deaf education
Maturity is Eating Your Vegetables
** This presumes you’re the kind of person who doesn’t like vegetables. I’m not that kind of person. I rather like most vegetables. But it’s a metaphor. Just go with it. **
When you’re a little kid (who doesn’t like vegetables), your parents know you should eat veggies, but you don’t care. You don’t care that they’re good for you. You don’t care about those wonderful vitamins and all they can do for you. You don’t care about the nasty things that can happen if you have a deficiency of those vitamins. You only care about how marshmallows and popsicles are better than asparagus and broccoli, just because they are.
Our parents bribe, cajole, and threaten us so we eat our carrots and Brussels sprouts. At some point, though, we accept that we really can’t live on Pop Rocks and root beer. We really ought to eat those things that came out of dirt. Once we open our minds to them, we may even find they’re not so bad.
This is one of many cool things about teaching teenagers—and no, I’m not really talking about diet and nutrition.
With the ages I teach—and particularly because I’ve stuck with many students over several years—I get to see a lot of them making transitions to self-aware maturity. The kid who used to blow off everything academic starting to take things more seriously, even looking back and saying he wished he’d buckled down earlier so he could’ve learned more. The girl who voluntarily comes in during lunch for extra help, even though we both know she’d rather be chatting with friends than torturing herself with math.
I don’t get to see the transition for all of them. Some come to me with a very grounded worldview already in place. Some leave my class still thinking life will be a party—they’ll put it together later … or maybe not. (I’m pretty sure some on-paper adults are still patently immature.) But when I do see it, it’s very cool.
A current example: If you recall, I teach deaf kids. That means they all have IEPs (Individualized Education Plans, required for any kid with special ed services). This month has been IEP season at my school, so we sit down for a meeting with each kid (and a parent or two) and discuss where they’re at, where they want to go, and what they need to do to get there.
Most teenagers are counting down the days to graduation. “Come June of (name-the-year), I’m outta here!” My students are generally no different. Technically, though, they can stay with us until the year they turn twenty-two. Most shudder at the thought.
But then some of them take a realistic look at their goals. Maybe they want to go to college, and they look at their reading and writing levels. Not good enough … but right in a range where an extra year of high school, really working on it, could make the difference. And they say, “Yeah, I think I should learn more so I’m ready, because college is hard.”
That’s not just going for the carrots—that’s reaching for a big scoop of the whole vegetable medley.
I love that moment.
And I’ll keep trying my best to make those veggies tasty.
Speak up:
3 commentsPrimer #2 on Deaf Can/Can’t
I previously posted on the idea that deaf kids don’t have great literacy skills. (Summary: Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t, same as hearing kids. They just add a few more variables to the mix.) Recently, some other ideas of what deaf people can and can’t do have come up in conversation.
Sidenote: Have I mentioned that if you’re calling them “hearing-impaired,” you’re wasting your breath? The only people I’ve met so far who prefer that over “deaf” have been folks who lost their hearing in old age.
First off, I’m a big believer in keeping the mindset that my students can do just about anything they want if they work hard enough. Once in a while, though, something comes up that makes me bite my lip, unsure what I should say.
I’ve had a couple of students who wanted to enter law enforcement—in the most recent case, preferably the FBI. Specifically, not a desk job—an out in the field, gun-toting Fed.
He hears relatively well with hearing aids, and speaks clear as day.
But …
I can’t help but think, what would it be like to be his partner in a dicey situation, where hearing the click of a gun’s safety going off can make the difference? Or in a chaotic, noisy environment where they’re not in each other’s line-of-sight, so communication isn’t clean and clear?
Or do I just watch too many TV shows like White Collar?
What do I tell a student in a situation like that? How do you combine being supportive and realistic?
This isn’t exclusive to deafness. Sometimes you come across a person who’s bound and determined to be a singer. They work hard for years, pay lots of money for lessons, but can still barely carry a tune. At what point do you lovingly say, “Look, hon, you have other talents. Put your energy into those and throw in the towel on this one. You can still sing along to the radio in the car.”
Or what about someone who longs to be a published novelist, but just doesn’t have the unteachable knack?
Of course, that gets into the argument of whether there are components of writing that can’t be taught … and that’s another post.