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2001 52: 31Journal of Teacher EducationSusan L. Gabel

''I Wash My Face with Dirty Water'' : Narratives of Disability and Pedagogy  

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Journal of Teacher Education, Vol. 52, No. 1, January/February 2001Journal of Teacher Education, Vol. 52, No. 1, January/February 2001

“I WASH MY FACE WITH DIRTY WATER”NARRATIVES OF DISABILITY AND PEDAGOGY

Susan L. GabelCleveland State University

Reflective practice and the value of reflexivity between personal experience and pedagogy are com-mon research themes today. However, teacher candidates often report a lack of encouragement to bereflective of their experiences with disability and the ways those experiences can inform pedagogy.This article results from a year of inquiry involving 3 novice teachers with disabilities. The impactof their experiences is discussed in light of their developing pedagogical knowledge. The article con-cludes that for them, teaching is an encounter with the self but that their encounters are an un-tapped resource with rich potential for the construction of pedagogical knowledge. The articleargues that teacher educators must facilitate reflection on experiences with disability as with gen-der, race/ethnicity, and other identity markers or lived experiences. The article includes examples ofthe author’s attempts to make use of disability experiences in the teacher education curriculum.

We are in an era of teacher education duringwhich reflective practice (Greene, 1986; Handal& Lauvas, 1987; Zeichner & Liston, 1996) andthe value of reflexivity between experience andpedagogy are common research themes(Ellsworth, 1995; hooks, 1994; Luke, 1992; Mc-Laren, 1994, 1995; VanManen, 1990). Race, class,gender, and ethnicity are explored in texts andcourses in teacher education. Case studies areused to help teacher candidates examine theirexperiences and make use of them while theygrow as teachers. Teaching journals are as-signed to facilitate deep and critical reflectionon one’s experiences in the field. At times, itseems that every possible identity is explored,every experience is examined, and every per-sonal story is told. However, I have observedthat one human experience of which we couldmake use continues to be a teacher education ta-boo. It is disability and the acknowledgement ofthe presence of disabled teacher candidates inour programs.

In this article, I hope to break the silence byoffering the stories of three individuals andtheir journeys to knowing themselves as young

adults and teachers. These stories were col-lected during a year-long project in which Iexplored the ways my 3 participants under-stood disability and the ways in which theirunderstandings informed their pedagogicalknowledge. During our year together, Iattempted to determine whether and in whatways these teachers had submitted their experi-ences with disability to reflection. In this article,I lay out the narratives of disability and peda-gogy that were constructed that year, and Iexplore the ways in which disability narrativescan be used in teacher education to contributetoward the goal of developing critically reflec-tive practitioners. To accomplish this, I firstexplain the sources of my interest in the rela-tionship between self and pedagogy. Then, I dis-cuss my methodology at length to provide clar-ity about the ways I collected and interpretedparticipants’ narratives. The centerpiece of thisarticle is the narratives themselves and the waysin which they complicated teacher education’sconventional notions about disability. Finally, Ioffer some practical ways in which the teachereducation curriculum can be revised to make

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use of the disability experiences of teacher can-didates and/or to include disability narrativesamong teacher education texts.

A note about my use of disability language iswarranted here. There is an ongoing debateamong international scholars about how to talkand write about disability. For many years, per-son-first language has prevailed, and for goodreasons. Person-first language requires one toprivilege the individual as a person with fullhumanity. In person-first language, educatorsuse phrases such as student with a disability andstudents with learning disabilities. The per-son-first movement grew out of disability activ-ists’ press for social recognition of biased lan-guage that dehumanizes people about whomreferences to disability were made (Blaska,1993; Bogdan & Biklen, 1977; Zola, 1993). Dis-ability-first language has recently reemergedamong many disability studies scholars, but it isused in two ways. Some scholars and disabilityactivists are using disability-first language (e.g.,disabled person or disabled woman) to show dis-ability pride (Gabel, 1997; Linton, 1998). Thistrend is similar to the gay pride trend of recentyears. Other disability scholars are using dis-ability-first language to represent the power ofthe social consequences of particular ways ofbeing. In this usage, privileging disability sym-bolizes the oppressive or discriminatory socialconditions facing disabled people (Abberley,1987; Linton, 1998; Peters, 1996; Shakespeare,1997). My own decision has been to use disabil-ity-first language in my scholarship and withfellow disability studies scholars while usingpeople-first language in professional and inter-personal discourses where disability-firstwould be misunderstood or offensive. I use dis-ability-first language in my scholarship becauseI adhere to the notion that disability can simul-taneously be a source of pride and a symbol ofoppression or discrimination.

I suggest one other caution as a preface.Stories of remarkable disabled people can turninto heroic tales that distort the realities of dis-ability experiences. Although I believe my par-ticipants are indeed remarkable, I do notbelieve, nor do I think they would want othersto believe, they are unusual. They have strug-

gled to learn to teach, as did I and as do mostnovice teachers. Their lives are filled with a mix-ture of sadness and happiness, pleasure andpain, as are all lives. They experience successand failure, as do we all. These 3 individuals arenot remarkable because they are disabled teach-ers (if indeed they are disabled). Rather, they areremarkable because they are among the first dis-abled teachers whose stories of self and peda-gogy are being told.

TEACHING AS ANENCOUNTER WITH THE SELF

In her article “Teaching as an Encounter Withthe Self,” Linda Gibson (1998) describes herexperiences assisting undergraduate studentsin uncovering their tacit beliefs about race andethnicity. To do this, she uses the story of WindWolf, a Native American kindergarten studentwhose marginalization in school causes him tobecome confused about his identity and to rejectsome important cultural values to which hispeople adhere. One of the most powerful exam-ples of Wind Wolf’s confusion is the fact that heconvinces his parents to cut his long hair so hecan be more like his classmates. This and otherattempts to be more Anglo fail, though, and as aresult of the differences in his appearance,behaviors, and learning style, Wind Wolf islabeled a slow learner. Although some mightargue that this story reveals Wind Wolf to oth-ers, or society to Wind Wolf, Gibson argues itreveals the biases of Wind Wolf’s teacher.Through teaching, Gibson claims, we revealourselves to others. Wind Wolf’s teacher wasuncovered as an insensitive teacher who did notrecognize the social politics in her classroomand who did not think to make educational useof the richness of Wind Wolf’s experiences as aNative American. When I first read her article,Gibson’s observations resonated with mebecause I have found that in my own teaching, Itoo have come to know myself. In 1979, I was anovice teacher in a large midwestern, urban,multicultural district, yet I had grown up inrural and suburban, homogeneous, White com-munities. Except for my Asian brother and sisterwho joined our nuclear family through adop-

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tion, I had rarely been around people signifi-cantly different from me. I found my experi-ences in that first teaching job challenging, rich,and exhilarating and since then feel most com-fortable in heterogeneous environments. Per-haps as a result of that first experience, I havebuilt a multicultural family and career.

