Please Face Me: Small Communication Habits That Help a Deaf Teacher

“Could you say that again?” should be an ordinary part of a conversation. I want the answer to be another chance to understand.

I’m a deaf public-school educator, and I use bilateral cochlear implants. That is part of how I teach and communicate. It also gives me a reason to think carefully about the habits people bring to a conversation.

This week, I want to focus on something practical: making room for a person to see, follow, and clarify what is being said. A few seconds of attention can be a good place to start.

My implants are part of access

The National Institute on Deafness and Other Communication Disorders explains that cochlear implants provide access to sound without restoring normal hearing. Outcomes also vary from person to person.

For me, the useful question is what we can do during a conversation to make understanding possible. I would rather have that practical discussion than leave someone guessing about what I need.

I also don’t want my experience to become a rule for every deaf person. Ask the person you are talking with. Their answer should guide the conversation.

Start before the first sentence

RNID’s communication guidance recommends getting someone’s attention, facing them, and allowing time to repeat or rephrase. It also recommends clear, natural speech rather than shouting.

Here is a classroom routine I would suggest practicing: get attention, pause, then speak.

The pause matters to the routine. Calling a name and immediately continuing with a whole explanation gives the listener no opportunity to turn toward the speaker. A small wave within someone’s view can be an option, depending on their preference.

I would explain the purpose to children in plain language: “Make sure the person is ready for your words.” That is a communication lesson students can practice with a partner.

Give the conversation a visible place

Facing a person keeps their face available to see. It does not mean demanding eye contact or assuming everyone can lipread. RNID emphasizes that communication preferences differ.

For a classroom practice activity, I would use an ordinary question about a book or a school supply. The partners could first agree on where to stand or sit so both feel comfortable communicating.

I would avoid turning this into an activity where children pretend to be deaf. The goal would be to practice a useful routine and discuss it respectfully.

A simple reflection could be: “What did your partner do that helped you follow the conversation?” Students would be examining their own communication choices.

Keep the meaning when you repeat

If I ask for clarification, I want us to stay with the message long enough to make it clear. Rephrasing is one option RNID recommends.

Consider this made-up classroom example: “Put that over there when you finish.” Repeating those same words may leave the listener wondering what “that” and “there” refer to.

A clearer version could be: “Put your reading folder in the blue basket.” The speaker has supplied the missing details.

Another useful question is, “Which part should I repeat?” It gives the listener a way to identify the gap without restarting an entire explanation.

I would like students to see clarification as something competent communicators do. Asking for another explanation should be welcome in a classroom, including when the teacher is the person asking.

Make room for one speaker and a written detail

RNID’s guidance for sharing communication needs includes written information. Its video-call advice also recommends one speaker at a time and using chat to clarify details such as numbers.

I would adapt those ideas into a simple discussion routine: identify the next speaker, let that person finish, then invite the next contribution. This is a proposed classroom application, rather than a claim that one routine meets every access need.

Writing can support a particular detail, too. For example, a page number could go on the board while the discussion continues. A name could be written clearly rather than left to guesswork.

For sensitive information, I would use an appropriate private channel. A classroom board is a place for shared lesson information.

Practice a response that keeps someone included

A two-minute rehearsal could be enough to introduce the routine. Partners could take turns asking a question, requesting clarification, and answering again with a useful detail.

I would offer this response to practice: “Sure. Let me explain that another way.” Then the class could discuss what made the second explanation clearer.

These habits can sit alongside whatever communication support a person needs. Asking about preferences remains essential.

As a teacher, I want a classroom where people can ask, listen, clarify, and try again. I want that invitation to include me, too.

Which helps you most in a conversation: facing you, taking turns, or writing it down? Tell me directly on Facebook or Instagram. A short answer is welcome.

Teachers looking for classroom materials are also welcome to visit my Teacher A.I. Coach store on Teachers Pay Teachers.

—Professor Jeff

When the School Phone Becomes an Accessibility Barrier for a Deaf Teacher

To hear calls on the school phone, I need speakerphone. That helps me hear the caller. It also means my students can hear the caller.

