Quiet

#1 misconception about working at a deaf school: “That must be really quiet.”

No, it’s not quiet…ever. Some days deafness seems like a blessing. When two or three different students are yelling (not words, just yelling) for attention, the AC is blasting full tilt, and the piercing pitch of the bell goes off, I pray for quiet. Instead, the bell signals a herd of stampeding children rushing to get books. Planners belly flop onto the floor. Desks are shuffled in the mad dash out of the room. Taking my ‘post’ in the doorway I am bombarded by the sound of lockers slamming shut. Teachers are talking across the mêlée. Footsteps hurry down the hall.

The scratching, dragging noise of dancing desks starts again as a new class files into the room. Everyone who wants my attention shouts at a varying decibel and pitch level. Ever been yelled at by someone? Not a yell of anger or frustration, not a name shouted across a room – just shouting. An indistinct, uncontrolled, brief, piercing, whoop or yelp. Even teaching isn’t quiet. Someone is repeatedly clicking their pencil, trying to get the lead out. Another student is humming to themself, unaware that I can hear them. The impact of various signs sends smacks, slaps, and taps reverberating around the room.

And that’s on a normal day.

Today, they are putting a new roof on the building. Until this morning, I was unaware that sledgehammers must be used to pound on roof tiles. The throbbing noise just above my head suggests that must be the case. Either that, or they are dropping bowling balls on the roof. When even the deaf kids notice the noise, you know it is bad. Outside the tar melting machine continuously drones, and I’m reminded of standing directly next to Dad in the yard, trying to yell over the sound of the stationary lawn mower left running. All of this is in addition to the day-to-day noises.

Quiet in a deaf school? Only if you can turn your hearing aids off.