My initial university teaching experience asan adjunct professor also became an encounterwith the self, albeit a disastrous one. My studentevaluations were so poor that I wondered whythe university asked me back for subsequentsemesters. At the time, I thought I was doingexactly what I should do: preparing and deliver-ing sound lectures, carefully grading studentpapers, requiring students to adhere strictly todeadlines and guidelines, and administeringmultiple-choice and short-answer tests to assessstudent learning. I was confused by my stu-dents’ responses because I was doing what I hadwatched my own university professors do. Itseemed to me that I was fulfilling the obliga-tions of my profession. This happened wellbefore I had ever thought about teaching as anencounter with the self, but fortunately, I hadthe good sense to reflect on the possible reasonsfor my failure and, in the end, I decided that theprimary problem was that I had not beenmyself. I discovered that I am rather informal. Iam subjective and flexible. I prefer dialogue anddebate and learning from my students. I had sti-fled these characteristics to behave in a way Ithought was expected of me, and my studentssensed my disingenuousness. Years later, myreading of Gibson’s (1998) article recalled thoseearly teaching experiences. By then, I was doingresearch in disability studies and education, andI began to wonder whether and in what wayspedagogy might be an encounter with the dis-abled self. Furthermore, I wondered how suchencounters might revise the teacher educationcurriculum. My questions were also shaped bythe fact that by then I was experiencing beingdisabled and by my experiences raising threedisabled children.

A second series of events solidified my goalsfor the inquiry reported in this article. In1997-1998, when I was on the education facultyat an urban regional university in the Midwest,

several students with disabilities were dis-cussed among the faculty. There were alwaysquestions about how to support them andwhether they could “make it” as teachers. Onestudent in particular stood out to me becausejust prior to the semester in which he was in myclass, he came to my office and announced, “I’myour disabled student.” I saw this as a bold butambiguous statement because I was anticipat-ing about 90 students that semester, and ifdemographic statistics are good predictors,between 5% and 10% of them would have sometype of “disability” (Trupin & Rice, 1995; Yates,Ortiz, & Anderson, 1998). In addition, I knewthat there are many conditions called “disabili-ties,” and each can require different types ofeducational accommodations. Martin told mehe had a learning disability, and through furtherdiscussion, I determined his learning disabilitywas quite significant. We talked about theaccommodations he needed, and I suggestedsome things he could do to prepare for our class,an undergraduate course titled Special NeedsLearners in the Regular Classroom. I also askedhim to give me feedback during the semesterabout ways in which my teaching could betteraccommodate his learning needs. I saw ourpartnership as an effort to both accommodatehim as a learner and allow me to model inclu-sive teaching for Martin and his classmates.Given his openness about such matters, myplans to model were modestly successful, andour semester went well. In the years since,though, I continue to wonder how I might morethoroughly have integrated Martin’s experi-ences as a teacher candidate with who he was asan individual with a significant learningdisability.

METHODS OF INQUIRY

My purpose for this inquiry has been tounderstand the ways in which my participantsunderstand themselves, disability, and peda-gogy as they respond to probes related to myprimary project questions: (a) What meaningsare given to personal experiences with disabil-ity by these 3 novice teachers? and (b) In what

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ways do they believe their experiences with dis-ability affect their understanding and practiceof pedagogy? In a very real sense, I have wantedto know if and how my participants viewedteaching or preparing to teach as an encounterwith the self. Second, I have hoped to determinewhether there is significance in experiences ofdisability that, if explored by novice teachers orteacher candidates, might hone their pedagogi-cal beliefs. Furthermore, if there is significance,how can this alter the teacher educationcurriculum?

Overall, I adhere to the interpretive traditionexplained by Brian Fay (1975) when he arguesthat the interpretive social scientist attempts tounderstand the way human beings understandthemselves. Because my methods are eclecticand my inquiry is somewhat novel, I provide arather lengthy description of methods in thissection. As an interpretive study of individualexperience, I borrow and blend from ethnogra-phy (Bernard, 1995; Boyatzis, 1998; Denzin,1997; Geertz, 1973; Witherspoon, 1977) and nar-rative (Hinde, 1998; Hollway & Jefferson, 2000)methods. From ethnography, I use the construc-tion of open-ended questions that would elicitlengthy, rich, textual data (Geertz, 1973). I alsouse daily field notes containing my observa-tions, ideas, thoughts, and hunches related tothe project. Furthermore, I use ethnographicmethods for data analysis strategies that entailrepeated readings of interview transcripts andfield notes, identification of thematic patterns intranscripts, and comparison and contrast of the-matic patterns with similar patterns in thescholarly literature and my field notes. It isimportant to note that I designed this project touncover what my participants think and sayabout disability and pedagogy and the connec-tions between these two things, so my analysisof transcripts involved a search for thematicpatterns related to these two concepts. I used thesentence as my unit of analysis, and every sen-tence containing discourse directly or indirectlyrelated to pedagogy or disability was coded. Asentence was considered related to pedagogy ifit met the definition of pedagogy to which Iadhere. The definition is explicated later in thissection. I used the definition of disability to

which my participants adhered. My method fordoing this is described later in this section.

From narrative methods, I use what I con-sider general approaches to guide my analysisof the textual data and to inform my reflectionson those data. For this process, I seriously con-sider Sandra Harding’s (1991) claim that “theright to define the categories through which oneis to see the world and to be seen by it is a funda-mental political right” (p. 251). Harding’s claimis similar to a more recent one by Hollway andJefferson (2000) that “one of the good reasons forbelieving what people tell us, as researchers, is ademocratic one: who are we to know any betterthan the participants when it is, after all, theirlives?” (p. 3). Hollway and Jefferson furtherinform my understanding and use of the narra-tive as storytelling in which meaning is createdwithin the research pair; as such, meaning is“constructed within the . . . interview contextrather than being a neutral account of apre-existing reality” (p. 32). The narrativeapproach also contributes to my analysis by giv-ing me the notion of the “evolutionary timescale” (Stevenson-Hinde, 1998, p. 124), whichholds that individuals must be understoodwithin context and that individuals changefrom context to context and over linear time.More specifically, I consider the texts producedby my participants to be positioned in “threedimensional space” (Clandinin & Connelly,2000), as having forward and backward, insideand outside movement. I use these notions tomake sense of some of the things participantssay that appear inconsistent with an initial read-ing and in particular, I use the idea ofthree-dimensional space to reflect on partici-pants’ words and the entire texts of their livesthat I have uncovered. I believe this reflectionfacilitates insights that otherwise might beunavailable.

