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.