That is a problem. A conversation meant for a teacher should not automatically become something the whole classroom can listen to.

I’m a deaf public-school educator, and I use bilateral cochlear implants. My implants give me access to sound, but the equipment around me still matters. A school phone can become an accessibility barrier even when it seems perfectly ordinary to everyone else.

Hearing the call is only part of the job

This difficulty extends to other non-cellphones, too. Speakerphone gives me a way to hear, but it sends the caller’s voice into the room.

I don’t need to share a real conversation to explain the concern. Imagine a call involving a family matter, a student concern, or information that should stay between adults. Those are hypothetical examples, but the privacy issue is easy to understand.

A caller may not realize other people can hear. Meanwhile, I still have a classroom to supervise. Stepping away is not something I can assume will always be possible.

I want a setup that lets me understand the conversation and keeps the caller’s voice out of the classroom. Both parts matter.

I’ve asked for better equipment

I have asked HR for a better device. So far, limited resources or funding for a compatible Bluetooth phone have been part of the difficulty.

I’m sharing the barrier as I experience it. I don’t have a tested replacement to recommend, and I don’t want to suggest that a particular phone has already been approved or ruled out.

What I would like is a practical next step: identify the equipment, check the possible connections, and test a solution before buying it.

“Bluetooth” sounds like a simple answer. Unfortunately, that word on a box does not tell us whether a device will handle calls through my processors and the school’s phone system.

Compatibility needs more than a label

Advanced Bionics provides Bluetooth compatibility guidance for Marvel CI sound processors. Its guidance discusses Bluetooth profiles and specifically advises compatibility testing before purchasing smartphones or other Bluetooth devices.

That is useful information, but it applies to a named processor family. It is not confirmation that a particular school desk phone will work with my equipment.

Before recommending a purchase, I would want my audiologist or implant manufacturer and the school’s technology staff to check:

• The exact model of each sound processor and any accessories needed.
• The desk phone model and the system it connects to.
• Whether the proposed connection supports two-way phone calls, including my voice going back to the caller.
• Whether the caller’s audio reaches both processors as intended without playing through the room speaker.
• Whether answering, transferring, and ending calls still work reliably.

A successful pairing is a beginning. A successful call in the actual setting is the test that matters.

Options worth exploring carefully

A compatible phone or approved connection. A desk phone with the right Bluetooth calling support, or a suitable adapter, may be worth investigating. I would want confirmation for the complete setup rather than a promise based on one feature. A demonstration or loan would help answer that question before money is spent.

Captions alongside audio. The Job Accommodation Network describes captioned telephone calls as an option for people who have difficulty understanding telephone speech. Reading the caller’s words could offer another route to access.

That possibility still needs checking: service eligibility, connection requirements, caption performance, and workplace approval. I would also want to know how captions are displayed, whether they are retained, and who could see them. Captions should help protect communication, not create another exposed screen.

An approved computer calling setup. If the school’s phone system supports it, a computer calling application with compatible audio or captions could be considered. That would need technology staff involvement and testing. I’m not assuming that such an option is available in my classroom.

These are possibilities to investigate. I have not tested them as solutions to my school-phone problem.

A temporary plan should protect privacy

While equipment is being explored, I would like an agreed way to handle sensitive calls. One possibility is letting the caller know speakerphone is in use before personal information is discussed, then arranging a private callback when classroom coverage permits.

For some nonurgent messages, an approved written channel may be appropriate. Any temporary plan would also need a clear way to handle urgent communication. Moving everything to email would not solve every situation.

The plan should fit the actual job. It should not depend on leaving students unsupervised or quietly shifting all work calls onto a personal cellphone.

Small equipment choices can make a big difference

I want to do my job, understand the person calling, and protect the conversation. Those are straightforward goals.

Inclusive education also means paying attention to the tools educators need. Sometimes the barrier is sitting right on the teacher’s desk.

What helps you hear work calls: Bluetooth, captions, speakerphone, or something else? You can answer directly on Facebook or Instagram. One word is enough to get the conversation started.

If you’re a teacher looking for classroom materials, you’re also welcome to visit my Teacher A.I. Coach store on Teachers Pay Teachers.

