is the answer.
Jessica mentions another of Angela's classmates -- Brandon. Hasn't he learned some sign language?
Angela rolls her eyes. "I don't talk to him! He's a boy!"
As schools and students prepare to mark Deaf Awareness Week starting Sunday, classrooms such as Angela's -- where deaf and hearing students are together -- are held up as examples of how kids who are different can learn from and accept one another.
Not that it's easy. Even at schools such as Mantua, where adults trained in sign language help deaf children, a lot is lost in translation.
Lianna goes to W.T. Woodson High School, where she, too, is mixed in with hearing students. Some of her classes are difficult; but if she has a question, she can't just raise her hand and ask the teacher. She must first sign to a school-assigned interpreter who then asks the teacher, gets the answer and signs it back to her. It can be a time-consuming and frustrating process.
"Last year I was the only deaf student in Latin and geometry," Lianna says. Whether she understands everything she needs to "depends on whether the interpreter is any good."
The difficulty in communicating also means that deep friendships don't form easily with those who hear normally. Deaf students at Woodson tend to cluster in an area they call the "deaf hallway" where they chat in sign language.
The Rogers family is unusual, not only because of the number of deaf siblings but because all six of the girls are adopted. Phyllis Rogers, a single mom who teaches at Gallaudet University, a nationally known school in Washington for the deaf and hard of hearing, adopted them from outside the United States.
"I had the resources to provide these children with something very important," she says. As she joins her daughters at the table, Rogers signs each word she speaks. "They deserve to know what's being said here," she says.
After dinner, there's a rush to the basement playroom, where the younger girls are building a tunnel. Soon, things start to get rowdy. When Mom decides it's time for calm, she quietly stands at the top of the stairs and flashes the light switch off and on.
That's the sign. The giggles stop. The ruckus quiets down.
