Deaf ESL Students - Gallaudet University

me. We would leave Texas and head
for the Illinois farmlands. Like Juanita,
I never knew exactly when we were
leaving. I never had a chance to say
goodbye to my friends. I’d finished out
and begin the school year in DeKalb or
one of the other small Illinois towns.
The camps where we lived are gone
now, but then they bustled with life.
Each family had cinderblock housing,
and there was a single toilet and shower
facility that we all shared.
Like the other children, I worked in
the fields before and after school, and
on weekends. Every summer, I went to
migrant summer school. Located in
Rochelle, Illinois, the school was a constant
in my existence and I believe I
learned a lot there—though all the
other children were hearing and no
one was trained to work with a deaf
child. Then fall brought a different
school, which I would attend for a few
months until the fall crops—tomatoes,
asparagus, and corn—were harvested
and my family headed home to Texas.
“Good job, Juanita!” I gave her the
ABOVE: The students speculate on their
favorite snacks.
Spring 2000
thumbs up sign.
It was the next day, and Juanita had
contributed to developing a different
graph with the same information—this
time a pictograph. Now the students
understood that there were at least two
kinds of graphs. Their wishes for treats
were displayed on both kinds. The
graphs remained on display in the
classroom. Both graphs indicated the
same preference.
“It looks like our class snack will be
pizza!” I said.
The students were enthralled. I
stood again at the front of the class.
Why had each of the students selected
his or her snack? And how should we
go about getting it?
Suggestions came forth.
“Ms. Rangel and Ms. Knouse can
buy the pizza!” said Juanita.
“We can earn money,” said Ram.
“We can charge it,” said Chris. “We
can use the red card from the grocery
store.”
I explained that the red card was
not a charge card but a discount
coupon. Having my purse nearby, I
pulled out both my red card and my
charge card. I explained the vagaries
of charging—and having to pay later.
Up on the chalkboard went a drawing
of a pizza. Every time a student
completed a homework assignment, he
or she earned another slice and it was
filled in on the board. It was a quick
exposure to fractions. Once everyone
had a full pizza’s worth of work, we
would celebrate in the classroom.
From time to time, grumbling and
the issue of unfairness arose. When the
students asked me again why a nearby
class had pizza when we did not, a literacy
activity seemed appropriate.
“Why don’t you write to Ms.
Weinstock?” I asked the students. Janet
Weinstock was the lead teacher of the
3/4/5 team, of which we are members.
“Write to Ms. Weinstock and let her
know how you feel.”
Ram, a natural leader, took the
lead. Grabbing a pencil and paper, he
began the letter. The other students
gathered around, offering encouragement
and suggestions on how to craft
the complaint.
By the time the actual pizza
arrived—a donation to our class by Ms.
Knouse and myself—the answer to
Ram’s letter had arrived and the two
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