COGNITION AND LEARNING IN DIVERSE SETTINGS
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ADVANCES IN LEARNING AND BEHAVIORAL DISABILITIES Series Editors: Thomas E. Scruggs and Margo A. Mastropieri Recent Volumes: Volume 12: Volume 13: Volume 14: Volume 15: Volume 16: Volume 17:
Edited by Thomas E. Scruggs and Margo A. Mastropieri Edited by Thomas E. Scruggs and Margo A. Mastropieri Educational Interventions — Edited by Thomas E. Scruggs and Margo A. Mastropieri Technological Applications — Edited by Thomas E. Scruggs and Margo A. Mastropieri Identification and Assessment — Edited by Thomas E. Scruggs and Margo A. Mastropieri Research in Secondary Schools — Edited by Thomas E. Scruggs and Margo A. Mastropieri
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ADVANCES IN LEARNING AND BEHAVIORAL DISABILITIES VOLUME 18
COGNITION AND LEARNING IN DIVERSE SETTINGS EDITED BY
THOMAS E. SCRUGGS George Mason University, Fairfax, USA
MARGO A. MASTROPIERI George Mason University, Fairfax, USA
2005
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CONTENTS LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS
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WORKING MEMORY AND READING DISABILITIES: A SELECTIVE META-ANALYSIS OF THE LITERATURE Olga Jerman and H. Lee Swanson MATHEMATICAL VS. READING AND WRITING DISABILITIES IN DEAF CHILDREN: A PILOT STUDY ON THE DEVELOPMENT OF NUMERICAL KNOWLEDGE Elisabetta Genovese, Rosalia Galizia, Marco Gubernale, Edoardo Arslan and Daniela Lucangeli
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INSTRUCTIONAL SUPPORT EMPLOYING SPATIAL ABILITIES: USING COMPLIMENTARY COGNITIVE PATHWAYS TO SUPPORT LEARNING IN STUDENTS WITH ACHIEVEMENT DEFICITS William E. Gustashaw III and Frederick J. Brigham
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HIGH INCIDENCE DISABILITIES: PLACEMENT DETERMINANTS AND IMPLICATIONS FOR INSTRUCTION AND SERVICE DELIVERY Suzette Ahwee Leftwich and Marjorie Montague
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COGNITION AND LEARNING IN INCLUSIVE HIGH SCHOOL CHEMISTRY CLASSES Margo A. Mastropieri, Thomas E. Scruggs and Janet E. Graetz v
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CONTENTS
TEACHER–STUDENT RELATIONSHIPS AND EARLY SCHOOL ADJUSTMENT Panayota Mantzicopoulos
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EVALUATION OF INCLUSION OF STUDENTS WITH DISABILITIES: INTEGRATION OF DIFFERENT METHODS Giulia Balboni, Simona de Falco and Paola Venuti
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ESTABLISHING AND MAINTAINING COLLABORATIVE RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN REGULAR AND SPECIAL EDUCATION TEACHERS IN MIDDLE SCHOOL SOCIAL STUDIES INCLUSIVE CLASSROOMS Cynthia Young Buckley
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EDUCATION AND TREATMENT OF CALCULATION ABILITIES OF LOW-ACHIEVING STUDENTS AND STUDENTS WITH DYSCALCULIA: WHOLE CLASS AND INDIVIDUAL IMPLEMENTATIONS Daniela Lucangeli, Patrizio Tressoldi and Chiara De Candia INCLUSIVE PRACTICES IN CONTENT AREA INSTRUCTION: ADDRESSING THE CHALLENGES OF CO-TEACHING Margo A. Mastropieri, Thomas E. Scruggs, Janet Graetz and Nicole Conners MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT HISTORY: REFLECTIONS ON TEACHING FOR HISTORICAL UNDERSTANDING IN AN INCLUSIVE FIFTH-GRADE CLASSROOM Ralph P. Ferretti, Charles D. MacArthur and Cynthia M. Okolo SUBJECT INDEX
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261 301
LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Edoardo Arslan
Servizio di Audiologia e Foniatria, City Hospital of Treviso and University of Padua, Italy
Giulia Balboni
University of Valle d’Aosta, Italy
Frederick J. Brigham
Department of Special Education, University of Virginia, USA
Nicole Conners
Graduate School of Education, George Mason University, USA
Chiara De Candia
AREP Rehabilitation Center, Villorba (TV) Italy
Simona de Falco
Department of Cognitive Science and Education, University of Trento, Italy
Rosalia Galizia
Servizio di Audiologia e Foniatria, City Hospital of Treviso and University of Padua, Italy
Elisabetta Genovese
Servizio di Audiologia e Foniatria, City Hospital of Treviso and University of Padua, Italy
Janet E. Graetz
Department of Special Education, Oakland University, USA
Marco Gubernale
Servizio di Audiologia e Foniatria, City Hospital of Treviso and University of Padua, Italy
William E. Gustashaw III
Department of Special Education, University of Virginia, USA
Olga Jerman
Department of Educational Psychology, University of California, USA vii
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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS
Suzette Ahwee Leftwich
Division of Education, Florida Memorial University, USA
Daniela Lucangeli
Department of Developmental and Social Psychology, University of Padua, Italy
Panayota Mantzicopoulos
Department of Educational Studies, Purdue University, USA
Margo A. Mastropieri
Graduate School of Education, George Mason University, USA
Marjorie Montague
Department of Special Education, University of Miami, USA
Thomas E. Scruggs
Graduate School of Education, George Mason University, USA
H. Lee Swanson
Department of Educational Psychology, University of California, USA
Patrizio Tressoldi
Department of General Psychology, University of Padua, Italy
Paola Venuti
Department of Cognitive Science and Education, University of Trento, Italy
Cynthia Young Buckley
Graduate School of Education, George Mason University, USA
WORKING MEMORY AND READING DISABILITIES: A SELECTIVE META-ANALYSIS OF THE LITERATURE Olga Jerman and H. Lee Swanson ABSTRACT The purpose of the present chapter was to synthesize the research that directly compares children with and without reading disabilities on measures of working memory (WM). Working memory has considered at key element children success on reading performance and, therefore, the published literature was assessed. Twenty-eight (28) studies were included in the synthesis, which involved 207 effect sizes. The overall mean effect size estimate in favor of children without reading disabilities (RD) was –0.89 (SE ¼ 0.08). Effect sizes were submitted to a hierarchical linear modeling. Results indicated that children with RD were distinctively disadvantaged compared with average readers when memory manipulations required a transformation of information. Age, IQ, reading level, and domain specificity (verbal vs. visual/spatial measures) were not significant predictors of effect size estimates. The findings indicated that domain general WM differences persisted across age, and these differences operated independent of effect size differences in reading and IQ.
Cognition and Learning in Diverse Settings Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 18, 1–31 Copyright r 2005 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(05)18001-X
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Memory processes have been among the most researched cognitive processes in children with reading disabilities (RD) for the last 30 years (Swanson, Cooney, & McNamara, 2004). One framework that captures memory processes as they apply to RD is Baddeley’s multi-component model. Baddeley describes working memory (WM) as a limited central executive system that interacts with a set of two passive storage systems used for temporary storage of different classes of information. One storage system, the phonological loop, is responsible for the temporary storage of verbal information; items are held within a phonological store of limited duration and are maintained within the store via the process of articulation. A second storage system, the visual sketchpad, is responsible for the storage of visual/spatial information over brief periods and plays a key role in the generation and manipulation of mental images. Both storage systems are in direct contact with the central executive system. The central executive system is concerned with the coordinating activity within the cognitive system and it also loads resources of increasing amounts of information to the two subsystems. The distinction between the central executive system and the specific memory storage systems (the phonological loop) in some ways parallels the distinction between WM and STM. WM is a processing resource of limited capacity involved in the preservation of information while simultaneously processing the same or other information. In contrast, STM involves situations where small amounts of material are held passively and then reproduced in a sequential fashion. In a comprehensive meta-analysis of STM literature and RD, O’Shaughnessy and Swanson (1998) found a moderate effect size (M ¼ –0.61, SD ¼ 0.87) across several studies in favor of children without RD. The synthesis found, however, that children with RD were primarily disadvantaged compared with average readers when memory manipulations required naming of visual information and task conditions that involved recalling order (serial) verbal information recall. More importantly, this synthesis found that non-strategic (e.g., verbal vs. visual/spatial material) rather than strategic factors (e.g., strategy training) best-predicted effect sizes. Results also showed that STM difficulties persisted across age and that a deficit (rather than developmental lag) model best captured children with RD. These moderate effect sizes were surprising, however, given that several models of readers’ processing performance argue that temporary retention of information, STM, is important to reading recognition (e.g., Jorm, 1983). Further, earlier studies (e.g., Torgesen & Houck, 1980) have implied that tasks that measure STM, such as digit or word span tasks, are important in
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differentiating readers with RD for skilled readers. In addition, tremendous credence has been given to digit span performance on the Wechsler Intelligence Test for classifying students who are reading disabled (e.g., Mishra, Shitala, Ferguson, & King, 1985, for a review of earlier research). These moderate effect sizes are in line with studies, however, that have shown that STM tasks, such as digit and word span measures do not always distinguish between good and poor readers (e.g., Felton & Brown, 1991). Likewise, the contribution of STM research toward understanding of achievement of students with RD has been seriously qualified in the literature for two main reasons. First, processes commonly attributed to STM are not the main sources of differences between groups. Short-term memory is partly understood as a buffer, that is a system of limited capacity for accumulating and holding segments of speech or orthographic units as derived during listening or reading task (Engle, Kane, & Tuholski, 1999a; Shankweiler & Crain, 1986). Material in STM is maintained and structured some way that is by rehearsal or item association (Engle, Tuholski, Laughlin, & Conway, 1999b). Thus, the capacity limits of short-term memory are modified by the use of rehearsal and/or subject’s chance of associating the item with previously stored information. It has been argued that rehearsal or organization deficits are major problems of students with RD (see Swanson et al., 2004, for literature review). This notion is not held true across all studies, however, and there are several reports in which differences in STM processes, such as rehearsal or chunking, do not continuously distinguish between students with and without RD (Cohen, 1981; Swanson, 1983a, 1983b). For example, some studies have found that memory differences between students with and without RD when rehearsal is controlled (Swanson, 1983b) and when organization is provided was comparable between groups. Second, correlations between short-term memory and achievement have been generally poor for normal achieving students (e.g., Chiang & Atkinson, 1976), in students demonstrating poor achievement. For example, Felton and Brown found no significant correlation between short-term memory and reading for children across a wide continuing reading ability (r’s range from 0.02 to 0.20 when the effects of age and IQ were partialed out). Poor correlations have also been found with adults. In addition, Chiang and Atkinson (1976) found near zero correlation between digit span in scholastic aptitude scores, both verbal and mathematical. As suggested earlier by Engle, Cantor, and Carullo (1992), one of the reasons for these poor correlations is that STM as reflected on digit span tests is sensitive to rehearsal, grouping, and recognition of patterns that are idiosyncratic to digits, and
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these elaborate strategies are probably not generalized in cognitive tasks like reading. In contrast to these findings on STM, performance on WM tasks appears to be more promising in our understanding of the memory processes of children with RD. These measures, for the most part, have consistently differentiated students with and without RD (Swanson et al., 2004), and the correlation between WM and achievement have generally been high (e.g., Daneman & Carpenter, 1980, reported correlations between 0.72 and 0.90 with reading comprehension; also see Daneman & Merikle, 1996, for review). For example, Daneman and Carpenter found that individuals with low WM spans did poorly on global tests of language comprehension (e.g., Verbal Scholastic Aptitude Test, or the verbal SAT). They were particularly poor on specific tasks related to comprehension. Correlations in their 1980 study were large and they ranged from 0.42 to 0.90 with an average correlation of 0.66, well above the 0.30 barrier that typically plagues research focusing on cognitive processes and individual differences. The impact of the Daneman and Carpenter’s approach to study WM has been wide-ranged (see Daneman & Merikle, 1996, for a review). In these studies, WM is defined as simultaneous storage processing information. Tasks that measure WM are those where a person holds a small amount of material in mind for a short time while simultaneously carrying out further operations. Examples of everyday WM tasks would thus include holding a person’s address in mind while listening to instructions about how to get there or perhaps listen to a sequence of events in a story while trying to understand what the story means. Described this way, WM differs from the aforementioned concept of STM that typically is used to describe situations in which small amounts of material are held passively (e.g., digital word span task) and then produced in a transformed fashion. What is not apparent in the research comparing children with and without RD is whether WM deficits are ubiquitous across verbal and visual/spatial domains and whether WM deficits reflect more of a developmental delay or deficit or are merely an artifact of differences in intelligence or reading ability. Thus, this study attempted to characterize the research on WM and RD. Although there have been some reviews that have focused on studies that have dealt with STM problems in children with RD, there is no synthesis to the authors’ knowledge about WM. Thus, one purpose of this study is to synthesize the literature on WM and RD. Consistent with several studies, we define WM as a processing resource of limited capacity, involved in the preservation of information while simultaneously processing other