—Professor Jeff

 

When the Alarm Isn’t Enough: School Emergency Communication for Deaf Teachers

School safety plans often begin with a sound: a fire alarm, an announcement over the intercom, a whistle on the playground, or a voice giving directions through a walkie-talkie.

For a deaf or hard-of-hearing educator, sound alone is not a complete safety plan.

I am a deaf public-school teacher who uses bilateral cochlear implants. My implants give me access to sound, but they do not guarantee that I will recognize every alarm or understand every spoken announcement—especially in a classroom filled with moving chairs, student voices, hallway noise, and equipment running in the background.

An alarm may tell me that something is happening. It may not tell me what is happening, where the danger is, or what I need to do next.

Emergency Access Must Be Planned Before the Emergency

The worst time to create an accessibility plan is while everyone is already trying to evacuate, shelter in place, or respond to a threat.

Schools should discuss emergency communication with deaf and hard-of-hearing employees before a crisis occurs. The discussion should include fire drills, severe weather, lockdowns, medical emergencies, playground incidents, power failures, and any other situation in which instructions may change quickly.

The ADA’s emergency-planning guidance recommends using both visual and audible alerts, along with electronic methods such as text messages and email. OSHA’s emergency-preparedness guidance also explains that alarms should be perceptible to all workers and that trained personnel—including backups—may be needed to assist during an evacuation.

The point is simple: access should not depend on luck.

1. Use More Than One Type of Alert

An accessible system does not replace an audible alarm. It adds other ways to receive the same urgent information.

Depending on the school and the employee’s needs, those methods might include:

• Visual strobes connected to the alarm system
• Text or app notifications
• Desktop or classroom display messages
• A vibrating pager, watch, or other tactile alert
• A clearly assigned staff member who confirms the message face-to-face

Redundancy matters. A phone may be on silent. A visual signal may not be visible from a storage room, restroom, playground, or darkened classroom. A colleague may be absent. No single method works perfectly in every location.

2. Make Spoken Instructions Available in Writing

Hearing an alarm is only the first step. Schools often follow it with an intercom announcement explaining whether to evacuate, remain inside, move to another location, or avoid a particular part of the building.

That spoken message can be the most important information—and the easiest part to miss.

When possible, the same instruction should appear in writing through the school’s emergency platform, text system, computer display, or staff messaging app. The written message should be brief and direct:

Shelter in place. Remain in your classroom. Check your staff messaging app for updates.

This is not extra information. It is the same information in an accessible form. The ADA’s effective-communication guidance recognizes written materials and real-time captioning among the tools that can support communication with people who are deaf or hard of hearing.

3. Assign a Communication Partner—and a Backup

A communication partner can be useful, but the plan should never be, “Someone will probably tell him.” Probably is not a safety procedure.

The plan should identify a specific person and a backup who will confirm critical instructions if the regular communication system fails. That person should know how to get my attention, face me while speaking, avoid shouting from across the room, and use writing when the message is not understood.

The partner is not there to make decisions for me. The role is to make sure I receive the same information everyone else receives.

4. Practice Access During Every Drill

A drill should test the communication plan, not merely the alarm.

Did the visual signal activate? Did the written message arrive? Could it be read from the classroom, hallway, cafeteria, and playground? Did the assigned staff member know what to do? Was the instruction clear enough to follow without guessing?

After the drill, the deaf employee should be included in the review. A simple question—“What information did you receive, and what did you miss?”—can expose a weakness before it becomes dangerous.

Accessibility that works only on paper does not work.

5. Do Not Make Students Responsible for the Teacher’s Access

Students can follow classroom procedures and alert an adult when something is wrong. They should not become the official emergency communication system for a deaf teacher.

During a real emergency, children need to focus on their own safety and follow directions. The school’s plan should allow the teacher to receive information directly, accurately, and quickly.

I want my students to see that accessibility is part of good planning—not something we improvise because a person with a disability happens to be present.

Safety and Inclusion Belong in the Same Plan

Deaf educators are capable of leading students through emergencies. We manage classrooms, make decisions, solve problems, and care for children every day. What we need is equal access to the information required to do those things safely.