My method could be described as the devel-opment of “grounded theory,” or the construc-tion of theory from raw data (Boyatzis, 1998;Schwandt, 1997). I employ several strategiesfrom grounded theory methods, includinginduction using raw data, deduction by com-paring participants’ concepts to those of disabil-ity theorists, and simple verification processes

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by examining the whole of my participants’ nar-ratives in light of several literatures and my fieldnotes. According to Schwandt (1997), all threeprocesses are required in grounded theory, butthe collection, analysis, and comparison of mul-tiple data sets over time are also required.Because I have not yet done this, my intention isto report my results as narratives and to avoidtheoretical conclusions on a grand scale. Giventhe small number of participants (3), the singledata set nature of this inquiry, and my prefer-ence to allow my participants’ stories to takecenter stage, I choose to avoid making theoreti-cal claims or suggestions of generality. I preferto allow these narratives to complicate our ideasabout disability, teaching, teacher education,and teacher candidates and to use their storiesto think about differently doing teacher educa-tion. By claiming that disability narratives arecomplicating, I mean that these narrativesreveal some of the problems of defining disabil-ity in a certain way. Later, readers will find thatthere is a good deal of disagreement amongscholars and everyday people about what con-stitutes a disability or “being disabled.”

The aspect of my method involving defini-tion of concepts, or operationalization of termsas it is called in social science, might be some-what controversial. I have chosen to defineloosely the concept of disability so that my par-ticipants’ definitions could emerge and I coulddetermine whether they view disability as anexperience that informs pedagogy. I considerthis consistent with the methodologicalassumptions and strategies previously dis-cussed. Therefore, during data collection, myresearch assistant and I used disability to refer towhatever participants meant when they usedthe term. I have used this in other inquiries andfound it to be useful interpretive strategy(Gabel, in press-c). Rather than defining disabil-ity or being disabled for them, my assistant and Iasked the participants to define it and clarifywhether they were disabled or a person with adisability. We used both phrasings for two rea-sons: Although these two usages prevail, thereis a good deal of debate in disability studiesabout the appropriate use of disability lan-guage, and we did not know which, if any,

phrasing our participants might use. Within thisintentionally loose definition of disability, I leftroom for participants to understand disabilityand/or to reject it in whatever way made senseto them.

During data analysis, I compare the ways inwhich my participants seem to understand dis-ability with the prevalent uses of it in the dis-ability studies literature. I use disability studiesas my touchstone literature because many of thescholars cited in that literature and this articleare disabled themselves; therefore, I considertheir insights to be quite valuable. Furthermore,disability studies are of emerging importance ineducational research, as evidenced by the recentorganization of the Disability Studies in Edu-cation special interest group of the AmericanEducational Research Association and theannouncement of a new journal, Disability, Cul-ture, and Education (forthcoming from Informa-tion Age Publishers in 2002). New educationalscholars also are beginning to identify with dis-ability studies (Erevelles, 2000; Gabel, Danforth,Ware, Peters, & Heshusius, 2000), and interest isgrowing in the general public (Rubin, 2000).

The area of disability studies is an interdisci-plinary field of inquiry with emerging promi-nence in the United Kingdom, Canada, and theUnited States, wherein a social model of disabil-ity is utilized (Abberley, 1987; Barnes & Oliver,1995; Fine & Asch, 1988; Lane, 1992; Linton,1998; Shakespeare, 1997; Shakespeare & Wat-son, 1997). The social model of disability is acon- structivist model with a variety of strands,all in opposition to the medical model thatemphasizes individual deficits and is conven-tional in education (Valencia, 1997; Wendell,1996). One strand of the social model holds thatdisability is membership in a minority groupand results in discrimination (Hahn, 1988). Thishas been a commonly cited model in the UnitedStates. Another version, also found in theUnited States, holds that disability is a personalidentity that carries with it social consequences(Peters, 1996). Some consequences might bebeneficial (e.g., belonging to a disability com-munity), but many are not (e.g., social, eco-nomic, and political marginalization) (seeGabel, 1997, in press-a, in press-b). My interpre-

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tation of disability is an aesthetic one that holdsthat disability is the meaning given to particularexperiences by the one having the experiences.In each strand of the social model, it is recog-nized that there is a condition or situation inher-ent in the context that causes a person to be dis-abled. However, the social model does notassume the condition or situation is the result ofan innate individual deficit. Rather, the socialmodel would assume the situation to be cultur-ally or socially constructed so that a particularway of being (e.g., being blind, being deaf, usinga wheelchair) has discriminatory or oppressivesocial consequences. The social consequenceslabeled as disability by the social model are sig-nificant enough that many social model theo-rists have begun to use disability-first languageto emphasize the power relations behind theconstruction of the disability identity. As dis-cussed earlier, I recognize that disability-firstlanguage can feel uncomfortable to educatorswho have used and believed in person-first lan-guage for many years. My own position is thatwe are in an intellectual period when both struc-tures can be used by scholars and practitionersas long as they are used with integrity and con-sistency and their use maintains the dignity andvalue of disabled people.

To get at what I understand to be pedagogy,interviews examine participants’ beliefs abouttheir sense of self and history, their relationshipsto and with students, and the ways in whichtheir experiences inform their teaching and rela-tionships. For this project, my conceptualiza-tion of pedagogy, then, is a relational one inwhich pedagogy constitutes the strategies ofteaching, one’s style of teaching, the relation-ships one forms with one’s students, and theways in which one interprets one’s self andone’s students during the pedagogical process.In a sense, pedagogy is more a reflexive relation-ship between teacher, student, and context thana skill or technique (hooks, 1994; Noddings,1992; VanManen, 1990). Later, it will be clearthat this concept of pedagogy influences theways in which I interpret the participants’stories.

