BC Hands & Voices

This essay was originally published as the 2nd prize winning entry in the Gallaudet National Essay Contest in 2005, which is a writing and American Sign Language (ASL) competition open to all deaf and hard of hearing students in grades 2-12. The original essay is republished here in its entirety.

by Rosalind Ho

I have always loved to read and to learn more about the world from the time that I was a little girl. When I read a story, I am not a young Canadian deaf girl, but am Viola aka Cesario, coping on my own far from home; the detective Hercule Poirot solving the unsolvable mystery; or the teenage wizard Harry Potter battling the evil Lord Voldemort. I can travel throughout the cosmos, visiting distant stars and planets, without ever leaving the comfort of home.

As a little girl, my primary interests were my family, playing with my friends, and reading. I loved running around playing games with my older brother Casey, or playing jump rope or four-square with my friends. At the time, I was reading short stories such as The Little Mermaid or slightly longer chapter books such as Miss Pickerell Goes to the Arctic or The Twits.

When I was seven, going on eight years old, Casey was eleven. Close friends, despite the differences in our ages, Casey and I spent many a rainy day playing together. I can still remember him scrunching up his nose and eyes into what we called his “funny face”. I was only seven and it was easy to make me laugh.

I remember my seventh summer as a typical hot and steamy summer, which meant days on end of bright blue skies and scorching sunlight. Casey and I regularly escaped to the basement guest room simply to get away from the oppressive heat waves. We would plump down on the black sofa bed, open the blinds to let in the light, and spend our long summer afternoons playing together or quietly reading.

One warm afternoon, I was downstairs with Casey, wishing that it wasn’t so hot so that we could go outside to play. Casey showed me a novel he had borrowed from the public library and suggested that I read it. I shook my head and said no, protesting that the book would be too difficult. Casey insisted that I could do it, that it wouldn’t be hard for me to understand, but I ignored him. Most people, especially a young boy who was enjoying his short summer holiday, would have given up arguing with a stubborn little kid like me soon enough on such a hot and languorous summer afternoon. But he kept at me, finally promising to give me some of my favourite candy if I would just try to read the book.

So I picked up The Great Brain and started reading. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that difficult; I remember it was a funny story about a boy named John whose older brother Tom was always trying to outwit and swindle the rest of the world out of their money and usually succeeded. It was a lot more interesting and complex than Cinderella or The Lion King, stories that I already knew by heart. I begged Casey to get me the rest of the stories in the Great Brain series. Then he lent me his copy of Bruce Coville’s Book of Aliens II. Many more interesting stories followed one after the other, such as Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

As I grew older, I sometimes wondered why an eleven-year-old boy would have spent his summer holiday trying to get me to read more when he could have spent his time playing at the park with his best friends from down the street. It wasn’t until recently that I realized why. When I was in grade 10, I switched into an advanced English class so that I could take English Literature 12 the next year (grade 11) and then AP English 12 in grade 12. Before I went ahead with the decision, I discussed my concerns about the challenges such a study path would entail with Casey and my parents. My parents were supportive as all parents are, but my final decision was settled in (great) part by Casey’s encouragement. He said that I could do whatever I set my mind to do. Which I now realize was the exact same thing that he believed when he told a seven-year-old girl to try reading something more challenging.

Over the years, my interest in reading broadened to cover a wide range of topics. I enjoy reading and learning about how people such as Helen Keller or King Arthur lived in earlier times and how different their worlds and lives must have been from our own. I love learning more about the world and what forces have shaped the country that we live in today. But I sometimes wonder if my desire to read and my thirst for knowledge would ever have been as strong as it is if Casey hadn’t, on a hot summer day a long time ago, persuaded me to pick up The Great Brain.

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Author’s Note: Casey has continued to encourage me to challenge myself and to stretch my horizons. When I was close to graduating from UBC with a degree in English Literature, he persuaded me to apply to the Summer Institute for General Management (SIGM) program that he had previously attended at the Stanford Graduate School for Business. I was initially hesitant as the program was very competitive with a 15% admission rate and business was a new field for me, but I decided to go for it with the support of Casey and my parents. Casey cheered the loudest when I called my family to tell them of my acceptance into the SIGM program.

Today, Casey is an accomplished software engineer and leader in the United States. He continues to be my champion and role model as I explore new dreams. Also, reading is still my favourite thing to do ☺!

By Sarah Francescutti

Talking about safety for our deaf/hard of hearing (dhh) children can feel uncomfortable and even something we may unintentionally avoid. So it’s important that we talk about it more, not less. 