A strong emergency plan answers more than, “Can the teacher hear the alarm?” It asks:

• Can the teacher identify what the alert means?
• Can the teacher receive changing instructions?
• Does the system work in every area of the school?
• Is there a backup when technology or personnel fail?
• Has the complete plan been tested with the employee?

An alarm is a beginning. Communication completes the plan.

Does your school’s emergency plan provide information in more than one accessible way?

Why I Teach My Students Sign Language as a Deaf Teacher

My students know that I am deaf and use cochlear implants. They also know that a classroom can get noisy. If someone calls to me from across the room or speaks while looking down at a paper, I might catch part of the message and miss the rest. I don't want a student wondering whether I heard, “I need help.”

That is one reason I teach my students some American Sign Language (ASL). A few useful signs give us another way to communicate. A student can get my attention, face me, and sign a familiar request. I can answer without asking them to repeat themselves over the noise. It is a small change that can make the day easier for both of us.

Start with signs students can actually use

I would begin with everyday classroom needs: help, bathroom, water, finished, and thank you. We can practice one or two at a time during a calm moment, show the written word beside each sign, and review them throughout the week. The goal is communication, not a perfect performance.

We also need an attention routine. Students can come into my line of sight or use an agreed visual cue, then wait until I am looking at them. Signing toward the back of my head will work about as well as whispering to the whiteboard. If a student needs something urgent, they should also use our regular classroom safety procedure or get another adult's attention. A few signs are helpful; they are not a substitute for a full communication plan.

The alphabet belongs in spelling practice

The ASL manual alphabet lets us fingerspell names and words. During spelling practice, students can look at a printed word, say or read the letters, fingerspell it slowly, and then write it from memory. Afterward, they check their writing against the original. Moving through the letters gives them another chance to notice letter order. For a spelling test, it is practice alongside reading, writing, and explicit spelling instruction—not a shortcut or a promise of better scores.

Research and guidance from Gallaudet University's Clerc Center describe how fingerspelled words can connect with printed words and vocabulary, particularly for deaf and hard-of-hearing children. My classroom idea is to use that visual connection as an extra practice route for students who enjoy it. The research does not mean that a brief ASL activity alone will improve every hearing student's spelling score.

Learn the ASL alphabet with Dr. Bill Vicars

This beginner lesson by Deaf ASL educator Dr. Bill Vicars shows the handshapes for A through Z. Students can pause the video, practice their names, and then try a short spelling word. Watch the signer carefully; a chart alone cannot show the movements of letters such as J and Z.

Open the ASL alphabet video on YouTube if the embedded player does not load.

More than a useful classroom signal

Learning even a little ASL helps students see that people communicate in different ways. It gives them a chance to practice looking at the person they are speaking with, waiting for attention, and checking whether their message was understood. Those habits help everyone. It also opens the door to learning that ASL is a complete language with its own grammar and a rich Deaf culture. Fingerspelling and five classroom signs are only a beginning.

For me, teaching signs sends a simple message: communication is a shared job. My students do not have to shout to be heard, and I do not have to pretend I caught every quiet word. We can meet each other halfway—one sign, one clear face-to-face conversation, and one spelled-out word at a time.

What signs would make your classroom day easier? Share your ideas in the comments.

Yom Kippur: Remembering the Silence and Choosing to Move Forward

Yom Kippur asks us to pause. It asks us to look honestly at where we have been, where we are now, and how we want to move forward.

For me, remembrance during Yom Kippur is not only about recalling events. It is about remembering the person I was before I lost my hearing, the fear and uncertainty that followed, and the long process of learning how to live and work differently.

In 2012, I experienced sudden hearing loss. My world changed quickly. Sounds I had always taken for granted disappeared, and ordinary communication became exhausting. Returning to the workforce meant more than finding my way back to a job. I had to rebuild confidence and figure out how to participate in conversations, use technology, and explain what I needed—often while I was still learning those answers myself.

Returning Did Not Mean Going Back

One of the central ideas of Yom Kippur is teshuvah, often translated as repentance but also understood as return. Yet return does not always mean going back to exactly who or where we were before.