To conclude this section, it should be madeclear that early in our relationships, my partici-

pants understood my interest in their experi-ences and beliefs and agreed to participate inthis project. In fact, we serendipitously foundeach other through our joint participation inclasses at the university. Throughout the project,I interacted with participants in a variety of set-tings: their university classrooms, informal con-versations, and in one case, the student teachingplacement. I maintained field notes or field nar-ratives (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000), as I dodaily for any project. Because many of our con-tacts were in university classes, I approach thosedata as a participant observer (Bernard, 1995;Rossman & Wallis, 1998; Wolcott, 1995), reflect-ing on participants’ ideas and behaviors whilescreening my observations for the ways inwhich I affect the interactions. I use field narra-tives and participant observation experiences toguide my interpretations and provide insightinto the interview data.

“I’M YOUR DISABLED STUDENT”

Martin’s first greeting to me in the late sum-mer of 1997 was the first time a student had soopenly and readily shared a disability experi-ence with me. At that point, Martin was a2nd-year elementary teacher education student.He had completed most of his coursework andpractica. He was feeling quite ready to completehis program and obtain a teaching job in hishometown, where two principals expressed aninterest in hiring him and where he was alreadysubstitute teaching. He hoped to be an earlychildhood teacher.

As our year together progressed and I sawhim in class, his student teaching placement,and informal social situations, I learned thatMartin is a remarkable young man with a fasci-nating history. Martin is a 24-year-old AfricanAmerican man from a moderately sized urbanarea about an hour’s drive from the university.His early childhood was spent in what he calls adirty, neglectful home with a single mother. Hedescribes his situation the following way.

I spent a lot of time within, inside, kind of daydream-ing. And so I missed out on those first 5 years. Therewas a lot of drama going on at home during those 5years. My mother was kind of stuck. Her only excusewas drinking alcohol and my grandmother had 13

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other kids she was trying to raise. No one spent timewith me to read books or tell me that things are goingto be okay. I was just left alone in my survival. Sothat’s when the survival stuff kicked in. I was a bully.If you said something to me, I’d kick your ass andkeep on going.

By fourth grade, Martin was still a nonreaderand in a full-time special education program forstudents with learning disabilities. At one pointin middle school, he had a long-term substituteteacher in his special education class who tookan interest in him, and when Martin was 13, theteacher invited him to move into her home andshare a life with her family. When reflecting onthe adults who helped him “change direction,”Martin says,

I found some good people that did care. I believed inthem. I took their advice and got the hell out. Thesmartest thing I ever did. It saved my life . . . from aperpetual cycle with the alcohol and the drugs.

Soon, Martin began considering his substi-tute teacher his mother, and they informallyadopted one another as family. Since then, Mar-tin has called her Mom, and she considers himher son. She has also served as his greatest advo-cate, assisting him with educational accommo-dations, encouraging him to advocate forhimself, and reading his textbooks to himthroughout his college career.

When asked if he considers himself either adisabled person or a person with a disability,Martin says he does not. This is surprising be-cause my first encounter with Martin was hisclaim that he was my disabled student. By thetime of our formal interviews, he stated that hisview of disability is that it means not being ableto do something even when that ability has beentapped. By tapped, he means that the full capac-ity of ability has been explored. He talks aboutthe source of his ability, or capacity to learn, andsays,

I think it’s just unbelievable when everybody saysthat I’m disabled. When I do things I learned it, andnobody’s tapped into that source. ’Cause you know,it is a very complicated source. I’m still trying to fig-ure out how to tap into it myself.

Martin’s understanding of disability as a limita-tion has a caveat: Disability is present when ef-forts have been made to bring out the full

capacity of the individual and those efforts haveproven unsuccessful.

The mixed feelings about disability revealedin Martin’s conflicting claims about himself aresimilar to those of other teachers with disabili-ties. Joan, a disabled teacher quoted in Keller,Karp, and Simula (1998), says, “I know I am dis-abled, but I have never considered myself dis-abled” (p. 173). Joan’s identity claim has a tingeof the same resistance in Martin’s identity claimwhen Martin says he is not disabled because hisability has not been tapped. Martin and Joanseem to be saying that although others considerthem to be disabled, they themselves disagree.So, although Martin can tell an instructor he isthe disabled student, he does so with his senseof his nondisabled identity intact. He is sayingthat others will see him as disabled and that heneeds accommodations while saying his full po-tential has not been tapped so he does not con-sider himself disabled. My next participantshares Martin’s internal conflict.

“I PREFER NOT TO MENTION IT”

Lisa is a 21-year-old woman from a Whitemiddle class family. She wants to be an elemen-tary school teacher. I met Lisa when I was aguest instructor in her elementary practicumseminar. My role was to introduce students toinclusive education practices. She was bornwith a significant hearing loss of 60% in bothears. This means she can hear about 40% of whatsomeone with typical hearing can hear. Lisareads lips well and says that often, people shemeets do not realize she has a significant hear-ing loss, although she wears hearing aids inboth ears. Lisa attended special educationclasses for the first years of school, but by sec-ond grade, she was in regular education classesalmost full-time. She graduated from highschool and attended community college withother students her age, then transferred to hercurrent university to study teaching. She even-tually wants to teach children who have readingdifficulties and says that she particularly enjoysworking one on one with students. She recog-nizes that this preference could be due in part toher difficulty hearing and understandingspeech in group settings.

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Lisa describes her home life as supportive,nurturing, religious, and consistent. She saysthat her parents instilled in her confidence and abelief that she could “do anything” she wants todo. Lisa sees herself as pushing herself to proveto others that she can succeed in spite of herhearing loss. She believes, too, that she pushestoo hard.

I have a real drive to succeed, so I push myself reallyhard. I’ve always wanted to be better than every-body else in my class. In high school, I graduatedwith a 3.9, Number 6. Right now, I’m carrying a 3.9. Ithink, “Yeah, I’m going to prove to you that I can dothis even though I have a hearing impairment. I canovercome this.” But I’ve carried that too far.

Lisa requires some accommodations from herprofessors or the university office for studentswith disabilities, such as note takers when a pro-fessor does not speak clearly enough or assis-tance in selecting professors who will beaccommodating. Lisa is a student leader, work-ing 10 to 12 hours a week in the writing lab, as-sisting students with their writing assignments.During the summer, she supervises tutors in asummer school program for students withlearning difficulties where she was once a stu-dent herself.