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information. WM tasks typically engage participants in at least two activities after initial encoding on (1) response to a question or questions about the material or related material to be retrieved, and (2) the retrieval of item information of increasing difficulty. The first part of the task there is a distractor of initial encoding items where the second part tests storage. In contrast, tasks that measure STM typically involve situations that do not vary their initial encoding. That is, participants are not instructed to infer, transform or vary processing requirements. In those cases participants are simply asked to recall a sequence of items in the order in which they were presented. We define RD as those children with average performance on normed referenced measures of intelligence (range in standard scores 85–115) and below average performance on norm referenced measures of reading (scores below a standard score of 90). There were several questions that we had raised related to WM and RD. First, it is unclear whether WM differences between the two groups reflect a developmental delay or a processing deficit. Based on the literature, we tested two competing developmental hypothesis. The first hypothesis was based on developmental lag models that suggest that children with RD vary in the rate at which their memory processes develop so that this skill will emerge eventually over time. For example, investigators hypothesize that a reading disability may represent a lag in maturation of the brain and that children with RD in reading will catch up with their peers when their brains mature (e.g., see Francis, Shaywitz, Stuebing, Shaywitz, & Fletcher, 1996, for review). According to this hypothesis, LD and non-RD differences are weaker in older samples than younger samples. A strong version of this hypothesis suggests that LD children eventually catch up, with no differences in adulthood. In terms of prediction, age would be correlated with non-LD and LD effect size differences (i.e., the differences between groups would be greater in younger age than in older age). The second hypothesis based on a deficit model suggests that memory problems are pervasive across age. This view assumes that children fail on WM tasks because of absence of a skill that never develops initially. This view is consistent with the assumption that brain organization in children with RD is disordered and that no catching up will occur. A strong version of this hypothesis is that age is positively correlated with RD and non-LD differences because deficits influence other processes that may sustain memory performance (i.e., this notion has been referred to as the Matthew effect (Stanovich & Siegel, 1994)). In terms of prediction, a weak version of this hypothesis suggests a weak positive correlation between age and non-LD effect size estimates, whereas a strong version predicts a positive correlation between
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age and performance differences between RD and non-LD ability groups matched on age. For example, it is unclear from the literature whether all these students are less adept at remembering information than their RD counterparts across age. Two developmental models can be evoked in understanding WM performance in children with RD. In the first model, the deficit model assumes that RD children or adults perform poorly on WM tasks because of skills not developed adequately (e.g., verbal skills related to verbal WM tasks). The second model, developmental lag model, suggests that RD children vary in the rate in which their cognitive skills develop; hence, their memory skills will emerge over time. No doubt these models must be qualified. For example, under some conditions RD children may develop appropriately with visual/spatial WM tasks but not with verbal tasks. WM deficits may be pervasive across verbal items, but not visual/spatial items. We tested two hypotheses related to verbal and visual/spatial WM: (a) ability group differences in WM tasks are much greater on verbal than visual/spatial material or (b) ability group differences are pervasive across WM measures. We also tested whether potential mediators in ability group differences on verbal and visual/spatial information are related to reading intelligence scores. This analysis allows us to determine whether verbal WM deficits commonly attributed to RD are primarily a function of severity of the reading problem and/or differences between the reading and intelligence scores. Since issues raised as to whether WM differences are independent of reading problems, a quantitative review of the studies may enlighten us on this issue. A second question that emerges from the literature is whether the phonological aspect of WM (phonological loop) is more critical in predicting ability group differences than the executive system. When WM performance differences are isolated to verbal measures than visual/spatial measures it is assumed that the sources of individual differences are related to the phonological system. Some studies have suggested, however, that the WM deficits that emerge in children with RD are related to the executive system (that is, these children suffered deficits across both verbal and visual/spatial tasks). However, it is equally plausible that these tasks draw from a phonological resource and, therefore, differences that emerge are related to the phonological system rather than any domain general resources. The purpose of this synthesis, then, is to compare effect sizes between tasks as a function of classification as being executive processing or phonological processing tasks. The executive processing tasks were defined as those tasks that require the integration of abstract information (semantic categories) and sentence
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meaning (as in the tradition sentence span task) and place less emphasis on the sound structures. For example, digit span and word span tasks are usually assumed to tap the STM system that in turn assumes to draw upon the phonological loop. In contrast, tasks such as Daneman and Carpenter’s listening span task and Swanson’s (1992) Semantic Association tasks are assumed to tap the executive system. This synthesis investigated whether the differences in executive and phonological system are a function of severity in children’s reading deficit. The third question relates to intelligence of WM. Although the literature suggested that RD children with average intelligence have difficulties on WM tasks, there has been very little exploration of the role of intelligence in children with RD. This is particularly a complex issue because performance of WM tasks is strongly correlated with intelligence (Ackerman, Beier, & Boyle, 2002). For example, Kyllonen and Christal reported correlation between latent variables of intelligence and WM at 0.80. Executive processing is seen as a key component between these two tasks. Thus, it would be rather unexpected, that children with RD, who have average intelligence, have difficulties with WM tasks. Therefore, another purpose of this synthesis was to explore where the variations of IQ in children with reading disability are related to the magnitude of effect size differences. In summary, although WM has been studied extensively for the last few years, a quantitative synthesis of the research is lacking. The purpose of the present synthesis is to provide a quantitative review of published research related to WM in students with RD. This synthesis addresses three questions: 1. Do effect sizes between RD and NRD children vary as a function of age? 2. Do effect sizes between RD and NRD children vary across verbal and visual/spatial tasks? 3. Do variations in intelligence and reading level in the RD sample influence the magnitude of the effect size?
METHOD Selection of Studies Articles for this meta-analysis were identified using two methods. First, a computer literature search of the PsychInfo and ERIC databases from 1980
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to 2003 was conducted. The descriptors included WM matched with dyslexia, RD, learning disability, and learning disabilities. Second, a hand search was done on all studies cited in review articles. The search included studies published after 1980 because this is when the test of measuring WM devised by Daneman and Carpenter first appeared. To be included in the present analysis each study was required to meet the following criteria: 1. Directly compare children with RD with skilled readers on at least one measure of WM. 2. Report standardized reading scores showing that RD students were at least one year below grade level and that non-LD students are in the average reading range. 3. Report standardized intelligence scores for both groups of students indicating that they are in the average range (80–115). 4. Administer WM test, based on Daneman and Carpenter’s reading span task. Thus all WM tasks in this synthesis required a person to hold some information while simultaneously processing the same or other information. All tasks had a process and a storage question. Tasks that measured STM (no process question was included in the administration) were excluded from the analysis. The initial search yielded 75 studies, excluding chapters, dissertations, and literature reviews. Of these studies, seven articles were excluded because an RD or skilled reading group were not sampled (e.g., Passolunghi, Cornoldi, & De Liberto, 1999); four studies failed to report IQ scores (e.g., Nation, Adams, Bowyer-Crane, & Snowling, 1999); three studies failed to report reading scores (e.g., Isaki & Plante, 1997). Twenty-two articles failed to include WM measures that followed the Daneman and Carpenter’s span task format. Three studies were further eliminated because the quantitative information was not sufficient to calculate effect sizes (e.g., Geary, Hamson, & Hoard, 2000; Stanovich & Siegel, 1994). Twenty-eight (28) studies met criteria for inclusion in the meta-analysis. The characteristic on the sample included in this analysis is shown in Table 2. An appendix providing the reasons for rejection can be obtained from the authors. Admittedly, the selection of articles appears to be biased toward most of the work done by Swanson. Unfortunately, we had to exclude highly cited studies on WM because effect sizes could not be computed. Further, it could be argued that a ‘‘broader net’’ of studies would have emerged if stipulations were not placed on how the sample was defined.
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The IQ scores of participants in this meta-analysis ranged between 80 and 115. Only one study (Chiappe, Hasher, & Siegel, 2000) included individuals with IQ scores lower than 80 (M ¼ 79). The majority of articles, however, examined students with mean IQ scores higher than 90. The majority of studies qualified their sample as RD if the reading score of a participant was at or below 25th percentile. One study (Swanson, Ashbaker, & Lee, 1996) included children with RD with the scores with a cutoff score below 20th percentile and another study used a cutoff score below 35th percentile (Swanson, 1993a). The majority of articles examined individuals whose primary language was English.
Interrater Agreement Studies were coded by the first author. An independent researcher then checked a randomly selected subset of 50% of the articles for interrater reliability. Studies were coded for variables related to sample characteristics (sample size, age, gender, and ethnicity ratio), psychometric information (IQ, reading, math), article inclusion criteria, WM categories (e.g., type of verbal vs. visual/spatial measures), and numerical information to calculate effect sizes. The overall structure of the coding system yielded a reliable percent of interrater agreement across all codes (490% agreement).
Effect Size Estimates For each measure an effect size was computed (Cohen’s, 1988) and was then weighted by the reciprocal in the sampling variance. The dependent measure for the estimate of effect size was defined as est. ¼ (d/(1/v), where d (mean of RD – mean of non-reading disabled/average of standard deviation for both groups), and v is the inverse of the sampling variance, v ¼ ðN rd þ N nrd Þ=ðN rd N nrd Þ þ d 2 =½2ðN rd þ N nrd Þ: Means and standard deviations were used in the computation of 98.6% of the effect sizes. In the remaining cases, F-ratios or t-ratios were converted to effect sizes. For the interpretation of the magnitude of the effect sizes Cohen’s distinction was used. According to that criterion an effect size of 0.20, in absolute value, is considered small, effect sizes of 0.60 and 0.80, in their absolute values, are considered, respectively, moderate and large. Cohen indicated that effect sizes around 0.80 corresponded to a correlation of about 0.40.
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Categories of Measures Based on the review of the studies included in this meta-analysis, WM tasks were organized into seven categories: sentence/listening span; digit/counting; visual/spatial; complex-spatial; semantic; phonological; and contextual category. The analysis of each category was performed separately as shown in Table 3. First, effect sizes were calculated. Next, a homogeneity statistic Q was computed to determine whether separate effect sizes within each category shared a common effect size. The statistic Q had a distribution similar to the distribution of w2 with k 1 degrees of freedom, where k is the number of effect sizes. A significant w2 indicated that the study features significantly moderated the magnitude of effect sizes. If the homogeneity was not achieved, then the influence of outliers was assessed using a 95% confidence interval. Analysis Plan Hierarchical linear modeling (HLM) was employed to test the hypothesis that age, intelligence, reading level, and/or type of WM measure influenced effect size (e.g., Bryk & Raudenbush, 1992). We used a SAS PRC MIXED (SAS Institute, 2000) to estimate the parameters of the random-effects model. One advantage of HLM over traditional methods of analyzing effect sizes was that multiple measures within studies do not have to be averaged (aggregated within studies) or collapsed. Also, the extent to which individual study influences outcome can be assessed. Further, HLM can accommodate incomplete data and iteratively solves the coefficients at two levels, which are calculated simultaneously. There were two levels to this data: one is that the individual effect size, the other is at the study level. Level 1 equation represented the level of the effect size for each observation. Level 2 was effect size difference between studies that served to predict Level 1 coefficients for the intercept and slope. In the present study, we first calculated an unconditional model and then a conditional model. The models were compared to see whether the conditional model represented a significant improvement over the unconditional model. The unconditional model can be used as a one-way randomeffects ANOVA model. This model has one of fixed effect, intercept, and two variance components. A one-variance component represents the variation between the studies and the other represents the variation among the effect sizes within the studies.
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Random-effects variance was defined as variance from a true effect size and was viewed as either the variance of the true effect sizes in a population of studies from which the synthesized studies constituted a random sample. The intercept provided information on the average effect size for the dependent variable and the variance component for the intercept indicated where the study variation occurred around the intercept. In the conditional model, the intercept was a dependent variable and is used to predict individual effect sizes. Specifically, the conditional model tested whether the dependent variable, effect size difference between RD and non-reading disabled (NRD) students, was a function of IQ, reading, age, type of WM measure, and random error. To determine the compatibility of our models with the data we tested the significance of model change. Two criteria are helpful in comparing the goodness of fit of multiple models, Akaike’s information criterion and Schwarz’s Bayesian criterion. Models that fit better will have values in these statistics that are larger than a comparative (unconditional) model.
RESULTS Characteristics of Studies In the present meta-analysis 28 articles compared WM performance of RD students with that of non-RD students. All studies matched RD and skilled readers matched on chronological age and intelligence. Eleven of the 28 studies included ‘‘reading level’’ control groups (normally achieving younger subjects matched to RD on reading grade level). Table 1 provides an overview of the characteristics of each study included in the analysis. Publication dates ranged from 1989 to 2003. The average year of publication was 1997. The most frequent publication outlets were the Journal of Experimental Child Psychology, the Journal of Learning Disabilities, and Intelligence. Ethnic background of the participants was reported in 16 articles; and 21 studies indicated the ratio of males to females in subject selection. Because no study separated memory performance as a function of gender or ethnicity, memory performance as a function of gender, and/or ethnicity could not be compared across studies. The average sample size per study was 42.7 (SD ¼ 27.2; range, 8–108) students with RD, 52.8 (SD ¼ 32.0; range, 11–121) for chronologically age matched students; and 25.3 (SD ¼ 8.46; range 10–38) for the readingmatched students. The average chronological age was 165.12 months
First Author
Study Characteristics.
