Miss-Delectable
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TCPalm: High School Sports
Jamarra Robinson began working the ball downcourt and looked for teammate Christy Sorrell during a recent St. Lucie West Centennial varsity girls basketball practice.
Sorrell's defender was not near her, and Robinson was pleased to see the opportunity for a wide-open pass. Robinson rocked the ball in her raised hands, ready to send it to Sorrell.
She hollered, "Christy! Christy!" But soon Robinson realized she was wasting her effort. Sorrell had her back turned and couldn't hear her call.
Sorrell, 17, is profoundly deaf, which means she can't hear even the loudest of sounds. She has been that way since birth.
Her expensive cochlear implant, which helps her recognize sounds, stays on the sidelines when she plays because she can't risk breaking it. The implant is removable and connected to her ear by a magnet implanted in her head. The connection is not strong enough to keep the device in place while she plays.
So the courts are completely silent for Sorrell. She hears no whistles, buzzers, announcers or barking coaches. She relies on sign language from a courtside interpreter and lip reading to understand directives during play. Her teammates even created signs for four major offenses. When Centennial runs "Texas" or "Candy," instead of just calling out the play at the top of the key, players sign it to Sorrell.
Sometimes, Sorrell misses the call, and she has learned to adjust to the positioning of her teammates.
"I just play in a flow and follow them, like we're doing motion," said Sorrell, a junior. "I do get frustrated sometimes. It's like I lose my mind and don't remember what I'm supposed to be doing. I just really enjoy being out here with this team."
Many Centennial fans have learned to wave their hands instead of clapping when Sorrell makes a good play, and she often does. Sorrell, who has played basketball since the fifth grade, earned a backup guard spot on the varsity team this fall after moving to the area from Indianapolis.
"I thought it would be a hard adjustment when I found out we would be getting Christy," Centennial coach Tomonica Bell said. "But it hasn't been hard. Things have worked out good. We've gotten together, and the girls have come up with signs for each play."
Sorrell is one of four deaf students who attend regular classes at Centennial. Nine other deaf students at the school receive most of their instruction in classes separate from the rest of the student population. Sorrell's mother, Patty, splits time at practice and games signing for her daughter, along with Centennial interpreter Fern Quillen Harrop.
Quillen Harrop devised signs with Sorrell so that she could sign what the coach says during timeouts more quickly for Sorrell. For example, instead of spelling out "shoot it," she just cups one hand and sticks her index finger in it.
"She just exudes confidence and friendliness," Quillen Harrop said of Sorrell.
Sorrell's mother said the two sometimes can use her deafness as a tactical advantage. Instead of announcing that a player can't dribble well, she just signs it to her daughter, who in turn steps up her defense without the other team being aware of the directive.
Usually opponents don't realize Sorrell is deaf. Her absent cochlear implant, however, gives players a hint of her condition. Without it, she cannot hear how loud her voice is. While soft-spoken wearing the implant, Sorrell is loud without it.
Each time a ball goes up from the field, Sorrell bellows, "Shot!" She will defend a player and yell, "Ball! Ball! Ball!" loud enough to sometimes cause opponents' complaints.
That's when her protective teammates instruct others that she is deaf. Robinson is especially concerned for Sorrell. Robinson is in her second year taking an American Sign Language class at Centennial and is able to communicate with Sorrell through sign language.
Two others on the team are taking ASL classes this year and attempt to speak with Sorrell during practice.
"I love to see that," Sorrell said of her teammates signing. "Some want to practice for their ASL class. I'll sit with them at lunch and usually just let them talk."
Robinson considers Sorrell one of her best friends.
"I want to tell people, 'Don't judge her because she's deaf. She's a real nice kid,' " said Robinson, a senior point guard. "She's exciting to be around, and she teaches me stuff I don't know. Sometimes, I'll recognize when she doesn't understand something, and I try to help. Most times, though, she doesn't need any help."
SILENT ON THE COURT
Choice: Christy Sorrell is bilingual in sign language. She knows Signed Exact English and American Sign Language . Her mother signs in the lesser-used SEE, which helps in grammatical instruction. Less than 25 percent of the deaf community uses SEE. Unlike ASL, which can be signed more quickly and uses more slang, SEE gives exact verb tenses and includes word articles. Christy knows both. Her mothers signs SEE, and her main school interpreter, Fern Quillen Harrop, signs ASL.
Positioning: The interpreter stands near the coach so that Sorrell has the choice of lip reading the coach or watching the interpreter's signing of what the coach says.
Tough call: When multiple people speak at once in the huddle, the interpreter only can sign the words of one person at a time.
Steady sign: "As the coach is speaking, I am forever interpreting, regardless of whether I think Christy needs it or not," Quillen Harrop said. "She sees a lot out of her peripheral vision. It's amazing how your other senses develop when you're deaf."