When asked if she considers herself either adisabled person or a person with a disability,Lisa emphatically says no. “I do have a hearingimpairment,” she responds. “I do have a certainamount of loss, where disability implies thatthere’s something that I can’t do because of it.”As with Martin, Lisa resists being labeled dis-abled because it implies limitations, yet shereadily agrees that she has an impairment. Forher, an impairment is not the same as a disabil-ity. Lisa differentiates between disability andimpairment and, in doing so, agrees with manydisability studies scholars who make a distinc-tion between an impairment, or loss of function,and a disability (Linton, 1998, personal commu-nications, January through February 1999; seealso disability-research Listserv communica-tions in the public domain). Lisa clearly is con-cerned about being discriminated against as aresult of her impairment when she says, “I pre-fer not to mention it.” Yet, she does not seem tounderstand the relationship between herattempts to pass as a nondisabled person and

the ways in which that reflects a social construc-tion of her identity as a disabled person.

“IT MADE ME THINK ABOUTWHAT WE DO TO KIDS”

Christina is a 27-year-old Hispanic Americanwoman who has been teaching elementaryschool for 3 years. She is in remission from leu-kemia. When I met Christina, she had just com-pleted her first round of chemotherapy. She wasa student in my graduate class, ContemporaryIssues in Teaching and Learning, in which weexplored the conceptualizations of teaching andlearning of several key educational theoreti-cians: John Dewey (1938), Nel Noddings (1992),Paulo Freire (1970/1994), and bell hooks (1994).In class, Christina was tentatively open abouther illness and the ways in which she was think-ing and feeling about it. Our class of 20 graduatestudents and one instructor became a tight-knitcommunity during our semester together, andChristina became an important influence on usall as she observably developed in her thinkingabout herself and her pedagogy. By the end ofthe semester, Christina was beginning to con-struct ideas about pedagogy interwoven withher new sense of being and informed by herexperiences with leukemia and its residualeffects.

As do Martin and Lisa, Christina describesher family as influential in her development as aperson and in her response to and coping withher illness. Because she did not know at first ifshe would survive the leukemia, Christina hasspent quite a bit of time contemplating life andher place in the world. In fact, she believes shehas had a life-transforming experience and seesherself as a totally different person than she wasbefore her illness.

I’ve been thinking about teaching and learning. AndI think that when I was diagnosed with leukemia, itwasn’t the beginning to an end. It was starting froman end. I have a second chance to look at things andput my priorities in shape and to think about whatlife is and what I think it’s for. And that’s when Ithink everything changed for me.

Christina’s life during and after chemother-apy was painful, and she experienced physical

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and cognitive difficulties that she had never be-fore faced and that she did not understand. Herenergy was depleted and her strength de-creased. She experienced memory loss, confu-sion, mental fatigue, and difficulty processinglanguage and expressing herself. She found itnecessary to start psychotherapy to learn tocope with the changes in her body and thoughtprocesses. She describes her frustrations thisway.

I knew what I wanted to say, but I couldn’t think ofthe words to get them out. And I would be real slowin my speech, and I just couldn’t concentrate. I don’tknow what I was doing in my mind, but that was re-ally frustrating, devastating.

When asked if she considers herself eitherdisabled or a person with a disability, Christinacarefully considered her response. She checkedthe dictionary for the definition of disability andfound the definition to read “not having theability” to do something. Not satisfied with thatdefinition, she reflected a bit more and thensaid,

In a way, I guess I do have limits so that I would bedisabled in a way. But I was thinking that every sin-gle person has their own limits to things and whatthey can do. It really made me think about what wedo to kids when we say they’re disabled. I mean,what are we, what is it we’re saying?

Here, Christina echoes a common theme in thedisability studies literature. The assignment of adisability identity is considered by some schol-ars a symbol of oppression, particularly whenthe assignment is made by others (Abberley,1987; Barnes & Oliver, 1995; Bogdan & Biklen,1977; Campbell & Oliver, 1996; Hahn, 1988;Nagler, 1993; Shakespeare & Watson, 1997). Inmy own work, I have argued that a disabilityidentity, if it is to be a sign of pride or commu-nity membership rather than oppression, mustbe something one claims for oneself and notsomething one is coerced into accepting (Gabel,1997, 1999).

THE QUESTION OF DISABILITY

Many disability studies scholars would arguethat of these 3 individuals, Lisa and Martin aredisabled people, whereas Christina is a person

with an impairment. Here, I use impairment torefer to an innate condition creating some kindof limitation. Impairment does not refer tosomeone who is discriminated against becauseonce discriminated against due to one’s limita-tion(s), one becomes disabled. Simi Linton(1998), a disabled scholar, differentiatesbetween illness or impairment and disabilitywhile acknowledging that “the question of whoqualifies as disabled is as answerable or as con-founding as questions about any identity sta-tus” (p. 12). She claims, however, that althoughdisability is a marker of identity (as are race,class, and gender) or a social or political cate-gory, impairment typically is a medicalizedphysiological or psychological condition. It issomething that is diagnosed and often treatedby specialists. Christina’s illness might easilyfall into this second category, but Linton goes onto explain that in the disability community, say-ing you are a disabled person carries a lot ofcredibility. By virtue of her claim that she is dis-abled, Christina could be considered a disabledperson even though her illness has causedimpairments that do not necessarily affect hersocial or political status.

So, which of these 3 teachers is a person witha disability? I believe it depends on the defini-tion of disability used and the position fromwhich one conceptualizes and experiences theworld. More important, does it really matterwhich of these 3 teachers is disabled? In someways it matters, and in others it does not. It mat-ters because disabled people are an untappedresource for the teaching profession, and manyinvisibly disabled teachers, with conditions thatcannot be easily observed by others, attempt tohide their conditions for fear of discriminationor damaging their professional reputations(Yates et al., 1998). Still other people, those visi-bly disabled, too rarely are found in the teachingprofession. I believe it is contradictory to pro-gressive teacher education practice to avoidencouraging visibly or invisibly disabled teachercandidates to reflect on their experiences as dis-abled people and the ways in which those expe-riences inform their pedagogical knowledge.Furthermore, it seems unwise to ignore dis-abled people in our teacher recruitment efforts.