Date of publication
LD N
Child Development Learning Disability Quarterly Learning Disabilities Research & Practice Journal of Experimental Child Psychology
1989 1990
Swanson Swanson Swanson
Siegel
Swanson Swanson
Swanson Swanson Swanson
Ashbaker Swanson
Mean NLD N Age
Mean Age
48 35
119.2 129.36
74 43
116.3 120.0
1992
60
–
60
–
1993
28
120.6
38
122.28
Intelligence Intelligence Journal of Learning Disabilities
1993 1993 1994
31 31 75
145.12 149.06 174.96
70 60 86
145.12 145.20 174
International Journal of Behavioral Development Learning Disabilities Research & Practice Intelligence British Journal of Educational Psychology Learning Disabilities Research & Practice Journal of Experimental Child Psychology
1994
423
189.38
843
189.38
1994
26
129.36
47
129.36
1995 1996
22 60
160.44 126.0
33 60
159.0 126.0
1996
30
169.92
30
168.6
1996
50
162.24
64
161.22
WM Measure
Mean Effect Size
Sentence span; counting Sentence span
–1.48 –0.95
Sentence span
–1.03
Sentence span; counting; visual spatial; complex visual; semantic; phonetic; story Sentence span Sentence span Sentence span; counting; visual spatial; visual complex; semantic; phonetic; story Listening span
–0.43
Phonetic; visual spatial; counting; complex visual Visual spatial; story; counting Sentence span
Sentence span; visual spatial; semantic Sentence span; visual spatial; counting; complex visual; story
–0.94 –2.04 –0.5
–0.58
–0.93 –0.82 –0.89
–1.33 –0.74
OLGA JERMAN AND H. LEE SWANSON
Journal
Siegel Swanson
12
Table 1.
De Jong Swanson Van Daal Swanson Swanson Chiappe Swanson Willcutt Swanson De Jong Ransby Swanson McNamara Abu-Rabia a
Journal of Educational Psychology Journal of Experimental Child Psychology Journal of Abnormal Child Psychology Annals of Dyslexia Journal of Experimental Child Psychology Intelligence Memory & Cognition Journal of Learning Disabilities Journal of Abnormal Psychology Journal of Learning Disabilities Journal of Educational Psychology Journal of Learning Disabilities Journal of Experimental Child Psychology Journal of Learning Disabilities Reading & Writing
1997
40
121.68
40
117.84 121.95
Sentence span; counting; visual spatial Reading span; counting
1998
18
123.83
18
1998
25
147.18
1999 1999
57 18
2000
–1.01 –1.19
25
146.88
Sentence span; counting
–1.39
144.0 137.88
34 18
144.0 136.11
–0.05 –1.35
50
183.0
50
178.68
2000 2000
314 22
301.2 153.84
351 32
301.2 149.88
2001
93
124.8
121
128.4
Counting Sentence span; counting; visual spatial Sentence span; counting; visual spatial, complex visual Sentence span Visual spatial; phonetic; semantic Sentence span; counting
2001
36
135.3
40
138.54
2003
19
19
64.71
2003
20
228.6
20
2003
100
161.52
2003
20
2003
20
–1.25 –0.74 –0.61 –0.65
Phonetic; visual spatial; semantic Counting span
–0.06
233.4
Listening span; semantic
–0.79
126
168.72
–0.78
135.36
20
139.08
122.4
20
121.2
Phonological; visual spatial; semantic Listening span; phonetic; visual spatial Sentence span counting
65.24
–0.37
Working Memory and Reading Disabilities
Swanson
–1.81 –6.58a
Outlier.
13
14
OLGA JERMAN AND H. LEE SWANSON
(SD ¼ 64.9, range, 65.24–534) for students with RD, 162.44 months (SD ¼ 64.0, range, 64.7–534) for chronologically age-matched students, and 105.06 (SD ¼ 15.95, range, 81–144) for reading-level-matched students. Although articles included in this analysis covered a range of ages (kindergarten (de Jong & van der Leij, 2003) through adulthood (e.g., Chiappe, Hasher, & Siegel, 2000; Ransby & Swanson, 2003)), the majority of studies sampled fourth-, fifth-, and sixth-grade students. The most frequently used measure of general cognitive ability across all the studies was the WISC/WISC-R/WISCIII (64.3% of studies) and the most commonly used measures of reading achievement were the Wide-Range Achievement Test [WRAT/WRAT-R (46.4%)] and Comprehensive Test of Basic Skills [CTBS (21.4%)]. The 28 studies produced 207 effect sizes, for an average of seven comparisons per study. The overall mean effect size across all studies was –0.81 (SD ¼ 0.92). Based on Cohen’s criteria, that is a large effect size, which indicated that the overall mean performance of the RD group was almost one standard deviation below that of the chronologically age matched students. The mean effect size between RD group and reading-matched group yielded a small effect, –0.14 (SD ¼ 1.32), which indicated that the RD group under performed their younger reading-matched peers.
Categorical Comparisons Table 2 provides a review of the age, IQ, reading, and math abilities reflected in the articles. As shown, the average IQ for chronologically age-matched was 106. Children with RD had an average IQ of 99.42. Table 2 also shows that children who were reading-level-matched yielded IQs in the same ranged chronologically age-matched students. Also shown in Table 2 are the effect sizes as a function of IQ and Reading Level. As noted, the effect size was –0.71 when comparing chronologically age-matched and RD children, and –0.39 in favor of the reading-level match when compared with reading disabled children on measures of intelligence. Chronologically age-matched and reading-level-matched children were in the average range for reading scores. The average reading score for RD children, primarily in the area of word recognition, was 82.41. In addition, as shown on Table 2, the effect sizes for reading scores were substantial. In the reading-level match study there was one study that was an outlier and, therefore, we record both scores with outlier and without the outliers. There were 14 studies out of 28 that reported math scores. As shown, children with RD received math scores (standard score of 91.28) around the
15
Working Memory and Reading Disabilities
Table 2.
Psychometric and Demographic Information on Working Memory Participants. Group Control
Age IQ Reading Math
CA RL CA RL CA RL CA
Effect Size Reading Disabled
N
M
SD
Range
N
M
SD
Range
M
SD
27 11 17 4 24 9 14
146.37 102.58 106.13 106.92 107.07 101.66 109.30
42.46 17.9 5.79 12.88 7.23 9.49 6.93
64–318 81–144 94–115 92–124 91–118 82–113 99–123
27
145.75
39.69
64–301
27
99.42
4.20
91–111
27
82.41
5.31
66–90
27
91.28
8.00
73–113
– – –0.71 –0.39 –3.92 –0.89 –1.70
– – 0.60 1.14 4.39 0.47 1.37
Note: N ¼ 28 studies.
25th percentile (standard score of 90). Thus, there were some children in this synthesis who are primarily RD (that is their math performance was above the 25th percentile) where others suffered from both reading and math disabilities. Table 3 makes a comparison among chronologically age-matched and reading-disabled as a function of the WM categories. We divided the tasks into those that reflected comprehension (primarily those from Daneman and Carpenter’s model); those that included retrieval of digits; those that were visual/spatial (visual matrix tasks); those that were visual/spatial and included a complex analysis of strategies (see the mapping task, in Swanson, 1993a–d); those that focused on rhyming or sound characteristics of words (phonological); and those that required the processing of text. This latter category did not necessarily reflect the common measures of WM because they do not break up items in storage. However, these tasks were included in the synthesis because they require children to respond to a process question and a storage question. Comparisons were made between the categories in terms of the magnitude of effect sizes. Two units of analysis were used: one that averaged effect sizes within studies and the other that gave no consideration of how many measures were reported in a particular study. When measures were aggregated, there were no significant differences in effect sizes as a function of category. As shown in Table 3, a significant difference emerged in the non-aggregated unit of analysis. A Scheffe test indicated that the listening span tasks
16
Table 3.
Effect Size as a Function of Categorical Variables when Compared to Chronological Age and IQ Matched.
Category
Listening span Digit/counting Visual–spatial Complex-visual Semantic Phonological Contextual (story)
4,454 2,428 3,240 1,245 1,628 1,374 618
K
53 36 39 30 20 14 13
M
–1.13 –0.74 –0.94 –0.44 –0.65 –0.66 –0.26
SD
0.75 0.62 0.68 0.29 0.24 0.31 0.81
Effect Size Weighted
–1.17 –0.77 –0.95 –0.45 –0.65 –0.66 –0.27
w2 (6, N ¼ 204) ¼ 14.65, po0.05; aggregated ¼ w2 (6, N ¼ 68) ¼ 6.08, p40.05.
SE
0.14 0.17 0.16 0.18 0.22 0.27 0.28
95% CI for Effect Size Lower
Upper
–1.44 –1.10 –1.27 –0.80 –1.09 –1.19 –0.82
–0.90 –0.43 –0.64 –0.09 –0.21 –0.14 –0.27
Homogeneity Q
23.74 11.90 15.99 2.38 1.03 1.13 7.79
OLGA JERMAN AND H. LEE SWANSON
1 2 3 4 5 6 7
Sample Size
Working Memory and Reading Disabilities
17
yielded a higher effect size when compared with the other categories. However, the visual/spatial matrix, phonological, and digit tasks yielded larger effect sizes than the complex visual and text measures. Thus, using Cohen’s cutoff score, 0.80, as a substantial effect size, it appears that visual/spatial and listening span and the digit counting span approximated Cohen’s 0.80 criterion. Moderate effect sizes were found on the semantic, phonological, text, and complex visual/spatial measure (mapping). Table 4 shows the separation of effect sizes when comparing children matched on reading ability. The same categories were used as shown in Table 3. We used the non-aggregated and the aggregated unit of analysis in comparison. Again, a significant categorization effect was found for the nonaggregated measures but not when the unit of analysis was aggregated. The magnitude of effect sizes showed a clear advantage for the reading-levelmatched children when compared with RD children on the listening span measure. On the text measure, there was a clear advantage for the RD children. The next analysis analyzed those variables that best predicted or moderated the magnitude of the effect size between RD and chronologically agematched IQ-matched peers. As shown in Table 4, the correlations among measures are reported. The effect size reported in Table 4 reflects the nonaggregated measure across the 28 studies. Measures were the age, IQ, and reading scores of the RD participants. To simplify the analysis, the previous seven categories were reduced to two. Those studies that were visual/spatial or complex-visual measures were in one domain and the remaining measures were considered in the verbal domain. We also separated those studies that were in the verbal domain in terms of those that focused on the sound structure of items and those that required accessing semantic structures such as categories of information. For example, the digit counting task and the phonological task were assumed to be much closer to descriptions of phonological loop. In contrast, those tasks such as listening span and semantic association we assumed were tapping the executive system. However, as shown in Table 4, none of the correlations were substantial.
Multi Level Mixed Modeling In this meta-analysis we studied whether effect size varied across age, IQ, and reading level and whether the measures were visual/spatial or verbal, or whether measures tapped the phonological or executive system (Table 5). We used a hierarchical linear model (HLM). Level 1 equations represented the effect sizes for each measure. The unit was the effect size for each
18
Table 4.
Effects Size as a Function of Categorical Variables when Compared to Reading Ability Matched.
Category
Listening span Digit/counting Visual–spatial Complex-visual Semantic Phonological Contextual (story)
884 686 696 380 345 362 287
K
11 19 15 13 5 3 5
M
–0.89 –0.08 0.16 0.38 –0.11 –0.09 0.90
SD
0.42 0.40 0.82 0.56 0.32 0.29 0.40
w2 (6, N ¼ 70) ¼ 15.09, p o0.05; w2 (6, N ¼ 31) ¼ 8.60, p40.05.
Effect Size Weighted
–0.91 –0.08 0.16 0.39 –0.11 –0.09 0.91
SE
0.30 0.23 0.26 0.28 0.45 0.58 0.45
95% CI for Effect Size Lower
Upper
–1.50 –0.37 –0.34 –0.15 –0.98 –1.22 0.03
–0.31 0.52 0.67 0.93 0.76 1.04 1.79
Homogeneity Q
1.48 2.87 9.32 3.68 0.41 0.16 0.56
OLGA JERMAN AND H. LEE SWANSON
1 2 3 4 5 6 7
Sample Size
19
Working Memory and Reading Disabilities
Table 5. Variable 1 2 3 4
Effect size Age LD IQ LD Reading level LD 6 Verbal vs. visual 7 Phonological vs. executive
Inter-Correlations among Variables (N ¼ 205 observations). 1
2
3
4
– –0.02 0.02 –0.05
– –0.05 0.04
– –0.13
–
–0.08
–0.20
–0.12
0.16
0.18
–0.06
0.16
–0.09
5
6
– –0.10
–
Table 6. HLM Regression of Effect Sizes for Working Memory (N ¼ 28 studies and 207 observations): unconditional model. Fixed effect Estimate Intercept
–0.89
SE 0.08
t-Ratio –10.68
p Value o0.0001
Random effect (covariance parameter estimates)
Intercepta Residualb Fit Statistics -2 RES
Estimate
SE
Z
p Value
0.11 0.36
0.05 0.04
2.08 9.44
0.01 o0.0001
398.4
Note: RES ¼ restricted maximum likelihood estimate. Variance-between studies. b Variance-within studies. a
measure across 207 measures. Level 2 equations served to predict Level 1 coefficients. Level 2 reflected study effects. Table 6 shows the unconditional model. The parameter estimates for the fixed effects, the intercept, indicated the average effect size in the sample of studies (not to be interpreted as the average effect size across all measures).