Jamarra Robinson began working the ball downcourt and looked for teammate Christy Sorrell during a recent St. Lucie West Centennial varsity girls basketball practice.
Sorrell's defender was not near her, and Robinson was pleased to see the opportunity for a wide-open pass. Robinson rocked the ball in her raised hands, ready to send it to Sorrell.
She hollered, "Christy! Christy!" But soon Robinson realized she was wasting her effort. Sorrell had her back turned and couldn't hear her call.
Sorrell, 17, is profoundly deaf, which means she can't hear even the loudest of sounds. She has been that way since birth.
Her expensive cochlear implant, which helps her recognize sounds, stays on the sidelines when she plays because she can't risk breaking it. The implant is removable and connected to her ear by a magnet implanted in her head. The connection is not strong enough to keep the device in place while she plays.
So the courts are completely silent for Sorrell. She hears no whistles, buzzers, announcers or barking coaches. She relies on sign language from a courtside interpreter and lip reading to understand directives during play. Her teammates even created signs for four major offenses. When Centennial runs "Texas" or "Candy," instead of just calling out the play at the top of the key, players sign it to Sorrell.
Sometimes, Sorrell misses the call, and she has learned to adjust to the positioning of her teammates.
"I just play in a flow and follow them, like we're doing motion," said Sorrell, a junior. "I do get frustrated sometimes. It's like I lose my mind and don't remember what I'm supposed to be doing. I just really enjoy being out here with this team."
Many Centennial fans have learned to wave their hands instead of clapping when Sorrell makes a good play, and she often does. Sorrell, who has played basketball since the fifth grade, earned a backup guard spot on the varsity team this fall after moving to the area from Indianapolis.
"I thought it would be a hard adjustment when I found out we would be getting Christy," Centennial coach Tomonica Bell said. "But it hasn't been hard. Things have worked out good. We've gotten together, and the girls have come up with signs for each play."
Sorrell is one of four deaf students who attend regular classes at Centennial. Nine other deaf students at the school receive most of their instruction in classes separate from the rest of the student population. Sorrell's mother, Patty, splits time at practice and games signing for her daughter, along with Centennial interpreter Fern Quillen Harrop.
Quillen Harrop devised signs with Sorrell so that she could sign what the coach says during timeouts more quickly for Sorrell. For example, instead of spelling out "shoot it," she just cups one hand and sticks her index finger in it.
"She just exudes confidence and friendliness," Quillen Harrop said of Sorrell.
Sorrell's mother said the two sometimes can use her deafness as a tactical advantage. Instead of announcing that a player can't dribble well, she just signs it to her daughter, who in turn steps up her defense without the other team being aware of the directive.
Usually opponents don't realize Sorrell is deaf. Her absent cochlear implant, however, gives players a hint of her condition. Without it, she cannot hear how loud her voice is. While soft-spoken wearing the implant, Sorrell is loud without it.
Each time a ball goes up from the field, Sorrell bellows, "Shot!" She will defend a player and yell, "Ball! Ball! Ball!" loud enough to sometimes cause opponents' complaints.
That's when her protective teammates instruct others that she is deaf. Robinson is especially concerned for Sorrell. Robinson is in her second year taking an American Sign Language class at Centennial and is able to communicate with Sorrell through sign language.
Two others on the team are taking ASL classes this year and attempt to speak with Sorrell during practice.
"I love to see that," Sorrell said of her teammates signing. "Some want to practice for their ASL class. I'll sit with them at lunch and usually just let them talk."
Robinson considers Sorrell one of her best friends.
"I want to tell people, 'Don't judge her because she's deaf. She's a real nice kid,' " said Robinson, a senior point guard. "She's exciting to be around, and she teaches me stuff I don't know. Sometimes, I'll recognize when she doesn't understand something, and I try to help. Most times, though, she doesn't need any help."
SILENT ON THE COURT
Choice: Christy Sorrell is bilingual in sign language. She knows Signed Exact English and American Sign Language . Her mother signs in the lesser-used SEE, which helps in grammatical instruction. Less than 25 percent of the deaf community uses SEE. Unlike ASL, which can be signed more quickly and uses more slang, SEE gives exact verb tenses and includes word articles. Christy knows both. Her mothers signs SEE, and her main school interpreter, Fern Quillen Harrop, signs ASL.
Positioning: The interpreter stands near the coach so that Sorrell has the choice of lip reading the coach or watching the interpreter's signing of what the coach says.
Tough call: When multiple people speak at once in the huddle, the interpreter only can sign the words of one person at a time.
Steady sign: "As the coach is speaking, I am forever interpreting, regardless of whether I think Christy needs it or not," Quillen Harrop said. "She sees a lot out of her peripheral vision. It's amazing how your other senses develop when you're deaf."