The safety of our children grows through shared awareness and knowledge. The belief is simple and powerful: when we talk openly about safety for our dhh children, discomfort decreases, understanding increases, and we can work together to normalize safe approaches that help reduce negative experiences. 

This article is meant to support that dialogue by offering practical, easy-to-apply ideas that families and educators can use right away to strengthen safety and connection.

On 13 January 2026, in collaboration with the Hands & Voices O.U.R. Children’s Safety Project, Kristin Grender, a renowned educator, adjunct professor in Special Education, and Bright Spots through the Council for Exceptional Children shared “A Teacher’s Role in Keeping Kids Safe,” offering practical, trauma-informed guidance for supporting dhh, deafblind, and disabled students.

Why This Conversation Matters

Children who are dhh, deafblind, and/or have disabilities face a significantly higher risk of maltreatment, bullying, and other adverse childhood experiences (ACEs). This elevated risk is not caused by disability itself, but by communication barriers, social isolation, and limited access to safe disclosure pathways.

One key insight from the session was the impact of loneliness. Some dhh children, particularly those who feel isolated at school,  may tolerate inappropriate or unsafe behavior simply to maintain friendship or connection. When belonging feels fragile, children may prioritize connection over safety, often without the words or confidence to speak up.

Another important factor discussed was the frequency of one‑to‑one interactions dhh children often have with adults (e.g., speech therapy, listening and spoken language sessions, interpreting support, academic support). While these sessions are essential, they can increase vulnerability when they occur in isolated spaces or without clear safeguards. This makes it especially important to:

• Keep one‑to‑one sessions visible and transparent as possible while ensuring backgound noise and distractions are minimized. (e.g. doors open, windows unobstructed)
• Clearly explain the purpose and structure of sessions to students
• Reinforce that students can stop, pause, or ask for another adult at any time
• Ensure children know who to tell if something feels uncomfortable

Proactive planning helps ensure necessary supports do not unintentionally increase risk.

The Parent’s Voice

While the focus of the session was on educators, an important takeaway was the essential role parents play as advocates. Parents are often the ones who can encourage these conversations to be included intentionally in daycare or school planning.

Parents can support safety by raising topics such as communication access, boundaries, consent, and trusted adults and other school conversations. When safety is named explicitly, it is more likely to be addressed consistently.

Teachers can support this by creating communication-accessible environments, teaching safety and boundaries directly, watching for subtle changes in behavior, and ensuring students know who they can talk to and how.

Building Protective Factors: What This Looks Like in Practice for DHH children

Using a disability- and trauma-informed lens, the session emphasized that protective factors must be intentional and observable, not assumed. For dhh children, safety increases when adults take specific, everyday actions.

Protective factors in practice include:

• Ensuring consistent communication access: verifying that students can fully understand classroom discussions, instructions, and peer interactions in their preferred language or modality and checking in when access breaks down.
• Naming trusted adults explicitly: helping students identify specific people at daycare/school (by name and role) they can go to if something feels wrong, and practicing how to approach them.
• Teaching body autonomy and consent directly: modeling consent in daily interactions (e.g., before touching hearing technology or personal space) and reinforcing that students can say no, even to adults.
• Reducing isolation and supporting peer connection: intentionally creating opportunities for dhh students to connect with peers, rather than assuming friendships will form naturally.
• Providing clear ways to disclose concerns: using visual check-ins, private signals, or structured opportunities for one-on-one conversations so students do not have to initiate disclosure on their own.
• Reinforcing self-advocacy skills: teaching and practicing how to ask for clarification, request support, and speak up when something feels uncomfortable.

Safety is not a one-time lesson — it is a culture built through consistent actions, relationships, and follow-through.

Moving Forward Together

Talking about child safety can feel uncomfortable, but silence carries greater risk. It is important that parents and teachers openly share their concerns regarding individual safety, noise, and communicate about the ideals and reality, and together reach a consensus so they can work confidently together on a child’s behalf. By working together as parents, educators, and communities, we can strengthen safety nets and ensure dhh children are properly protected, connected, and heard.

A recording of this session will be available to watch at the link below once it has been uploaded.

Here is the link for the OUR Place recordings, as of 19 Jan the new Jan 2026 recording isn’t up yet: https://handsandvoices.org/resources/OUR/index.htm#past 

We at Hands & Voices wanted to share the news that parents and professionals can help our growing kids be safe in the world. This Parent Safety Toolkit shares resources to help parents, kids, and the community to understand specific skills, knowledge and practices that can keep our kids safe and independent.

[ Download the OUR Parent Safety Toolkit ]