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As a teacher educator, it can be difficult toknow what to do when a student confides thathe or she is disabled. Should the teacher educa-tor accept the insider’s definition of disability,that one is disabled if one claims to be so? Orshould the teacher educator adhere to the out-sider’s view, even if from disability studies, thatdisability is an assigned personal identity ormembership in a minority group? Or, more con-ventionally, should a teacher educator adhere tothe belief that disability is a deficit or limitationrequiring documentation from a proper special-ist? I propose that the concept of disability towhich we adhere has consequences for how werespond to our students and how we facilitatereflections about identity and pedagogy. In myown practice, I have come to accept what mystudents tell me, regardless of whether theirdefinitions of disability (or sexuality, or race andethnicity) agree with mine. In the next sections, Ishare examples of the ways in which my posi-tion is enacted and the beneficial outcomes Ihave observed. First, I discuss the pedagogicalknowledge of my participants.

“I WASH MY FACE WITH DIRTY WATER”

At least in part, all 3 of my participants viewteaching practice in light of past experiences.Each of them discusses pedagogy connected toexperiences of disability or impairment. Thecritical question for me has been whether thesenovices recognize that they are doing this andhow they explain the impact of their experienceon their knowledge of pedagogy. In this section,I use the term pedagogical knowledge to refer toknowing how to teach as opposed to knowingthe subject matter or what to teach (Ball & Wil-son, 1996). Consistent with Morine-Dershimerand Corrigan (1997), I consider knowing oneselfkey to pedagogical knowledge and reasoning;therefore, my attempt has been to understandwhether and how these novice teachers under-stand the ways in which their experiences haveshaped their beliefs and practice (VanManen,1990). Would they, I asked myself, recognizeteaching as an encounter with the self, as a dia-lectic experience that furthers self-understand-ing and consequently improves pedagogy?

Although each of my participants appears torecognize the influence of experience on prac-tice, Christina and Martin describe a meaning-ful discontinuity between experience and prac-tice. Attention to their interpretations, inparticular, reveals rich insight into the value ofreflecting on disability experiences in teacherpreparation. Lisa, on the other hand, was a suc-cessful student as a youngster and continues tobe so in the university. She sees her past andpresent as continuous and reports no traumaticexperiences. My analysis of Lisa’s responsessuggests that her youth, relative inexperience inthe classroom, and struggle to hide her hearingloss constrain her ability to reflect deeply on theconnection between her disability experiencesand her pedagogy.

Martin’s public school experiences differedsignificantly from what he hopes to provide forhis own students. Much of the interview datafrom Martin are interspersed with his use ofvivid metaphor to describe his life andthoughts. One metaphor in particular is woventhroughout all three of his interviews and is thetheme of this article: I wash my face with dirtywater. Here, Martin discusses his struggle tomake it out of his life of poverty and illiteracyand get an education.

I would sacrifice a lot of things that were importantin the ’hood. I’m like, “Man, I can’t, I got to go andtake care of this. This is more important.” They’d allget mad at me. I was 13 years old, and I remembertelling my friend, “You can play all you want; educa-tion is only going to be here for a short while.”

Later, when asked what drove him, what fueledhis desire to leave the streets, get an education,and become a teacher, Martin spokemetaphorically.

I washed my face with dirty water. It gives my mindlots of order. You just kind of look and you see thesepeople, a row of people marching, and you see themfalling off the cliff. You say to them, “Why the hellyou going that route?” I said, “There’s a bridge rightover there.” And you know, they’re so blinded theydon’t realize. At 13, I would think to myself, “There’sgot to be more, there’s got to be.” And now I lookback and think that’s really ghetto, really trashy, re-ally just too bad.

It is difficult to find out what he meant by wash-ing his face with dirty water because Martin of-

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ten thinks and talks in metaphor. On the surface,Martin appears to be saying that his past life waslike dirty water (murky, filthy, unhealthy, use-less) and that remembering the past, or washinghis face in it, keeps him focused on his goal of es-caping that past. He says, “I must never forgetwhere I came from, because once I do, then I losereality of myself. I have to keep constantly look-ing back, realizing why I’m on the journey thatI’m on.” It is clear that Martin has a strong senseof urgency and a desire to use his past as a moti-vation to succeed.

In other places in our interviews, though, ashe attempts to explain his use of the metaphor,more subtle explanations emerge. The meta-phor also represents his understanding of hisfuture and his gratefulness for what he has andwhere he is going. The dirty water represents hisfamily, his friends from the ’hood, his frustra-tions over his learning disability, his inability tofeel confident about his schoolwork, his alco-holic mother, and on and on. Reflecting on pres-ent and past, or washing his face, is Martin’sway of connecting past and present, experienceand pedagogy. The realization of this connec-tion came during his student teaching.

There was an incident in my classroom where therewas a child that had serious behavior problems thathad been going on for a long time. This girl was justrunning me right through the mill. And I was think-ing, “How can I deal with this in a tactful way, with-out projecting anger?” That’s the thing where I washmy face with dirty water. I think, “How can I ap-proach this?” That’s something in college they don’tteach you.

This incident was a pedagogical breakthroughfor Martin because he realized that his own stu-dent was just like he remembered himself as astudent. Here, his student becomes his dirty wa-ter, and confronting his feelings about her andcoming to consider her needs is the process ofwashing his face. Martin integrates other stu-dent teaching experiences into his metaphor. Heoften talks about his struggling learners, thosestudents who are having difficulties similar tohis own. In every case, Martin privately has toldthe student about his own learning disabilityand told him or her that he understood thestruggle. Martin finds this to be an important

tool for connecting with and coming to knowhis students.

Christina finds that her illness has made her amore reflective, sensitive teacher. She tries to in-still confidence in her students who are poorchildren in an urban school near the universitycampus. She wants them to believe that they cando anything if they work hard enough and re-ally want it. One of the most powerful transfor-mations she sees in her pedagogy is that sherealizes her students are individuals, not mem-bers of one large group. She puts it this way: “Ithink we’re doing wrong by kids by saying thatyou have to fit this certain mold, otherwiseyou’re nothing.” Her altered sense of herself hasaltered her sense of her students. In fact, thevery foundation of her worldview has beenchanged. Again, a lengthy quote is importanthere.

My whole concept of myself has changed. I’ve al-ways been polite to people. But now it makes moresense to me. It’s like the scheme of things. What I doand say doesn’t just affect me; it affects a whole dif-ferent range of people. And even not just in school,but at home. I’m not alone here. I’m this one littletiny piece to this whole scheme of things. I treat peo-ple the way I would like to be treated, with respect.I’ve always done that, but I’ve never really thoughtabout it.