20
OLGA JERMAN AND H. LEE SWANSON
The unconditional model tested whether effect sizes were better than chance and conditional model tested whether the contribution of age, IQ, reading level, and the categorization of the WM tasks provided a better fit to the data. For an unconditional model there is only one fixed effect and the estimates was –0.89. This estimate indicated the average effect size across studies of –0.89. Also shown in Table 6, both the random effects for intercept and the residual were different from zero. These estimates indicated that the studies differed in their effect sizes and that there is even more variation in effect sizes (according to the size of estimate of the residual) within the studies. More specifically, the within study variance of 0.35 was approximately three times the size of the variance component between the studies (0.11). For the unconditional model, we computed the interclass correlation by taking the ratio of the variance component between effect sizes (here 0.11) to the sum of the variance between and within effect sizes (0.11+0.35 ¼ 0.46). The interclass correlation tells us the total proportion of variance across each individual effect size. The interclass correlation was 0.23 (0.11/0.46). Thus, only 23% of the variance in effect sizes was at the study level, whereas 77% of the variance was within studies. This value indicated that there is a great deal of similarity in the value for effect sizes across studies. Table 7 shows a conditional model that entered the fixed effects of age, IQ, reading score, visual vs. verbal WM measures, and executive vs. phonological measures. In the conditional main effect model, the results indicated that the estimates related to age, IQ, reading level, and verbal vs. visual/spatial measures were not associated with effect size. The only variable associated with effect size was the phonological loop vs. executive processing comparison. Thus, the results show and association between the categorization of WM measures when the remaining contrasts (e.g., age, IQ) are partialed out of the analysis. However, it is important to note that the variance component represented the difference between the studies (0.13) as well as within studies (0.34), was relatively unchanged relative to the unconditional model. A comparison of deviance in the model (-2 RES for conditional 418.0 – 398.4 for unconditional, difference 19.6), did suggest, however, that the conditional model was a good fit of the data, w2 (5, N ¼ 207) ¼ 19.60, po0.05. However, this fit is primarily related to the phonological vs. executive processing contrast. Salient Studies We briefly review some studies within the present analysis that resulted in large effect sizes. Swanson, Cochran, and Ewers (1989) compared four
21
Working Memory and Reading Disabilities
Table 7. HLM Regression of Effect Sizes for Working Memory (N ¼ 28 studies and 207 observations): conditional model. Fixed effect
Intercept Age LD IQ LD Reading LD Verbal vs. visual Executive vs. Phon.
Estimate
SE
t-Ratio
p Value
–0.85 –0.001 0.006 0.002 –0.06 0.19
0.09 0.001 0.01 0.01 0.04 0.05
–9.11 –0.72 0.39 0.23 –1.29 3.25
o0.0001 0.47 0.69 0.82 0.19 0.001
Estimate
SE
Z
p Value
0.13 0.34
0.06 0.04
2.23 9.36
0.01 o0.0001
Random Effect (covariance parameter estimates)
Intercept Residual Fit Statistics -2 RES
418.0
Note: RES ¼ restricted maximum likelihood estimate.
groups of participants: younger RD, older RD, younger non-reading disabled (NRD), and older NRD, matched on IQ range and age. Children were administered two WM tasks: ordered and non-ordered digit recall and sentence span with two task manipulations of low imagery and high imagery words. A large negative effect size emerged (–1.39). Siegel and Ryan (1989) compared the performance of different subtypes of learning disabled children (reading disabled among them) to normal achievers, age 7–13, on two WM tasks: Sentence Span and Counting. The overall effect size for the study was –1.48. The results suggest that reading disability appears to involve a generalized deficit in WM that children with arithmetic disability do not have. de Jong (1998) examined whether reading disabled children’s deficits in WM capacity were a function of deficient processing or impairments in verbal short-term storage capacity. In his study, 18 ten-year-old children with RD were compared with two groups of normal reading children, matched for chronological age and reading level. The results showed that RD children performed worse on all measures of WM capacity (effect size –
22
OLGA JERMAN AND H. LEE SWANSON
1.19 for CA-matched and –0.08 for RL-matched), regardless of the domain (verbal vs. visual/spatial) that these measures reflected. Swanson (1999) explored the contribution of two WM subsystems, the phonological loop and the central executive, to the performance differences between RD and NRD readers and obtained a large negative effect size (– 1.35). A subsequent study by Swanson and Ashbaker (2000) also examined the contribution of articulatory loop and the central executive to the word recognition and comprehension deficits of students with RD and without. The overall effect size for the study was –1.25 and again supported the hypothesis that RD children’s poor word recognition and comprehension reflect deficits in the central executive system independent of their deficits in the articulatory loop. Finally, McNamara and Wong (2003) found large differences between RD and NRD students on their recall of academic information and information encountered in everyday life. In this study 20 RD children, mean age 135.36, were compared with 20 NRD CA-matched students (mean age 139.08) and 20 NRD RL-matched (mean age 93.6 months) peers. The overall effect size for the study was –1.80 for CA and –0.55 for RL-matched students. McNamara and Wong concluded that RD students have WM problems that affect their performance on tasks other than reading.
DISCUSSION This synthesis had three purposes. First, we sought to determine whether age-related differences in WM persist between RD and non-RD students and if those differences were moderated by domain-specific deficits. We investigated whether age-related differences in WM performance between skilled and RD readers were more pronounced at younger ages than older ages. The majority of studies on WM and RD have utilized participants in the primary grades (kindergarten to grade five) and, therefore, we were unclear as to whether WM problems persisted into adolescence and early adulthood. This study determines whether WM differences between reading groups are statistically comparable at the older ages. The results indicated that age was not related to RD/non-RD effect sizes. The finding was supported when the types of WM tasks were correlated with age, as well as when all within and between study variance were considered in the HLM modeling. In addition, these deficits were independent of effect sizes and reading intelligence between ability groups. Thus, the results support the notion that WM differences in students with RD persist across age.
Working Memory and Reading Disabilities
23
The second issue considered whether WM deficits were generalized across visual/spatial and verbal tasks. There is no consensus in the literature as to whether reading group differences in WM reflect a domain-specific or common central system (i.e., see Shah & Miyake, 1996, for a review of various models on this issue). Some studies have suggested that limitations in WM with RD can be attributed to an isolated storage system, holding and maintaining phonological codes (e.g., Siegel & Ryan, 1989; Shankweiler & Crain, 1986; Stanovich & Siegel, 1994). However, other studies (e.g., Bull, Johnston, & Roy, 1999; de Jong, 1998; Passolunghi & Siegel, 2001; Swanson & Ashbaker, 2000) suggest that difficulties in executive processing may also contribute to the poor WM performance of LD readers above and beyond their deficits in phonological processing. Our synthesis supports the notion that ability group differences are due to a domain general system. In this synthesis, we found no differences in effect sizes when we divided tasks in terms of those that have visual/spatial WM and those that have verbal WM. Our results show that the WM problems of RD children were not merely due to the failure of the phonological coding. Further, when we enter reading as a variable in which to assess the interaction of domain specificity, we did not find an interaction. Thus, we do not think that deficits in WM for children with RD are merely an artifact of skills within the particular domain of reading. These findings are important because they argue against WM as domain-specific in its influence. Our findings are comparable to several studies suggesting that the influence of WM on cognitive measures is probably independent of various academic domains. The final purpose of this study was to look at the relationship between intelligence and effect size. No significant relationship emerged suggesting that variations in IQ or effect sizes in IQ between RD and NRD are related to the magnitude of differences and effect sizes of WM. Given that RD children with average intelligence have difficulties on tasks that tap specific components of WM, we must now explore the role of WM on intelligence in children with RD. This is a particularly complex issue because performance on WM tasks is strongly correlated with fluid intelligence (e.g., Ackerman et al., 2002; Carpenter, Just, & Shell, 1990; Conway, Cowan, Bunting, Therriault, & Minkoff, 2002; Engle et al., 1999a, 1999b; Kyllonen & Christal, 1990). Kyllonen and Christal (1990), for example, reported a correlation between latent variables for reasoning and WM at approximately 0.80. Executive processing is seen as a key component linking these two tasks. Thus, it is rather unexpected that RD children with average intelligence will have difficulty on WM tasks. Further, these difficulties in WM are also apparent when such children are carefully matched to normal achieving counterparts on psychometric IQ measures.
24
OLGA JERMAN AND H. LEE SWANSON
Before reviewing our finding on the relationship between WM and intelligence in samples with RD, three points must be made. First, the relationship between intelligence and WM may be rather indirect in samples with RD. That is, only a weak to moderate relationship exists with WM and RD samples. Swanson and Alexander (1997) found that the magnitude of the correlations between executive processing and fluid intelligence (Raven Colored Progressive Matrices Test) varied between 0.04 and 0.34 in RD children (see Table 4, Swanson & Alexander, 1997). We take this as evidence that fluid intelligence while related to the executive system is not an exclusive manifestation of such a system. Further, there are parallel studies to ours in the literature showing that children with average intelligence suffer executive processing deficits (e.g., Swanson, Posner, Cantwell, Wigal, Crinella, et al., 1998). In this regard, Crinella and Yu (2000) reviewed literature suggesting a weak relationship between IQ and executive processing with normal achieving children. In reviewing the literature on normal achieving children Crinella and Yu (2000) stated ‘‘the dissociation of g and specific neurocognitive measures of Executive Function (EF) has been demonstrated in a nodal study by Welsh, Pennington, & Grossier (1991), in which a battery of EF tests was administered to normal children, with subsequent analysis yielding three factors: (1) response speed; (2) set maintenance; and (3) planning. These EF factors were either inversely correlated or not correlated with IQ – a complete dissociation of g and EF’’ (p. 308). Similarly, the literature on RD clearly shows poor readers with high IQ levels when compared with poor readers with low IQ levels can yield statistically equivalent performance on cognitive measures (e.g., phonological processing, Siegel, 1992; Hoskyn & Swanson, 2000). Further, these commonalities in performance are not isolated to memory or phonological processing measures (see Hoskyn & Swanson, 2000; meta-analysis comparing RD and garden variety poor achievers across an array of cognitive measures). Second, our work on problem solving shows that children with RD may use different routes or processes to problem solve, even though solution accuracy is comparable to CA-matched peers (Swanson, 1988; 1993a). For example, Swanson (1988; 1993a) found RD students successfully set up a series of subgoals for task solution. Further, their problem solving performance was statistically comparable to their CA-matched peers on a number of fluid measures of intelligence (Picture Arrangement subtest on the WISC-R, Swanson, 1988; Tower of Hanoi, Combinatorial, and Pendulum Task, Swanson, 1993a). However, the studies also found that individuals with RD, in some cases relied on different cognitive routes compared
Working Memory and Reading Disabilities
25
with skilled readers in problem solving. For example, on measures of fluid intelligence, problem solving was augmented by ‘‘emphasizing problem representation (defining the problem, identifying relevant information or facts given about the problem) rather than procedural knowledge or processes used to identify algorithms’’ (Swanson, 1993a, p. 864). Thus, there is evidence suggesting that performance by individuals with RD on measures of intelligence may involve compensatory processing. This compensation can partially overcome problems in attention allocation (we use the word ‘‘partially’’ because we do not know the threshold where compensatory process are no longer effective) that in turn may allow them to perform in the normal range. However, we recognize that very little research has focused on the compensatory processes that underlie the links between intelligence and WM (i.e., executive processing). In general, we argue that compensatory processes play an important role in mediating the relationship between intelligence and WM. Finally, RD individuals may achieve normal intelligence because the information they experience in their environment does not always place high demands on their WM. A standardized test of WM (S-CPT, Swanson, 1995) shows, for example, that the majority of individuals with RD scored in the 21st percentile on WM measures (scaled scores across 11 subtests hovered around eight, or a standard score of 88 – see Swanson, 1995, p. 167), suggesting they have very weak but adequate WM ability to process information and then store information over the long term. Of course, they may use other experiences by pulling up from LTM things that they already know to help in the processing of information. With the accumulation of LTM links and connections, there is some control over the processing demands of new information. Thus, this control over processing demands may reduce any potential links between fluid intelligence and WM. We also determined whether WM performance was a consequence of reading skill. Turner and Engle (1989) (also see Cantor & Engle, 1993; Engle et al., 1992; Kane & Engle, 2000) suggested that people are poor readers because they have a small ‘‘general’’ WM capacity and that this capacity is ‘‘independent’’ of reading. Poor readers are viewed as having a weaker WM than skilled readers, not as a direct consequence of their poor reading skills, but because they have less WM capacity available for performing a reading and non-reading task. As stated by Turner and Engle, ‘‘working memory may be a unitary individual characteristic, independent of the nature of the task in which the individual makes use of it’’ (p. 150). We test this assumption in a hierarchical regression model. Our results showed that variations in effect size were significant contributors to the magnitude of WM effect sizes.
26
OLGA JERMAN AND H. LEE SWANSON
There is a thorny problem this synthesis reveals when one considers how to reconcile the specific verbal WM processing deficit (e.g., problems related to the phonological system) hypothesis commonly attributed to RD children of normal intelligence (Cohen, 1981; Siegel, 1993) with the notion that they suffer a deficiency in a domain general system. We know from the literature that individuals of high intelligence can vary in WM (e.g., Daneman & Carpenter, 1980), and these individual differences relate to reading achievement (Engle et al., 1992). What we do not know is how problems in the phonological system relate to problems in the executive system (or vice versa) in individuals with normal intelligence. One possible explanation is that problems in specific activities of the central executive system may exist in children with RD that are independent of their problems in phonological processing (Swanson, 1993a–d; Swanson & Siegel, 2001a; 2001b). Another possibility is to suggest that a generic storage system indirectly accounts for low-order processing deficits (especially on language-related tasks). For example, in Baddeley’s (1986; Baddeley & Logie, 1999) model the central executive system is an undifferentiated generic system that draws resources from long-term memory to support loworder (slave) systems. However, if the executive system is overtaxed, it cannot contribute resources to low-order processing. Given that, the phonological loop is controlled by the central executive (Baddeley, 1986), any deficits in phonological functioning may partially reflect deficiencies in the controlling functions of the central executive itself (see Baddeley, 1996). In summary, the present synthesis suggests that children with RD have WM deficits that do not get better with age. RD children’s memory performance is generally poorer than that of their chronologically age-matched peers across a large age spectrum. Thus, the results do not support the notion that memory deficits are more pronounced in younger ages than older ages. Further, memory performance in RD samples is best characterized as reflecting a deficit model that suggests that WM problems are persistent across age. The results also support the hypothesis that when RD children are matched with reading-level-matched children that they are superior in visual/spatial, but inferior on verbal skills.