I could not return to the hearing person I had been. I had to move toward a new version of myself.

When I entered teaching, I was stepping into one of the noisiest workplaces imaginable. A classroom contains dozens of sounds at once: chairs scraping, pencils tapping, papers moving, computers chiming, children laughing, and several conversations competing for attention. My bilateral cochlear implants give me access to sound, but they do not automatically separate the voice I need from everything happening around it.

I also had to get used to sounds I had forgotten. Hearing children whisper again was almost startling. A whisper can be a small and wonderful reminder that sound has returned to my life. It can also be a challenge when I cannot tell who spoke or what was said. Sometimes I hear that a student is speaking without being able to turn the sound into clear words.

The Everyday Challenges People Do Not See

Answering the school phone is not a simple task for me. I often need to use the speaker so I can understand the caller. In a room filled with student voices and classroom noise, the speakerphone may still not be enough. Privacy can also become a concern. For a long time, I refused to answer the classroom phone because I knew the situation was stacked against me before I even said hello.

That was not laziness or avoidance. It was an access problem. I needed a different method, a quieter setting, written follow-up, or another person to help when the call involved information I could not afford to misunderstand.

School meetings create another kind of challenge. When several people speak, I have to locate each voice, shift my attention, watch faces, and use context to fill in what I miss. If someone talks while looking down, facing a screen, or turning away from me, I lose the facial expressions and mouth movements that help me infer the message. If two people begin talking at once, the conversation can become a wall of sound.

Other people may see me sitting quietly and assume I am following everything. They do not see how hard my brain is working to assemble the conversation piece by piece.

Honesty Is Part of Moving Forward

Yom Kippur encourages honest self-examination. For me, that includes admitting when I did not understand, when I avoided a difficult situation, or when frustration kept me from asking for help.

It also means forgiving myself for not hearing perfectly.

There is a temptation to pretend I caught every word because asking someone to repeat themselves can feel awkward. But pretending does not create understanding. I have learned to say, “Please face me,” “Can you repeat that?” or “Please send that information to me in writing.” Those requests are not signs of weakness. They are responsible ways to communicate.

Pressing forward does not mean ignoring the challenges. It means finding ways to work through them.

Adapting With Help

My audiologist has been an important partner in that process. Working with an audiologist is not a one-time appointment after receiving cochlear implants. It is an ongoing relationship. I have to describe what I am hearing, what I am missing, and which environments are most difficult. Programming adjustments, listening practice, and honest feedback all help me make better use of the technology.

I have also developed practical strategies at work. I sit where I can see the people speaking. I ask for one speaker at a time. I use captions on every video. I encourage students and families to use email or a messaging app when they have important concerns. I rely on written agendas and follow-up notes. When possible, I move detailed conversations away from competing noise.

None of these strategies removes every barrier. Together, however, they allow me to put more of my energy into teaching instead of constantly trying to reconstruct missed words.

The Return Continues

As Yom Kippur approaches, I remember the silence that entered my life and the uncertainty I felt about working again. I remember the sounds that eventually returned through cochlear implants—some familiar, some strange, and some almost forgotten. I remember the first classrooms in which I had to learn how to teach while also learning how to listen differently.

I am grateful for the progress, but I do not want to turn the story into a neat victory speech. Some days are still hard. Background noise still wins sometimes. Phones and meetings can still test my patience. I still miss words.

But I continue to return—to my work, to my students, to my community, and to a clearer understanding of myself.

That may be the lesson I carry into Yom Kippur this year: moving forward does not require becoming the person I was before. It requires honesty about who I am now, willingness to repair what I can, and courage to keep adapting.

What challenge has taught you to return to your life in a new way?

Listening Fatigue Is Real: How Deaf Teachers Can Protect Their Energy in the Classroom

Most people understand that teaching requires energy. We stand, explain, redirect, answer questions, solve problems, and make hundreds of small decisions. For a deaf teacher, there can be another layer that is easy for others to miss: the energy required simply to follow speech throughout the day.