Christina makes explicit connections betweenher new worldview and her emerging sense ofherself as a teacher. At the time of our interviews,she was still thinking through these matters, andher ideas were incomplete: “I need to be a voicefor kids, but I don’t know why.” She went on:“I’ve never thought high enough of myself toeven say that, but I went through what I had to gothrough and I need to take from that and shareand educate people.” Her experiences havebeen her rite of passage, it would seem, whenshe says, “I’ve always thought of myself as a lit-tle girl, and I’ve never really seen myself as ateacher. But not anymore.” According to Chris-tina, she has emerged from her experience with“a sense of teacher . . . that came from devasta-tion and emptiness” brought on by her illnessand the impairments with which she was left.

These 3 novice teachers make explicit andrecognizable connections between a variety of

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personal experiences and their pedagogicalknowledge. In particular, Christina and Martinhave thought carefully and deeply about theirpast, the people they have become, and thedirection they see themselves moving as teach-ers and individuals. The development of theirpedagogical knowledge comes in part fromexperiences with disability or something simi-lar to it. When Joan, a teacher quoted in Keller etal. (1998), says “I know I am disabled, but I havenever considered myself disabled” (p. 173), shetoo is revealing mixed feelings about disabilitythat mirror those of my participants, especiallythose of Martin and Lisa. Christina, on the otherhand, is in the process of coming to terms withher postleukemia identity, and although she hasmixed feelings about her experiences, she inten-tionally uses those experiences to construct hernew identity as a teacher. Christina calls it her“sense of teacher.”

Other researchers have identified similarresults when studying teachers with disabili-ties. McPhail, Pierson, and Goodman (in review)spent 3 years in co-inquiry with three graduatestudents who had learning disabilities and werein a master’s program in literacy and learningdisabilities. McPhail et al. used narratives touncover pedagogical knowledge. At the end oftheir inquiry, noted McPhail et al., “all three ofthe students describe themselves now as com-petent learners and are dedicated to designinginstructional contexts that will capitalize ontheir students’ learning capabilities now thatthey are in teaching roles.”

Paul Gerber (1998) had similar results fromhis interviews with T. J., an elementary teacherwith a learning disability. T.J.’s classroom,Gerber notes, is decorated with posters, poems,pennants, and banners revealing his beliefsabout teaching and learning. One message thatruns implicitly throughout all of T. J.’s class-room decorations is that “it is okay to have alearning disability, but you must work hard tosucceed” (p. 46). One such pennant echoes atheme consistent with the claims of all 3 of myparticipants: “Welcome, Believe in Yourself,Concentrate.” Gerber reports that T. J. believes“the fact that he . . . knew inside and out what his

students were going through” (p. 49) can beattributed to his experiences as a learning dis-abled person. This too is consistent with myown findings and those of McPhail et al. (inreview).

These findings indicate that we can andshould expect teacher candidates with disabili-ties to construct pedagogies that are in part con-tingent on their experiences as disabled people.McIntyre (1997), Banks and Banks (1995), hooks(1994), and Ladson-Billings (1995, 1996) havemade the same claim about gendered orracial/ethnic experiences and their influence onpedagogical knowledge. If disability is an iden-tity marker as are gender and race—and Ibelieve it is—then my results indicate theimportance of facilitating reflection about dis-ability among teacher candidates. To do so,teacher educators must find ways of supportingthe “coming out” of disabled students in ourclasses. We must sensitively encourage studentsto share their experiences with and beliefs aboutdisability, and we must provide safe atmo-spheres in which to do so.

CREATING A “SENSE OF TEACHER”

In part, Christina has constructed a sense ofherself as a teacher because of the sensitive sup-port she received while exploring who she hasbecome. Yet sensitivity alone is not sufficient formaking educative use of disability experiences.The teacher education curriculum requires in-tentional revision to include disability as a so-cial phenomenon worth examining and using.By this I mean that in addition to demonstratingconcern for the teaching methods used with dis-abled students, we need to infuse the teacher ed-ucation curriculum with opportunities tounderstand the meanings associated with dis-ability experiences or identities and what thesemean for learning to teach. For example, I findthat journal prompts can be stated in many in-teresting ways to encourage students to bethoughtful about disability and pedagogy.When I ask students to explore their racial, eth-nic, or class biases, I also ask them to exploretheir biases about ability and diverse ability in

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the classroom. Or, when I ask students to recalltheir own experiences as learners, I remindthem that those experiences include times whenthey struggled or were marginalized or stigma-tized as a result of a characteristic that might beconsidered a disability. This exercise often elicitsopen conversations about students’ experienceswith disability. I craft journal prompts in waysthat require students to include disability intheir reflections. Following is an example of aprompt I have used in undergraduate generaleducation courses. I pose this question veryearly in the semester as we begin conversationsabout diversity in the classroom and before stu-dents enter their initial field placements.

What kind of students do you imagine you will havein your classroom? Describe the students. How dothey look and act? How do they learn? How do theyinteract with you, the classroom teacher, and otherstudents? What are their distinguishing characteris-tics?

Inevitably, most students describe classes filledwith children much like them. Rarely doessomeone anticipate having disabled students inthe group. Our ensuing discussions provide theopportunity to discuss such omissions and thereasons for them. This allows me to begin to ex-plore ability biases and introduce disability asdiversity. It also opens up the conversation andencourages preservice teachers to share theirown experiences if they feel they can.

Because firsthand accounts of disability expe-riences are powerful, whenever possible, I cau-tiously encourage disabled students in myclasses to share these with everyone. I remaincautious to avoid coercing students into shar-ing. My interactions with colleagues suggestthat many teacher educators do not believe theirclasses contain disabled people, but since 1997when I started openly encouraging disabledteacher candidates to share their experiences, Ihave not taught a single class lacking someoneidentifying as disabled. Sometimes studentswill share the information privately, and I willencourage them to tell their stories wheneverthey feel ready. Other times, students willopenly identify as disabled during group con-versations about disability or will do so in small

group activities when it feels less overwhelm-ing. A vivid example comes from a student inmy recent graduate class in a program in liter-acy and learning disabilities. I have had Mariain two classes in this program. She is an immi-grant from South America. When Maria intro-duces herself to her classmates on the first nightof classes, she always tells them that she is learn-ing disabled. She briefly describes her experi-ences in schools in South America and the rea-sons she is studying literacy and learningdisabilities now. Throughout the semester,Maria often shares her personal insights withher classmates, and those insights prove invalu-able as students struggle to understand thecomplexities of learning disabilities. Openreflection on Maria’s experiences as a disabledteacher candidate benefit Maria, her fellow stu-dents, and her instructors. Maria’s experiencesallow us to learn vicariously from her and toreshape our pedagogical thinking.