REFERENCES Articles marked with an asterisk are included in present meta-analysis. Abu-Rabia, S., Share, D., & Mansour, M. S. (2003). Word recognition and basic cognitive
processes among reading-disabled and normal readers in Arabic. Reading and Writing: An Interdisciplinary Journal, 16, 423–442.
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MATHEMATICAL VS. READING AND WRITING DISABILITIES IN DEAF CHILDREN: A PILOT STUDY ON THE DEVELOPMENT OF NUMERICAL KNOWLEDGE Elisabetta Genovese, Rosalia Galizia, Marco Gubernale, Edoardo Arslan and Daniela Lucangeli ABSTRACT In the literature there is limited research on the interaction of language and arithmetic performance of deaf students, although previous studies have demonstrated that many of these students are delayed in both their language acquisition and arithmetic performance. The focus of the first part of this work is a brief review of the literature on acquisition of learning abilities in prelingually deaf children with hearing aids and cochlear implants. Children who experience severe to profound deafness early in their life have a better prognosis for normal literacy development than ever before. In fact, the restoration of the auditory threshold allows children to achieve language and learning abilities like normally hearing children. In the second part we describe our initial experiences in the field. We discuss Cognition and Learning in Diverse Settings Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 18, 33–46 Copyright r 2005 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(05)18002-1
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some preliminary results of an investigation of the longitudinal development of cognitive abilities related to numerical cognition in hearing-impaired children who have had a hearing aid or a cochlear implant at a young age. Specifically, we analyse the development of numerical abilities related to verbal abilities (such as those implied in counting tasks), reading and writing numbers, and analogical numerical abilities (such as those based on quantity recognition as in number comparison and number seriation).
The recent introduction of cochlear implants is associated with a greater use of phonological coding strategies for decoding print, longer working memory spans for short-term storage of phonemes, words and sentences, and accelerated language development for reading comprehension; all this should facilitate literacy development. Children with good speech perception who benefit from their cochlear implants are also those who achieve intelligible speech and good language and reading skills (Moog & Geers, 2003). Therefore, today we evaluate not only the hearing threshold with and without hearing aids or cochlear implants, but also speech perception, production, language, and reading skills. Competence in reading, writing, and mathematics in hearing children begins when they develop competent language usage. The task of reading can be mapped onto existing phonological, syntactic, semantic, and discourse skills: literature reports low learning levels in these abilities among students with severe-profound hearing impairments related to their incomplete spoken language system (Perfetti & Sandak, 2000). Bottom-up models of reading development rely upon the ability to use letter-sound generalizations to decode words (Gough, 1972) and the use of phonemic knowledge or phonological processing in reading is a typical achievement of hearing readers (Meyer, Schvaneveldt, & Ruddy, 1974); these bottom-up processes have previously been very difficult for deaf children (Paul, 1998), but with cochlear implant technology, these skills are now potentially accessible to the deaf child. On the other hand, it has been proposed that a top–down model of reading comprehension is possible for deaf readers: they bypass the auditory-based syntactic skills and phonological decoding strategies, and process written words on the basis of meaning through semantic cues that depend either on vocabulary knowledge and the ability to bring sufficient world knowledge to the task (Ewoldt, 1993). According to this model, comprehension of written words may be achieved by simply memorizing the visual representation and associating it
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with a word in the existing vocabulary base. Some studies have reported superior reading scores in groups of children with deaf as compared with hearing parents and children exposed to manual English, compared with those exposed to oral English (Kampfe & Turecheck, 1987). On the other hand, the most efficient and ultimately most successful readers are able to map printed symbols onto already known elements of spoken language in a process known as phonological decoding: it appears that students who are deaf and who use a predominantly phonological (speech) based code during reading tasks are better readers than those who do not use a phonological code (Conrad, 1979; Hanson, 1989; Leybaert, 1993). For deaf readers, development of phonological awareness appears to be facilitated by speech perception and production skills. Deaf students can use visual (lip-reading) and sign coding to access the phonological code. However, neither alternative is an effective substitute for a phonological speech based code processed in verbal short-term memory. In fact, research on digit span in children prompted some theorists (Baddeley & Gathercole, 1992) to postulate a strong association between memory span and reading in subjects with a specific reading disability.
DEAFNESS AND NUMERICAL KNOWLEDGE There is limited research on the interaction of language and arithmetic performance of deaf students, although previous studies demonstrated that many of these students are delayed in both their language acquisition and arithmetic performance. Research examining mathematics achievement of deaf students has chiefly concentrated on their skills in operations and numbers. These studies have generally concluded that there is no central cognitive basis for major differences documented in mathematical performance between deaf and hearing students, and that achievement differences observed are the result of a combination of linguistic, procedural, and experiential delays in deaf students. Zafarty, Nunes, and Bryant (2004) emphasized that deaf children tend to fall behind in mathematics at school, as a direct result of specific classroom experiences. For example, deaf children may find it difficult to follow the teacher’s presentations of basic, but nevertheless quite abstract, mathematical ideas. Another possibility is that the problem starts before school – they may perform less well than hearing children either on early, non-linguistic number representations or on the culturally transmitted number strings, or
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both. Zafarty et al. (2004) compared 3- and 4-year-old deaf and hearing children’s ability to remember and to reproduce the number of items in a set of objects, in two different experimental conditions. Deaf children performed as well as the hearing children in the temporal tasks, but outperformed their counterparts in the spatial tasks. These results suggest that preschool deaf children’s number representation is at least as advanced as that of hearing children, and that they are actually better than hearing children at representing the number of objects in spatial arrays. Therefore, Zafarty et al. concluded that children’s difficulties with mathematical learning are not a consequence of a delay in number representation, and that deaf children should benefit from mathematical instruction that emphasizes spatial representation. Increasingly in research, it appears that the role of language in mathematics comprehension is being recognized for both hearing (Wood, Wood, Griffith, & Howart, 1986; Zevenbeghen, 2000, 2002) and deaf (Luckner and McNeill, 1994; Wood et al., 1986) students. Extending beyond lexical and syntactic difficulties to more complex configurations, problems of an everyday nature involving the use of linguistic forms applied to arithmetic concepts and strategies have been found to cause significant difficulty for deaf students (Daniele, 1993; Serrano Pau, 1995; Luckner & McNeill, 1994; Wood et al., 1986). However, the nature of the relationship between language and mathematics understanding and performance for deaf students has not yet been established in any significant detail. Specific studies of the relationship between language and mathematics have been evident in the study of ‘‘everyday’’ word problems. Using Riley, Heller and Greeno’s (1983) classification of word problems and research reported by Del Campo and Clements (1987), it is clear that the wording of arithmetic is simple and involves addition and subtraction of two numbers where the sum is less than ten, yet many students in the upper primary years can experiences difficulty solving them (Lean, Clements & Del Campo, 1990). Some researchers (Frostad, 1996; Serrano Pau, 1995; Wood et al., 1986) have maintained that while deaf students consistently show delays in comparison with their hearing peers in arithmetic problem-solving, there is no simple or direct relationship established between these delays and the students’ linguistic and experiential deficits, or with their degree of hearing loss. Indeed, these authors go so far as to suggest that what is clear from the research is that deaf students and those with severe hearing loss as a group have a greater variability in their performance on mathematical tasks than the general student population.
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COCHLEAR IMPLANTS AND LEARNING ABILITIES Studies that examine the effects of cochlear implantation on reading indicate that improved auditory skills may be associated with better reading outcomes. Boothroyd and Boothroyd (2002) studied eight children with implants longitudinally over a 4-year period. Average reading performance lagged behind grade placement by an amount that increased with the increasing language demand of the task. However, the average age of implantation for this group was 5.8 years. Boothroyd and Boothroyd concluded that auditory limitations, combined with language deficits already present at the time of implantation, present a continuing educational challenge. It was hypothesized that earlier implantation might result in more normal reading development. Unthank, Rajput, and Goswami (2001) studied the phonological awareness skills and word reading and vocabulary development, in children with hearing aids and cochlear implants. Furthermore, children who received a cochlear implant before 3.6 years of age exhibited larger vocabulary and higher word reading scores than children fitted after 5 years of age. Above and beyond the positive effects of cochlear implants, it is anticipated that auditory/speech training may increase the deaf child’s access to phonological information and thereby facilitate word identification and word comprehension. The research literature does not reference any developmental issues for mathematics learning in children with implants. For this reason, we intend to study more deeply the modalities of development of mathematical abilities and its relationship with language in hearing impaired children with hearing aids and cochlear implants.
OUR ONGOING PROJECT: ANALYSIS OF A DEVELOPMENTAL PATTERN OF NUMERICAL KNOWLEDGE IN DEAF CHILDREN The term ‘‘numerical knowledge’’ refers to a pool of highly specific cognitive functions by which we perform mental operations involving numbers. How do children develop the ability to recognize quantities and represent and manipulate them through the complex symbol system that we know as numbers? Alternative models of early numerical development have emerged from research and theory in the last two decades. Considerable controversy continues to surround the question of how much young children understand numbers.
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Gelman and Gallistel (1978) maintained that children possess innate conceptual principles that guide them in learning to count in the preschool period. This debate is important for both theory and practice, because the knowledge children attain in the preschool period lays the foundation for early mathematics instruction. Fuson and colleagues (Fuson, 1988, 1991; Fuson & Hall, 1983) have argued that number words have different meanings in different contexts, and that children sequentially acquire these different meanings, learning each number word at first as several different context-dependent words. The ‘‘meaning’’ of number words is their successive assignment to items in a oneto-one correspondence, and the referent of a number word is the item with which it is paired; thus, the referent of a particular number word differs with each count, in the same way the referent of a pronoun differs from sentence to sentence. A number word is used in a cardinal context when it is used to describe the cardinality or numerosity of a set of discrete objects or events; in this context, the referent of a number word is the numerosity described. Recent research reviews (Wynn, 1999; Dowker, 1998) have demonstrated that there is a complex relationship between the different processes involved in arithmetical knowledge. Arithmetical knowledge cannot be interpreted as a general cognitive competence, but instead it should be viewed as a complex cognitive system with many different interrelated subcomponents such as quantity, numbers, procedures, and strategies. As a confirmation of this, Kutz, Wright, Krull, and Manolidis (2003) found that the cognitive and behavioral development of profoundly deaf children does not advance at the same rate as hearing children. Neuropsychological testing – e.g., a protocol composed of the Vineland Adaptive Behavior Scale to assess several domain of behavioral functions; the Mullen Scale of Early Learning to estimate the child’s perception, speech and language and motor abilities; and the Leiter International Performance ScaleRevised to assess intellectual abilities – is a useful tool to select candidates for cochlear implants, and has the potential to track changes before and after implantation. Kutz et al. (2003) reported that all their patients were administered the Vineland Adaptive behavior scale, and found that overall scores were lower than normative means, with a mean composite score in the 7th percentile. Moreover, in the children assessed with the Mullen Scale of Early Learning, there existed a strong inverse correlation between score and age of testing. Finally, intellectual ability was found to be lower than normative means, with a mean score in the 13th percentile. Nunes and Moreno (2002) identified two aspects of functioning of deaf children that placed them at risk for underachievement in mathematics. The
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first is reduced opportunities for incidental learning, and the second is difficulty in making inferences involving time sequences. Finally, in a review of the determinants of arithmetic skills, Haskell (2000) examined a variety of medical disorders associated with difficulties in young children to elaborate numbers. Children with neurological disorders, chromosomal, metabolic, attentional deficits, and hyperactive disorders, such as mental retardation, displayed particular difficulty in mastering arithmetic skills. It is also suggested that associated problems in language, memory, and attention may be associated with delayed language development. Such children have problems in receptive and expressive abilities in number operations and verbal weaknesses in number counting. Moreover, a number of related disorders of sensory and motor development are involved in arithmetical weaknesses in young children, and these include weaknesses in visual perception and perceptual integration. Therefore, for Haskell (2000), deafness does not affect directly the development of numerical knowledge, but does so indirectly through the related language impairment. Considering the nature of the literature and the lack of a unitary hypothesis, it is necessary to analyse how specific competencies develop and contribute to the complex cognitive system that we use to understand quantity. More specifically, it is possible to reduce the areas of research to the following three main aspects concerning the development of numerical knowledge: How do skills of recognizing quantities appear and evolve? This issue is informed by the development of preverbal numerical knowledge. How does capacity for coding quantities through a verbal system of numbers appear and evolve? This point is informed by research regarding the development of counting abilities. How does competence in using the symbolical system of Arabic numbers appear and evolve? This question can be addressed by examining research about the maturing of numberical reading and writing abilities. In order to address these issues, this unit intends to analyse the development of numerical knowledge before formal mathematical learning, examining specifically either the development of numerical abilities related to verbal abilities – such as counting, writing, and reading numbers – or the development of numerical abilities related to analogical representation of quantity, such as comparison and seriation. The present project takes into consideration the longitudinal development of cognitive abilities related to numerical cognition in hearing-impaired
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children who have had a hearing aid or a cochlear implant at a young age. Specifically, we analyse the development of numerical abilities related to verbal abilities (such as those implied in counting tasks), reading and writing numbers, and analogical numerical abilities (such as those based on quantity recognition as in number comparison and number seriation). The research literature does not address these developmental issues for hearing-impaired children. Therefore, our project intends to test children longitudinally every 6 months on tasks such as counting, reading and writing Arabic numbers, seriation of numbers, and comparing and matching – numbers read and numbers written, numbers read and quantities – employing a testing protocol, named ‘‘PRCR Numeri’’ composed by the following sub-tasks: 1. Writing numbers. This is the first task of each session and assesses the ability of children to write Arabic numbers. 2. Counting task. This task assesses the ability of children to count straightwards and then, backwards. 3. Reading numbers. The digits from one to nine are printed on separate cards, that include every digit three times randomized such that no digit appears twice sequentially: the child is called upon to read the numbers, one at a time. 4. Matching word numbers and Arabic numbers. This task evaluates children’s knowledge of word numbers. The child is asked to recognize and select which of three Arabic digits presented visually corresponds to the number said aloud by the experimenter, considering that the number target will be accompanied by two distractors, one that is numerically close to the target – within one digit – and another farther away. 5. Arabic numbers comparison. This task evaluates children’s understanding of Arabic numbers. Each child is asked to select between two Arabic digits presented visually, the digit that is greater. The order of presentation is random with the restriction that successive pairs do not include any digits in common, and no three successive pairs have the greater digit in the same position. 6. Matching Arabic numbers and quantity. This task measures the ability to match a read number with the corresponding number of dots, within a pool of three items. 7. Comparisons of dots. The task evaluates the understanding of quantity by requiring children to select which of two dot patterns has the greater numerosity. We used pairs of dot patterns with identical numerosity to those used in the Arabic number comparison task.