I use bilateral cochlear implants. They give me access to sound, but access is not the same as effortless understanding. The National Institute on Deafness and Other Communication Disorders explains that cochlear implants do not restore normal hearing. My brain still has to interpret the signals it receives, especially when voices compete with classroom noise.

That extra work can lead to listening fatigue. It is real, and it deserves more attention in schools.

What It’s Really Like to Teach With Cochlear Implants

I teach in a hearing classroom, but I do not hear the classroom the same way my students do. I am deaf and use cochlear implants. They give me access to sound and speech, but they do not turn my hearing into “normal” hearing—and they do not automatically separate one student’s voice from every other sound in the room.

The hardest moments are usually not dramatic. They are the ordinary, repeated moments when a student speaks too softly or unclearly while chairs scrape, papers shuffle, the air conditioner runs, and another conversation starts nearby. I may hear that someone is talking without understanding every word.

Hearing sound is not the same as understanding speech

A cochlear implant sends sound information to my brain, and my brain has to make sense of it. In a quiet conversation with a person facing me, that can work very well. In a busy classroom, the same sentence has to compete with many other sounds.

This is one of the biggest misunderstandings about cochlear implants: access to sound is not perfect access to speech. I still use context, visual information, facial expressions, repetition, and good classroom routines. Some days my listening energy also runs out faster than people realize.

The challenge is not that my students have something unimportant to say. The challenge is making sure their words reach me clearly enough for me to respond well.

Competing sounds change the conversation

Classrooms are active places. That energy is a good thing, but overlapping voices make listening much harder. When one student speaks while classmates are talking, moving, or working in groups, all those sounds can arrive together. The student who is farthest away—or speaking while looking down—can disappear into the noise.

I do not want students to stop participating. I want them to learn communication habits that help everyone: get my attention, face the person they are addressing, speak clearly at an audible classroom volume, and allow one speaker at a time during whole-group discussion.

What helps in my classroom

• Get my attention first. A student can say my name, raise a hand, or use the routine we have established before beginning a question.
• Face me and speak clearly. I should not have to guess at words spoken toward the floor, a wall, or the back of the room.
• Use one voice at a time. This matters most during instructions, questions, and class discussions.
• Reduce unnecessary background noise. Closing a door, pausing side conversations, or waiting a moment for the room to settle can make a major difference.
• Caption every video. Captions are not an optional extra. They give me and my students reliable access to names, unfamiliar words, and dialogue that might otherwise be missed.
• Offer a written communication option. Students can use email or a school-approved messaging app when they need to explain a concern privately or when a spoken conversation is not working well.
• Repeat or rephrase without embarrassment. “I missed that—please say it again” is a normal part of communication, not a failure by the student or by me.

Accessibility is not special treatment

These practices help far more than one deaf teacher. Captions support students who are learning English, students processing unfamiliar vocabulary, and anyone watching in a noisy room. Clear turn-taking helps students who need more processing time. Written follow-up gives shy students and students with speech differences another way to be heard.

Good accessibility often looks like good teaching because it removes uncertainty. Students know how to ask for help. Important information is available in more than one form. No one has to pretend they understood something they missed.

What I need from colleagues and school leaders

The most useful support begins with a simple question: “What will make this conversation accessible?” In a meeting, that may mean captions, an agenda, a quieter seat, or one person speaking at a time. In the classroom, it may mean helping students practice clear communication instead of answering for them.

Please do not assume that my devices solve every listening problem. At the same time, do not assume that deafness makes me less capable of teaching. I know my students, my subject, and the routines that allow us to communicate successfully. Access lets me do that work without spending unnecessary energy filling in missing words.

Why I am sharing this

I am writing again as Professor Jeff, Deaf Educator because deaf educators and the people who work with us deserve practical, honest information. Teaching with cochlear implants includes challenge, adaptation, humor, fatigue, and many rewarding moments. It is not one neat inspirational story. It is a profession I care about and a life I continue to learn from.

What helps communication in your classroom? Share a strategy in the comments. If you prefer a private conversation, use the contact form on this site.

This post describes my personal experience. Deaf and hard-of-hearing people use different technologies, languages, and communication strategies, and no single experience represents everyone.