Identity and Belonging
Chinese Whispers: A game played everywhere in the world, in which a message is whispered by one person to another, that is passed through a line of people until the message is announced by the last person to the entire group.
Chinese Whispers: A game which brings most hard of hearing people to their knees.
Perhaps it was my inability to respond to a sharp whistle or the lack of attention my Grade two teacher received from me during story time, but there was always something about me that never sat right with her. After many phone calls and several appointments with Australian Hearing, I wasn’t only diagnosed with a mild to profound hearing loss, but I came to school on Monday with bright grey Hearing Aids that stuck out of my raven hair like sticks.
Through primary school, I was the main victim of playground racism at the expense of my peers. For a girl who just spent her tenth birthday with the poor company of old relatives and who was called brown cow on a regular basis, being singled out for yet another difference was the last thing on my agenda.
After the term 3 holidays in Grade four, I was introduced to the dreaded visiting teacher. This lady, who I refused to acknowledge as a wonderful life-saver, got me out of doing long division after recess, came to visit and aid me in making the best of the services my hearing aids offered me every week. These special visits were never my favourite and at some point I remember plotting numerous ways to prevent her from coming to my school. As I look back almost six years into those flip phone days, I realise the tremendous effort it took for her to travel almost an hour to visit a young girl only to have her kind advice shunned by a bratty kid.
My transition from primary school to secondary school was a vital event for my family. My family wanted to ensure that I was at the best school which recognised my talents and constantly strived to whip any academic flaws into shape. My parents enrolled me into St Mary’s
Chinese Whispers: A game which brings most hard of hearing people to their knees.
Perhaps it was my inability to respond to a sharp whistle or the lack of attention my Grade two teacher received from me during story time, but there was always something about me that never sat right with her. After many phone calls and several appointments with Australian Hearing, I wasn’t only diagnosed with a mild to profound hearing loss, but I came to school on Monday with bright grey Hearing Aids that stuck out of my raven hair like sticks.
Through primary school, I was the main victim of playground racism at the expense of my peers. For a girl who just spent her tenth birthday with the poor company of old relatives and who was called brown cow on a regular basis, being singled out for yet another difference was the last thing on my agenda.
After the term 3 holidays in Grade four, I was introduced to the dreaded visiting teacher. This lady, who I refused to acknowledge as a wonderful life-saver, got me out of doing long division after recess, came to visit and aid me in making the best of the services my hearing aids offered me every week. These special visits were never my favourite and at some point I remember plotting numerous ways to prevent her from coming to my school. As I look back almost six years into those flip phone days, I realise the tremendous effort it took for her to travel almost an hour to visit a young girl only to have her kind advice shunned by a bratty kid.
My transition from primary school to secondary school was a vital event for my family. My family wanted to ensure that I was at the best school which recognised my talents and constantly strived to whip any academic flaws into shape. My parents enrolled me into St Mary’s