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8. Presyntax, form ‘‘A’’. By asking to verbally complete some sentences which briefly describe a pool of objects – e.g., ‘‘ya classroom is composed by manyy’’ – we investigate whether or not the children possess a hierarchical sense of numerosity. 9. Presyntax, form ‘‘B’’. In this task, the children are asked to set, in an increasing order, a pool of five pictures of different size; later, they are asked to put one of these items in the correct position, in a correct succession composed by the examiner. 10. Seriation tasks for Arabic numbers, form ‘‘A’’. The task measures children’s ability to order five Arabic digits from smallest to largest. The order of presentation will be random. 11. Seriation tasks for Arabic numbers, form ‘‘B’’. In this task, children are asked to complete the digit series 1–4, in which one or two digits are omitted: the number has to be set in the correct position of the sequence. In conclusion, the objective of the present research was to monitor both (a) the trend of numerical abilities related to verbal abilities, and (b) the trend of numerical abilities related to non-verbal abilities. Specifically, if the difficulties of deaf children in numerical knowledge depend on the verbal impairment, we should expect that the performance of hearing-impaired children will be similar to the performance of children with normal hearing in the numerical tasks less related to verbal competencies.
PRELIMINARY RESULTS To date, we have investigated a preliminary group of ten deaf children followed by the Audiology Department of the University of Padua. Four subjects were male and six female, aged between 62 and 72 months (mean corresponding to about 67 months), attending the last year of nursery school. All children were affected by a prelingually severe to profound deafness, with different etiology, such as TORCH affections, respiratory distress, or admission into Neonatal Intensive Care Units. Eight subjects were wearing hearing aids and two cochlear implants, over a mean period of 36 months. The devices allow a restoration of the threshold level, sufficient to establish an adequate level of attention and speech comprehension. The control group was composed of 61 normally hearing subjects, aged 60–72 months, in the last year of nursery school. We now discuss the initial data in the main aspects of mathematical skills. Table 1 presents the trend of the performances in two groups, in which it
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Table 1.
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Performance Differences between Deaf and Normally Hearing Children.
1 – Writing 2A – Counting 2B – Backward counting 3 – Reading 4 – Matching noun/number 5 – Number comparison 6 – Matching read number and quantity 7 – Comparison of two dot patterns 8 – Presyntax A 9 – Presyntax B 10 – Seriation A 11 – Seriation B Total
Median Normally Hearing
Median Deaf
Significance
2 15 0 7 8 9 9 9 4 2 1 4 70
4 12 0 8 8.5 6 7.5 7.5 0.5 2 1 5 62
0.03 0.53 0.18 0.43 0.96 o 0.01 0.11 0.06 o 0.01 0.97 0.38 0.46 0.05
appears that the comparison between the two complete protocols is just at the threshold of significance. In Fig. 1, it can be seen that the deaf children performed better on the task of number writing, and that their competence is lower in tasks such as Number comparison, Comparison of dot patterns, and Presyntax A. The reason why the two performances differ in these abilities will be object of our future attention and studies: at present we can make some preliminary observations. First of all, the score of the task ‘‘Writing’’ could reflect just a specific mode of learning ability in transcoding number from verbal to written code rather than other facts linked to the abstract internal representation of the number. This point of view is strengthened if we examine the score of the task ‘‘Number comparison’’. In our opinion, this performance largely depends on a highly symbolic representation of the numerosity: by her measure, we have an indication of the ability of the child to access the internal semantic dimensions of the number. So, it could be that, in case of early deafness, the development of the functional and encyclopedic attributes of numbers is inadequate. The level of significance of the task ‘‘Comparison of two dot patterns’’ is borderline, and we expect more information from future research. Finally, the tasks ‘‘Presyntax A’’ reveal a low score, perhaps because of the high saturation of factors linked to speech comprehension and other verbal language implications, that can result in a number of difficulties for the deaf child.
43
Mathematical vs. Reading and Writing Disabilities in Deaf Children Medians trend 1.00 Healthy children Deaf children
0.90 0.80 0.70 0.60 0.50 0.40 0.30 0.20 0.10
Fig. 1.
11 Seriation B
10 Seriation A
9 Presyntax B
8 Presyntax A
7 – Comp. dot patterns
6 Match. number/quant.
5 Number compar.
4 Match. noun/number
3 Reading
2B Backw. Counting
2A Counting
1 Writing
0.00
Comparison of the Two Groups.
Therefore, it appears that if we assume a quantitative point of view, that the differences between normally hearing and deaf children about numerical knowledge are minor. But an analysis of the qualitative profiles reveals some matters about the consistency of the internal abstract representation of the numbers. Another aspect of our research has addressed the relation between language and numerical knowledge; therefore, we analysed the outcome of the sample in the primary language domains. The performance of Receptive language has been estimated by evaluating the scores obtained on the following tests: – Peabody Picture Vocabulary Test (Dunn & Dunn, 1981) for Lexical comprehension abilities. – Language Comprehension test (Prove di valutazione della comprensione linguistica, Rustioni 1994) for the Morpho-syntactical abilities.
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ELISABETTA GENOVESE ET AL.
Language
11 - Seriation B
10 - Seriation A
9 - Presyntax B
8 – Presyntax A
7 – Compar. dot patterns
6 – Match. number and quantity
5 – Number comparison
4 – Match. noun/number
3 - Reading
2B – Backward counting
2A - Counting
1 – Writing
p<0.05
Length of remediation
Correlations between Language and Numerical Domains.
Age in months
Table 2.
Lexicon
Comprehen Morphosyntax sion
Overall
-0.57
0.59
Phonetical
Language
0.58
Phonological
Production Morphosyntax
0.60
Overall
Overall Language
The protocol for the assessment of the Expressive language is composed of: – Language Phonological Assessment (Prove per la valutazione fonologica del linguaggio infantile, Bortolini 1995) to test phonological inventory and phonological competence. – Test of Early Language (Test del primo linguaggio, Axia 1995) to assess lexical production capacities. – Evaluation of the spontaneous verbal description of a picture to have an estimate about morpho-syntactical production abilities. A correlational analysis of both of domains is provided in Table 2. It appears that language and numerical knowledge are two specific domains, related but not dependent upon each other, which perform in an independent manner; or rather, we can reasonably assume that these two
Mathematical vs. Reading and Writing Disabilities in Deaf Children
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domains are self-sufficient units. In future investigations, it would be interesting to further explore the nature of the high correlations obtained with four cognitive competences, of which that between ‘‘Language comprehension’’ and ‘‘Number comparison’’ presents inverse results.
REFERENCES Axia, G. (1995). Test del primo linguaggio, Firenze: Organizzazioni Speciali. Baddeley, A., & Gathercole, S. (1992). Learning to read: The role of phonological loop. In: J. Alegria, D. Holender, J. Junca de Morais & M. Radeau (Eds), Analytic approaches to human cognition (pp. 153–157). Amsterdam: Elsevier. Boothroyd, A., & Boothroyd, D. (2002). Post-implant audition and educational attainment in children with prelingually-acquired profound deafness. Annals of Otology, Rhinology and Laryngology, 11, 79–84. Bortolini, U. (1995). Prove per la valutazione fonologica del linguaggio infantile (PFLI). Padua, Italy: Edit Master. Conrad, R. (1979). The deaf school child. London: Harper and Row. Daniele, V. A. (1993). Quantitative literacy. American Annals of the Deaf, 138, 76–81. Del Campo, G., & Clements, M. A. (1987). Elementary schoolchildren’s processing of ‘‘change’’ arithmetic word problems. In: C. Bergeron, N. Herscovics & C. Kieran (Eds), Proceedings of the 11th conference of the international group for the psychology of mathematics education, (Vol. 2, pp. 382–388). Montre´al: PME. Dowker, A. (1998). In: P. Carruthers & J. Boucher (Eds), Language and thought: Interdisciplinary themes. Boucher Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dunn, L. M., & Dunn, L. M. (1981). Peabody picture vocabulary test. Wilmington, DE: American Guidance. Ewoldt, C. (1993). Whole language (Letter to the Editor). American Annals of the Deaf, 138, 10–11. Frostad, R. (1996). Mathematics achievement of hearing-impaired children in Norway. European Journal of Special Needs Education, 11(1), 67–81. Fuson, K. C. (1988). Children counting and concepts of number. New York: Springer-Verlag. Fuson, K. C. (1991). Relations entre comptage et cardinalite´ chez l’enfant de 2 a` 8 ans. In: J. Bideaud, C. Meljac & J. P. Fischer (Eds), Les chemins du nombre (pp. 127–149). Lille, France: Lille University Press. Fuson, K. C., & Hall, J. W. (1983). The acquisition of early number word meaning: A conceptual analysis and review. In: H. P. Ginsburg (Ed.), The development of mathematical thinking. New York: Academic Press. Gelman, R., & Gallistel, C. R. (1978). The child’s understanding of number. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Gough, P. (1972). One second of reading. Visible Language, 6, 291–320. Hanson, V. (1989). Phonology and reading: Evidence from profoundly deaf readers. In: D. Shankweiler & I. Liberman (Eds), Phonology and reading disability: Solving the reading puzzle (pp. 69–89). Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Haskell, S. H. (2000). The determinants of arithmetic skills in young children: Some observations. European Child & Adolescent Psychiatry, 9, II/77–II/86.