Another example comes from an undergrad-uate teacher education class I recently taught. Astudent in this class had been diagnosed with amental illness. With her cohort colleagues,Jessica was enrolled in several classes and apracticum, all of which took quite a bit of timeand energy. Jessica preferred to keep her situa-tion confidential, but through a series of unin-tentional errors, confidentiality was breached,and those of us involved with her asked herhow we should handle the situation. Other thanthe breach of confidentiality, Jessica’s concernwas that her classmates would think she wasgiven preferential treatment because we hadmade some accommodations for her in re-sponse to her individual needs. Jessica chose tohave another instructor and me explain thebreach of confidentiality to her cohorts and dis-cuss our accommodations in light of their ownteaching practice. This mistake, though serious,had several positive consequences. First, hercohort rallied around Jessica and offered hereven more emotional support than before. Sec-ond, this gave me an opportunity to talk withthe entire class about teachers’ legal and ethicalresponsibilities to accommodate disabled stu-dents. Third, this made real my claims earlier in

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the semester about the importance of under-standing disability as a meaningful form ofhuman diversity. Finally, this began a series ofreflective conversations between Jessica and mein which we discussed the ways she experiencesher disability and how it impacts her ability toteach. In the end, Jessica decided to leave theteacher education program because she be-lieved it was too stressful in light of her condi-tion. As with my study participants and Maria,Jessica’s open inquiry into her experiences as adisabled person and the impact of those experi-ences on her pedagogy resulted in meaningfuloutcomes.

In lieu of personal accounts from students inclass, published disability narratives can be in-cluded in the teacher education curriculum. Ichoose narratives that are written by disabledpeople to give intimate insight into the experi-ences of living with disability. These are some-times hard to find, and it is even more difficultto find narratives that are brief enough forteacher education courses, so I sometimes usesnippets of quotes from qualitative researchstudies in which disabled children or adultsshare their lives (Anderson, Keller, & Karp,1998; J. Banks, 1994; Vlachou, 1997). SometimesI have to go outside education to find firsthandaccounts from adults. My current favorites are IDon’t Want To Be Inside Me Anymore: MessagesFrom an Autistic Mind by Birger Sellin (1995),Lucy’s Story: Autism and Other Adventures byLucy Blackman (1999), “A Letter to My Daugh-ter/Myself on Facing the Collective Fear of Be-ing Different” by Deborah Samuelson (1986),and an essay by Anita Ghai (1999), a psycholo-gist and teacher educator in New Delhi, India,titled “Living in the Shadow of My Disability.”Early in her essay, Ghai writes,

I don’t recall any part of my childhood that does notbear the stamp of polio. Yet for over four decades Isucceeded in hiding a piece of myself from my ownview. Given the obviousness of my physical handi-cap it took some doing. (p. 32)

From there, she describes how and why she hidher condition from herself and the process ofcoming out of hiding and living an openly dis-

abled life. I have yet to find a more grippingstory of disability in such a short essay. The factthat it comes from a teacher educator makes iteven more relevant to teacher education.

“STARTING FROM THE END”

My participant, Christina, said that her leuke-mia was not the beginning to the end but wasthe end. “I have a second chance to look atthings and put my priorities in shape,” she said.Christina was talking about her pedagogy andthe transformation of it as a result of her illnessand her emerging disability identity. I proposethat teacher educators, too, “start from the end”or from the point at which we imagine our stu-dents as veterans. This is not to suggest thatsuch a strategy will send them out as veterans,but it is a pragmatic way to help us imaginewhat they could be as veterans. From there, ourimagination informs the decisions we makeabout curriculum, field experiences, courseassignments, and other aspects of teacher edu-cation. Whom do we want our students to be? Ifthey are disabled people, do we want themsilenced in school and classroom? If they areinvisibly disabled, do we want them “passing”as people they are not? How do we want them torelate to their own disabled students once theyare in the field? To which values of humandiversity do we want them adhering? I proposewe do what Christina did and use the end or asDewey (1926) refers to it, the “ends-in-view,” asan opportunity to reflect deeply on disabilityand pedagogy.

Open dialogue, whether with a large group ofclassmates or one on one with a trusted advisor,is an important activity in the development ofcritically reflective practitioners, but as I haveargued here, reflection alone is not sufficient.Reflection must transform practice, and it is forthis that the experiences of Martin, Christina,Lisa, and others become so powerful. Martin’sfinal day of student teaching represents the inti-macy between experience and pedagogy.Throughout his semester with his fourth gradeclass, he had been sharing about his learningdisability on an individual basis with students

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who themselves were struggling. However,Martin did not want to leave his students with-out telling all of them his story because he be-lieved his story could be an inspiration to theentire class. So on his last day, he asked hismother to join him, and together they told Mar-tin’s story. Later, when I asked him why herevealed such private information, he told meabout a brief encounter with a youngster in hisclass. A student came up to him and said, “Mr.Collins, I hate myself.” Martin wondered,“What am I going to do about this?” anddecided that whatever else he did, he wouldleave his students with a success story, his ownstory. Martin’s sense of teacher became intactthe moment he saw himself in the eyes of his stu-dents. Christina’s sense of teacher emergedslowly near the end of a long struggle with can-cer. Lisa, still forming her sense of teacher, dem-onstrates an awareness of the connectionbetween her teacher self and her disabled self.Each of these novice teachers, Christina andMartin in particular, is moving toward a view ofpedagogy that bell hooks (1994) would callteaching “as the practice of freedom.” Theyhave begun to realize the potential for engagingthemselves and their students in explorations ofpersonal identity and lived experience. In a veryreal sense, they have entered the “danger zone”in which “education is the practice of freedom,[and] students are not the only ones who areasked to share, to confess” (hooks, 1994, p. 21).

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Susan L. Gabel is an assistant professor of curriculumand foundations at Cleveland State University in Cleve-land, Ohio, where she teaches curriculum theory andteacher education courses. She does research in curricu-lum theory and disability studies in education. She com-pleted her doctoral work in curriculum, teaching, and edu-cational policy at Michigan State University. ProfessorGabel is a founding editor of a new international journal,Disability, Culture, and Education, forthcoming in2002. The research for and completion of this article wasfunded by a Rackham Junior Faculty Fellowship from theUniversity of Michigan.

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