Why Seeing A Hearing Administrator Learn ASL And Deaf Culture Matters For Schools
I was scrolling our state’s special education parent Facebook group last month, sitting in a hard plastic chair outside my 12-year-old’s IEP meeting, when a photo stopped my thumb mid-swipe. It was a group of teachers gathered at Rochester Institute of Technology’s National Technical Institute for the Deaf (NTID) for a week-long conference on deaf education. In the middle, Michael Salamanca, an associate principal from a Madison high school 45 minutes from my house, was mid-conversation, signing clearly to the woman next to him. The caption said he’d been learning ASL for three years, and came to the conference to deepen his understanding of deaf culture, not just pick up a few new signs. As a deaf person, I stared at that photo for a full minute. It’s not something you see every day.
I’ve been pushing for better accessibility in our district’s mainstream schools for six years, ever since my kid was diagnosed with severe sensorineural hearing loss as a toddler. I’ve sat through countless meetings where admins nodded and smiled, then went back to doing the bare minimum required by law. Last year, my kid’s principal spent 45 minutes of our IEP talking exclusively to my interpreter, never once making eye contact with me. I’ve had teachers tell me they don’t need to learn any signs because the interpreter is there anyway. So seeing a hearing administrator, someone who calls the shots on budgets and school culture, show up to a conference like this, already years into learning, hit different.
I shot him a quick message through the school contact form, just to say I appreciated what he was doing. I didn’t expect a reply before the end of the week, let alone within 24 hours. He suggested we meet for coffee at a diner halfway between our houses, and I said yes. Over coffee, black for me, oat milk latte for him, he told me how it started. Two years ago, a freshman who uses ASL as his primary language enrolled at his high school. The school had a small itinerant deaf program, so the kid had an interpreter for classes, but outside of that, no one could communicate with him. The kid told Michael he’d go the whole school day without anyone talking directly to him except his interpreter and his mom when he got home. “That stuck with me,” Michael said. “I’m the associate principal. If I don’t set the tone, why would anyone else bother?”
He started taking a 1-hour night ASL class at the local community college, added 10 minutes of daily practice with a free ASL app before he starts work each morning. When the NTID conference opened for registration, he put in for professional development funding, brought two general education teachers with him, and spent the whole week learning not just new signs, but cultural norms most hearing people never think about.
We talked about what this actually looks like in the school day, and what other admins and teachers can do that doesn’t require a week off work or a huge budget. First, you don’t have to be fluent to make a difference. Michael messes up signs all the time—he told a story about accidentally signing “duck” instead of “great” at a back-to-school night, and everyone laughed. The point isn’t perfection, it’s effort. Second, learn the small cultural norms that change everything. If you’re talking to a deaf person who signs, look at them, not the interpreter. If you need to get a deaf student’s attention across a room, flick the overhead lights once instead of yelling or waving your hands over their head—yelling doesn’t help, and waving draws unnecessary attention that embarrasses most kids. If you have a question about what a student needs, ask the student, don’t just ask their interpreter or their special ed teacher.
For parents of deaf kids who are fighting for better access, this gives you a concrete ask you can take to your school administration, instead of just asking for “better support.” You can ask that at least one admin and one front office staff person learn basic conversational signs, like how to greet students, ask if they’re feeling okay, and handle common office requests like calling a parent or issuing a late pass. Most community colleges have low-cost or even free community ASL classes, and many state education departments have free online deaf culture modules that count for professional development credit, so it doesn’t drain the school’s budget. Michael said the biggest change he made at his school was free: he added a signed segment to the daily morning announcements, after the student mentioned that was what he wanted most to feel included. It just took rearranging the student announcer schedule to add the kid who signs, no extra cost, no big construction project.
After coffee, I drove with Michael back to his school to take a quick look around. I saw a bulletin board by the main office with common ASL signs posted for visitors and new staff, and a student ASL club that meets after school once a week. Michael is still learning. He’s not fluent, and he still has a lot of work to do to make every part of the school accessible for the deaf and hard of hearing students there. There’s no big, perfect happy ending here. But it’s the first time I’ve left a school meeting with a hearing administrator feeling seen, not like I’m asking for too much.
Next month, I’m going to go to his school’s monthly staff meeting to talk about small changes they can make to be more welcoming. I’m bringing my kid to share his own experiences too. We don’t know what will come out of it, but it’s more than I would have expected to see even five years ago. It’s a start.
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