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Kampfe, C. M., & Turecheck, A. G. (1987). Reading achievement of prelingually deaf students and its relationship to parental method of communication: A review of literature. American Annals of the Deaf, 132, 11–15. Kutz, W., Wright, C., Krull, K. R., & Manolidis, S. (2003). Neuropsychological testing in the screening for cochlear implant candidacy. Laryngoscope, 113, 763–766. Lean, G. A., Clements, M. A., & Del Campo, G. (1990). Linguistic and pedagogical factors affecting children’s understanding of arithmetic word problems: A comparative study. Educational Studies in Mathematics, 21, 165–191. Leybaert, J. (1993). Reading in the deaf: The roles of phonological codes. In: M. Maschark & D. Clark (Eds), Psychological perspectives on deafness (pp. 269–309). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Luckner, J. L., & McNeill, J. H. (1994). Performance of a group of deaf and hard of hearing students and a comparison group of hearing students on a series of problem solving tasks. American Annals of the Deaf, 139, 371–377. Meyer, D. E., Schvaneveldt, R. W., & Ruddy, M. G. (1974). Functions of graphemic and phonemic codes in visual word-recognition. Memory and Cognition, 2, 309–321. Moog, J. S., & Geers, A. E. (2003). Epilogue: Major findings, conclusions and implications for deaf education. Ear and Hearing, 24, 121S–125S. Nunes, T., & Moreno, C. (2002). An intervention program for promoting deaf pupils’ achievement in mathematics. Journal of Deafness Studies and Deaf Education, 7, 120–133. Paul, P. (1998). Literacy and deafness. Boston: Allyn and Bacon. Perfetti, C. A., & Sandak, R. (2000). Reading optimally builds on spoken language: Implications for deaf readers. Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education, 5, 32–50. Riley, M., Greeno, J., & Heller, J. (1983). Development of children’s problem-solving ability in arithmetic. In: H. Ginsberg (Ed.), The development of mathematical thinking (pp. 153–196). New York: Academic Press. Rustioni, D. (1994). Prove di valutazione della comprensione linguistica. Firenze: Organizzazioni Speciali. Serrano Pau, C. (1995). The deaf child and solving problems in arithmetic: The importance of comprehensive reading. American Annals of the Deaf, 140, 287–290. Unthank, D., Rajput, K., Goswami, U. (2001). The effects of cochlear implantation on phonological awareness skills of young deaf children. Eighth symposium on cochlear implants in children: Los Angeles. Wood, D., Wood, H., Griffith, A., & Howart, I. (1986). Teaching and talking with deaf children. New York: Wiley. Wynn, K. (1999). Numerical competence in infants. In: C. Donlan (Ed.), The development of mathematical skills. Studies in developmental psychology. Howe: Psychology Press. Zafarty, Y., Nunes, T., & Bryant, P. (2004). The performance of the young deaf children in spatial and temporal number tasks. Journal of Deafness Studies and Deaf Education, 9, 315–326. Zevenbeghen, R. (2000). ‘‘Cracking the code’’ of mathematics classrooms: School success as a function of linguistic, social and cultural background. In: J. Boaler (Ed.), Multiple perspectives on mathematics teaching and learning (pp. 201–223). Westport, CT: Ablex. Zevenbeghen, R. (2002). Mathematics, social class and linguistic capital: An analysis of a mathematics classroom. In: B. Atweh & H. Forgasz (Eds), Social cultural aspects of mathematics education: An international perspective (pp. 201–215). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
INSTRUCTIONAL SUPPORT EMPLOYING SPATIAL ABILITIES: USING COMPLIMENTARY COGNITIVE PATHWAYS TO SUPPORT LEARNING IN STUDENTS WITH ACHIEVEMENT DEFICITS William E. Gustashaw III and Frederick J. Brigham The purpose of this chapter is to review the literature regarding instruction of students with learning disabilities employing methods that are characterized as having a predominantly spatial character. ‘‘Spatial memory is a complex phenomenon that holds a unique position in human cognition at the crossroads of low-level perceptual processing (e.g., perception of depth cues and three-dimensional structure) and high-level constructive processes. (e.g., integration over successive views)’’ (Shelton, 2003, p. 309). Spatial learning is the cognitive feature that allows individuals to recall the position and, according to many researchers, the appearance of objects in the environment. Spatial processes are distinct from verbal processes although they can interact with one another to support complex cognitions (Paivio, 1986). Brigham (1992) conducted a previous review of the literature reporting research on the use of spatial learning strategies with students who had
Cognition and Learning in Diverse Settings Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 18, 47–70 Copyright r 2005 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(05)18003-3
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learning disabilities. He concluded that the spatially based techniques reported in the literature could be grouped according to three classes: (a) instruction using pictures or illustrations, (b) maps, and (c) graphic organizers. A quick examination of practitioner-oriented publications in the field of special education suggests that, of the three, graphic organizers have received more attention in the past decade than either illustrations or maps. Such differential attention to graphic organizers over the other forms of spatial displays is somewhat perplexing given Brigham (1992) conclusion that graphic organizers yielded effects that were far less robust than were those associated with illustrations or maps. The differential attention paid to graphic organizers may be associated with their content-independent nature. Once a graphic organization technique is mastered, it can potentially be applied across a wide variety of content or applications. Such portability, however, is likely related to the relative weakness of graphic organizers over illustrations or maps. Brigham (1992) agreed with Holley and Dansereau (1984) earlier observation that the hoped for content-independent spatial learning strategy had yet to be realized. However, during the past decade, forces affecting schools and educators may have encouraged the growth of such a content-independent spatial technique. Recent education reform efforts call for high stakes testing and accountability for student outcomes. Additionally, revisions in special education regulations now require most students with disabilities to participate in these state and district assessments. Coupled with the ongoing press for inclusion on the part of some advocates for children and youths with disabilities, general and special education teachers face more difficult tasks than they have ever faced in the history of modern special education. (Brigham, Gustashaw, & Brigham, 2004; Brigham, Gustashaw, Wiley, & Brigham, 2004). At the same time the stakes for performance on school learning tasks and assessments is increasing, so is the number of students served by special education. This is particularly true for the category of learning disabilities. Not only are the numbers of students being served increasing (Horn & Tynan, 2001; Lyon, Fletcher, Shaywitz, Shaywitz, Torgesen, et al., 2001), but the proportion of the group being served in primarily general education settings is growing (U.S. Department of Education, 2001) Thus, more students with mild disabilities, and particularly students with learning disabilities, are facing the accountability for mastery of the general education curriculum at a level commensurate with their peers who have no disabilities. As the stakes for student success and the numbers of students with disabilities increases, so does the importance of research in the area of
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effective teaching strategies for students with learning disabilities. Strategies that incorporate spatial strategies for the organization and retrieval of information on standards-based material are one of the ways that students with disabilities may be supported in the goal of meeting raised expectations. By improving teaching strategies, we may be able to prevent the need for special education services for students with learning disabilities while improving outcomes for those students who continue to require services. Therefore, the purpose of this review is to update a review of the literature published by Brigham in 1992. The former review examined the literature up to the year 1992. This review will only examine the literature published between 1992 and 2003 in order to add to the knowledge base presented in the former review. With the progression of education reform toward a standardsbased accountability movement, it was anticipated that more publications addressing effective instruction methods that utilized the spatial ability in students with learning disabilities possessing verbal deficits would be found.
METHOD Criteria for Selection Several criteria were used for this study to determine the relevance of the literature for the purpose of the review. First, all articles were required to be published in peer-reviewed journals. Next, all articles were required to be primary sources. Reviews of the literature found throughout the search procedures were used as supporting information, as well as the basis for this review. Only quantitative studies were included in this review; opinion papers and qualitative studies were not incorporated into the results. The participants in each study had to be identified as having a learning disability. Studies that included regular education students as a control or comparative group were included as long as the treatment group included students with learning disabilities. The students with learning disabilities were required to possess verbal deficits. Those studies that examined students with non-verbal learning disabilities were excluded from this review. All studies were required to be in English and conducted in the United States. Search Results An electronic search of the same two databases in the Brigham (1992) review, ERIC and PsychINFO, was conducted. In order to replicate portions
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of that review, the exact search terms were used in various combinations in each database. The terms included the following: ‘‘learning disabilities,’’ ‘‘spatial,’’ ‘‘map,’’ ‘‘illustrations,’’ and ‘‘pictures.’’ Each term was limited to articles with a publication date between 1992 and 2003. Both databases were searched using all possible combinations of these terms. ERIC returned 35 matching results and PsychINFO returned 308 matching results. First, the search results were combined from both databases to eliminate any duplicate matching results. Next, the abstracts of each article were read, applying the aforementioned criteria. Many articles were eliminated from this review due to their focus on students with non-verbal learning disabilities. Using learning disabilities as a search criteria may have caused this review to be more limited than had that criteria been removed; however, the criteria remained in place in an attempt to replicate the spatial instruction portion of the original review as closely as possible. After applying the criteria for selection of articles for this review, eight studies were chosen for use in this review. All of the publications in this review were data-based studies published in various journals throughout the field of special education and psychology. The publications included in the present review were drawn from the following sources: Journal of Learning Disabilities, Exceptional Children, Learning Disabilities Quarterly, Remediation and Special Education, Education and Treatment of Children, Learning Disabilities Research & Practice, and The Journal of Special Education. Brigham (1992) identified three themes in the literature regarding the use of spatial displays with students with learning disabilities. These themes included imagery, maps, and graphic organizers. The search results for this review produced similar themes in the literature. Articles addressed imagery, maps, graphic organizers and spatial abilities in the area of mathematics. Two articles examined the spatial abilities involved in the area of mathematics (Grobecker & De Lisi, 2000; Grobecker & Lawrence, 2000), but were not included in this review. These studies briefly mentioned spatial strategies for instruction, but the primary focus of the research was to attempt to explain the relationship of spatial ability in the area of mathematics to the difficulties faced by students with learning disabilities.
Imagery Imagery includes the use of illustrations in instruction and/or recalling of factual information and is considered a spatial task (Brigham, 1992). Researchers investigated strategies for students with learning disabilities to
Instructional Support Employing Spatial Abilities
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recall factual information. Pupil-made pictorials and mnemonic instruction were the predominant methods investigated in the area of imagery over the past ten years. Both strategies produced positive results for students with learning disabilities.
Pictures Rivera, Koorland, and Fueyo (2002) conducted a study focusing on the use of pupil-made illustrations as a way to increase the number of sight words learned. The researchers used repeated measures in a single subject, multiple-probe design across behaviors. Only one subject, a 9-year-old African American male was the participant in this study. In this study, the researchers presented the student with flash cards containing particular sight words. After the baseline was established, treatment was implemented. The use of flash cards was continued throughout the treatment phase. No data were given to address the reliability of the measures. During this portion of the study, the researchers presented the student with a word and provided a brief explanation of the meaning of the sight word. The student then created an illustration of the meaning of the word from their perspective. Descriptive statistics were used to analyze the results obtained from the flash cards. The results of the intervention increased the correct number of responses from 29% to 95%.
Mnemonics Four studies were found in the database search that examined the use of mnemonic instruction for students with learning disabilities. Scruggs and Mastropieri (1992) conducted a study to explore the effectiveness of classroom mnemonics for students with learning disabilities in the area of science. In this study, 20 students with mild disabilities, 19 with learning disabilities, and 1 with mild mental retardation, were participants. Of the 19, 13 students were sixth graders, 3 were seventh graders, and 4 were eighth graders. The demographics of the participants included 13 boys and 7 girls, 1 African American student, and 19 Caucasian students. A crossover design was chosen for this study, with instruction covering the topics of invertebrates and vertebrates. One condition was the traditional method of instruction and the other was mnemonic instruction. To measure the results, students were given either a 23- or 27-item test. Descriptive statistics were
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WILLIAM E. GUSTASHAW III AND FREDERICK J. BRIGHAM
used to determine and compare the proportion of correct answers between the assessments. Results from this study indicated that performance for all students was higher during the mnemonic instruction than during traditional instruction. The researchers conducted a 2 2 analysis of variance with repeated measures on the instructional unit condition. Mastropieri, Scruggs, Bakken, and Brigham (1992) conducted another study of mnemonics, but this time examined the use of keyword mnemonics in the forward and backward recall of states and their capitals for students with learning disabilities. The authors implemented a crossover design with two classrooms of total 29 students with learning disabilities. In this design, students received alternating instruction in both a mnemonic and traditional condition over a 5-week period. During the mnemonic condition, 40 illustrations of states, their capital, and keywords for each were presented on overhead transparencies. Instructors were provided with scripted lessons and worksheets to practice the states, capitals, and keywords. For the traditional condition, instructors were also provided with transparencies of the state and capital information, however, the only illustration on these included a picture of the state and a star to represent the capital in the actual location. The names of states and capitals were also listed on the overhead transparencies. Instructors received scripted lessons and worksheets that required students to recall the names of states and their capitals. The study lasted a period of 5 weeks. Classroom A received mnemonic instruction during weeks 1, 3, and 5, and traditional instruction during weeks 2 and 4. Classroom B received traditional instruction during weeks 1, 3, and 5, and mnemonic instruction during weeks 2 and 4. Each session lasted approximately 50 min per day and introduced an average of two new states and capitals per session. At the end of each week, students received a cumulative assessment. The authors used the percentage correct to compare the number of items correct from mnemonic instruction to traditional instruction. Students recalled 72.9% (SD ¼ 22%) of capitals and 79.6% (SD ¼ 22%) of states from the mnemonic instruction. Students recalled 43.4% (SD ¼ 27%) of capitals and 50.7% (SD ¼ 28%) states from traditional instruction condition. The results of this study illustrate the effectiveness of using keyword mnemonics to improve both forward and backward recall of information, specifically the states and their capitals. A third study conducted by Mastropieri, Scruggs, and Whedon (1997) also examined the effects of mnemonic instruction on students with learning disabilities in the area of social studies. This study implemented mnemonic strategies in the actual classroom for instruction of the American presidents.
Instructional Support Employing Spatial Abilities
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Participants in this study included 19 middle school students, but only 11 students were available for the post-test and, therefore, included in the results. The demographics of the final 11 participants included six males, five females, five African-American students, two Hispanic students and two white students. The control group received traditional instruction using an overhead picture of the actual president along with the ordinal number of the president. The experimental group received mnemonic instruction. Students in this group were presented with an overhead that contained an illustration of the keyword–pegword of the factual information to be retained. Students in both groups received an oral test at the end of each week of instruction. Descriptive statistics were used to determine the percentage of correct responses. Students receiving traditional instruction averaged 32% correct of the weekly tests while students receiving mnemonic instruction scored an average of 68.8% correct. A final post-test was administered to both groups 2 weeks after the final day of instruction. Of the original 19 participants, only 11 were available to participate in the post-test. The mnemonic condition scored an average of 70.4% correct while the control condition scored an average of 60.3% correct. Results from both assessments demonstrated the effectiveness of the use of mnemonic instruction for students with learning disabilities in the classroom. Manalo, Bunnell, and Stillman (2000) performed a two-phase study to determine the effectiveness of process mnemonics on mathematical performance for students between the ages of 13 and 14. During the first phase, 29 students were randomly assigned to one of the four following conditions: process mnemonics, demonstration imitation, study skills, or no instruction for five instructional sessions performed by one of the authors. Math computation in the areas of addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division was assessed before treatment, after the fifth session, 1 week following the last session, and then 6 weeks later. The process mnemonic condition incorporated stories and characters in an attempt to increase memorization. The authors presented the characters as warriors in order to facilitate addition, subtraction, and multiplication and division computation. The demonstration imitation condition required the instructor to model the steps in solving the problem then ask the student to replicate the steps. The study skills condition and the no instruction condition were used as the control groups for phase one. Under the study skills condition, students received the same number of instructional sessions as the process mnemonic and demonstration imitation, but the focus of the instruction was on improving study skills such as improving reading and note taking. This was done as a placebo to help the authors control for the Hawthorne effect. Finally, in the
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WILLIAM E. GUSTASHAW III AND FREDERICK J. BRIGHAM
no instruction condition, students received no instruction, but were assessed in the same manner over the same material as the other students. Results of this phase of the experiment demonstrated that students in the process mnemonic condition produced significantly better results than in the demonstration imitation condition, the study skills condition and the no instruction condition. The process mnemonic condition and demonstration imitation condition produced similar results; however, the students in the process mnemonic condition outperformed the demonstration imitation condition over time. The authors reported results for all four conditions during four stages of the first phase for both addition and subtraction. Measurements were obtained for pre-instruction, immediately following instruction, one week after instruction and a follow-up measure. For the subtraction portion of phase one, the process mnemonics condition began pre-instruction with a mean of 2.78 (SD ¼ 1.39). Immediately following instruction, the process mnemonic group obtained a mean score of 8.89 (SD ¼ 2.09). One week following instruction, the process mnemonic group scored 9.33 (SD ¼ 0.71). Finally, results for the process mnemonic condition during follow-up reported a mean of 9.89 (SD ¼ 0.33). The demonstration imitation condition scored 2.43 (SD ¼ 0.98), 8.57 (SD ¼ 1.72), 9.00 (SD ¼ 1.41), and 7.57 (SD ¼ 2.76), respectively. The study skills condition scored 3.57 (SD ¼ 1.40), 2.71 (SD ¼ 0.76), 3.14, (SD ¼ 0.90), and 2.57 (SD ¼ 1.13), respectively. The no instruction condition scored 2.33 (SD ¼ 1.37), 2.67 (SD ¼ 0.82), 3.17 (SD ¼ 1.33), and 3.00 (SD ¼ 1.67), respectively. For the addition portion of phase one, the process mnemonics condition began pre-instruction with a mean of 1.56 (SD ¼ 0.88). Immediately following instruction, the process mnemonic group obtained a mean score of 6.78 (SD ¼ 3.23). One week following instruction, the process mnemonic group scored 6.56 (SD ¼ 3.54). Finally, results for the process mnemonic condition during follow-up reported a mean of 8.44 (SD ¼ 2.40). The demonstration imitation condition scored 1.00 (SD ¼ 0.82), 6.43 (SD ¼ 1.99), 5.43 (SD ¼ 2.64), and 5.29 (SD ¼ 3.15), respectively. The study skills condition scored 2.14 (SD ¼ 0.69), 1.57 (SD ¼ 0.53), 2.71 (SD ¼ 2.06), and 1.57 (SD ¼ 0.53), respectively. The no instruction condition scored 2.00 (SD ¼ 0.89), 2.17 (SD ¼ 1.33), 2.83 (SD ¼ 1.94), and 1.67 (SD ¼ 1.51), respectively. The second phase of this study attempted to replicate the effects of the first phase, except it used actual teachers as the providers of instruction. Twenty-eight students were randomly assigned to one of the three groups: process mnemonics, demonstration imitation, or no instruction. The
Instructional Support Employing Spatial Abilities
55
assessments for this phase were the same as in the first phase of the study. The results were very similar to phase one of the study. Students in the process mnemonic group outperformed the no instruction group, but outperformed both groups in the follow-up assessments. The authors reported results for all four conditions during four stages of the first phase for both multiplication and division. As in the first phase, measurements were obtained for pre-instruction, immediately following instruction, one week after instruction and a follow-up measure. For the multiplication portion of phase two, the process mnemonics condition began pre-instruction with a mean of 3.14 (SD ¼ 0.90). Immediately following instruction, the process mnemonic group obtained a mean score of 9.00 (SD ¼ 2.65). One week following instruction, the process mnemonic group scored 8.86 (SD ¼ 2.19). Finally, results for the process mnemonic condition during follow-up reported a mean of 9.00 (SD ¼ 2.24). The demonstration imitation condition scored 2.88 (SD ¼ 1.36), 7.63 (SD ¼ 2.13), 6.50 (SD ¼ 2.56), and 5.75 (SD ¼ 2.71), respectively. The study skills condition scored 3.17 (SD ¼ 1.17), 3.67 (SD ¼ 2.73), 4.00 (SD ¼ 2.53), and 4.50 (SD ¼ 1.64), respectively. The no instruction condition scored 3.63 (SD ¼ 0.92), 3.25 (SD ¼ 0.89), 3.88 (SD ¼ 2.17), and 3.00 (SD ¼ 1.07), respectively. For the division portion of phase one, the process mnemonics condition began pre-instruction with a mean of 4.86 (SD ¼ 0.69). Immediately following instruction, the process mnemonic group obtained a mean score of 9.00 (SD ¼ 1.91). One week following instruction, the process mnemonic group scored 8.57 (SD ¼ 1.99). Finally, results for the process mnemonic condition during follow-up reported a mean of 9.14 (SD ¼ 1.86). The demonstration imitation condition scored 2.50 (SD ¼ 2.00), 4.75 (SD ¼ 2.92), 5.88 (SD ¼ 2.42), and 3.63 (SD ¼ 1.69), respectively. The study skills condition scored 2.83 (SD ¼ 1.72), 3.00 (SD ¼ 2.45), 2.50 (SD ¼ 1.64), and 2.50 (SD ¼ 1.87), respectively. The no instruction condition scored 1.88 (SD ¼ 1.25), 1.25 (SD ¼ 1.91), 2.00 (SD ¼ 1.93), and 1.88 (SD ¼ 1.64), respectively. Irish (2002) conducted a study using a multiple-baseline design across three pairs of subjects to demonstrate the effectiveness of a computergenerated mnemonics program developed by the authors combined with teacher review sessions. Six students identified as having either a learning disability or cognitive deficit were chosen for this study. Each student participating in this study performed at least two standard deviations below the mean on a standardized mathematics achievement test and was identified by their teachers as having difficulties with multiplication facts in the
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classroom. The students consisted of three female and three male, five Caucasian, and one African-American student. Their ages ranged from 9 years, 9 months to 11 years, 5 months. All students initially began the baseline phase together. During this time, students received typical instruction and participated in an assessment two to three times per week. The author did not specify which instructional methods were used during the baseline phase. After the first 4 weeks of baseline, the authors examined the data and identified two students who had demonstrated a horizontal trend during that time. These students were paired as the first group to enter the intervention phase. The intervention phase consisted of a computer program that was created by the author to assist students develop peg- and keyword mnemonics for multiplication facts. The computer program contained several activities that helped the student to construct a peg- or keyword mnemonic from a computer-generated list of pictures and peg- and keywords. After the series of activities were complete, students were asked to complete a practice quiz along with an actual quiz. The computer taught one mnemonic at a time, and each daily session lasted 20 min per day. The classroom review session occurred between one and two times per week and lasted between 5 and 10 min. During this time, the instructor reviewed the mnemonics taught by the computer program and corrected any errors. Data were collected during this phase using daily computer quizzes as well as traditional paper and pencil quizzes. The first two students demonstrated a treatment effects after two weeks of intervention. Two more students were chosen at random from the remaining four to begin the intervention phase. These two students also demonstrated a treatment effect after 4 weeks of intervention, at which point, the final two students began the intervention phase. The final group was assigned to the intervention phase and participated for 3 weeks. At the end of this 3-week period, all students went on spring break for 1 week. Upon their return, all students began a maintenance phase, which was essentially a return to baseline. During the maintenance phase, students received the same typical classroom instruction and assessments that occurred during the baseline phase for 2 weeks. One week following the conclusion of the maintenance phase, the students entered a follow-up phase in which no instruction or review occurred, only one final computer assessment. The authors graphically display results for each student for each group of students for each condition and for both forms of assessments. The results indicated that five of the six students improved in accuracy and four of the five students met a score that indicated mastery of the material. During
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baseline, the mean percentage of correct responses for the group ranged from 11% to 55% correct while on the pencil/paper assessment the means ranged from 3% to 63%. During intervention, the mean percentage of correct responses for the group ranged from 29% to 77% correct while on the pencil/paper assessment the means ranged from 3% to 63%. During maintenance, the mean percentage of correct responses for the group ranged from 18% to 87% correct while on the pencil/paper assessment the means ranged from 50% to 91%. Finally, on the follow-up assessment, means ranged from 25% to 100%. The author claims that the results from this study demonstrate the effectiveness of the computer-generated peg- and keyword mnemonics when used as an extra tool to improve the recall of multiplication facts for students with learning and cognitive disabilities.
Maps Two studies addressed a variety of forms of maps for use in the instruction of students with learning disabilities. Between these two studies, three types of maps emerged. Traditional maps are those typically found in textbooks that organize factual information based upon location in a particular area. Mnemonic maps utilize the format of the traditional maps, but incorporate components of mnemonic instruction that present factual information in the form of text along with keyword–pegword illustrations. Finally, elaborative maps incorporate the same components of the mnemonic maps, but the illustrations depict the keyword along with information associated with the keyword. Scruggs, Mastropieri, Brigham, and Sullivan (1992) examined the difference between the presentation of spatial and verbal information through the use of traditional maps and mnemonic maps. Participants in this study consisted of 39 middle school students with learning disabilities. The demographics of the participants included the following: 10 girls, 29 boys, 19 African American students, 20 white students, 21 seventh graders, and 18 eighth graders. All students in this study received social studies instruction in a special education classroom. The experimental group for this study received a map of the eastern United States and Canada. The map contained the location of 14 battles from the American Revolution. Each location was marked with a mnemonic illustration of the keyword as well as the name of the battle and the keyword in parenthesis. The picture was colored red if the British were the victors and blue if the winner of the battle were the colonists. The control condition
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participants received a map with the same 14 locations; however, only the features of the name of the battle and the color identification of the victor remained from the mnemonic map. The illustrations provided at each location were descriptive and there was no reference to a keyword mnemonic. A test map was developed by the researchers to assess the amount of recalled information from each participant. The test map was identical for both conditions. No information was provided regarding the validity and reliability of the assessment. Descriptive statistics and a t-test were used to examine the results. The results indicated that the students receiving instruction utilizing the mnemonic map recalled more accurate information about the location and the victor of the battles. The researchers concluded that mnemonics can be used to enhance the amount of recall of unfamiliar information on maps. Brigham, Scruggs, and Mastropieri (1995) extended the research of map studies by comparing traditional maps, mnemonic maps, and elaborative maps. Seventy-two students participated in this study and included 54 males and 18 females. In this study, three conditions were present, the control condition, the mnemonic map condition, and the elaborative map condition. Students were randomly assigned to one of the three conditions. The control condition and the mnemonic map condition were similar to those found in the 1992 study. Maps in the elaborative condition were similar to those found in the mnemonic condition, but had the addition of more elaborate pictures that depicted associative information. Test maps were used to assess the recall of the information. The researchers did not mention the reliability or validity of these measures. The results were analyzed using a 3 2 analysis of variance with repeated measures on the recall task. Students utilizing the mnemonic maps recalled more feature locations than those students in the control group, but did not produce increases in the amount of associative information recalled. Students in the elaborative map condition recalled significantly more feature locations than the control group and significantly more associative information than students in the mnemonic or control groups.
Graphic Organizers Graphic organizers allow students to organize information and demonstrate relationships between information spatially. Common graphic organizers include charts, graphs, networks (Brigham, 1992), and webs. A search of the two electronic databases revealed four studies since 1992 that examine the
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use of graphic organizers for students with learning disabilities. The studies in this review apply the use of graphic organizers to the area of reading and writing. Gardill and Jitendra (1999) conducted a multiple-baseline study to examine the effects of an advanced story map procedure on the reading comprehension of middle school students. Six of the sixth and eighth grade students participated in this study. All students in this study were Caucasian, and the group consisted of five boys and one girl diagnosed as having a learning disability. Three measures were utilized in this study. First, a story grammar assessment provided ten questions that were directly related to the story grammar of the passage. The basal comprehension tests were reading comprehension questions taken from the reading passage. A final measure for this study was story retells. During the story retells, students were asked to retell the story they had just read. The test measured the number of words the student used, correct word sequences, thought units and sentences per retell. No information regarding the reliability or validity of these measures was presented. Descriptive statistics were used to analyze the results. During baseline, students were presented with a passage from a basal reading program and given instruction to address the vocabulary and background of the story. Students read the story aloud. At the conclusion of the story, students were given the story grammar and basal assessments. The results were not given to the students. Once a stable baseline was established, the intervention of the use of a story map was implemented. Students received direct and explicit instruct as to the use proper use of the maps. The results indicated that the students participating in this study improved their reading comprehension scores. All students scored above the passing levels on the assessments. The results from this study may not be able to be generalized to the population of students with learning disabilities, as the authors infer, due to the fact that the sample was a limited size and the instruction was provided in pairs as opposed to a whole group as in normal classroom settings. DiCecco and Gleason (2002) examined the effects of the use of graphic organizers on the recall of factual and relational information of students with learning disabilities. This study originally consisted of 26 middle school students with learning disabilities; however, two students were removed from the study due to absences. Students were divided equally into the control group and no graphic organizers or the treatment group and graphic organizers. Twelve students were randomly assigned to the treatment group, eight sixth graders, three seventh graders, and one eighth grader. All
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students were Caucasian and the group included ten boys and two girls. The remaining 12 were assigned to the control group and consisted of five sixth graders, five seventh graders, and two eighth graders. Two participants in this group were girls and the remaining were boys. Participants in the control group included 1 African American and 11 Caucasians. All students were given a multiple assessment and writing sample to determine group comparability. Neither group exhibited significant differences in either of the pre-treatment assessments. Both groups received instruction from the same two chapters of a middle school social studies textbook. Each chapter in both groups was divided into a unit of thought that revolved around a particular theme found in the chapter. Individual lessons were developed for each unit of thought that addressed factual information, concepts and relational information. Instructors for each group utilized a pre-determined script to maintain consistency throughout the study. Scripts for both conditions were identical except that the scripts for the graphic organizer, or treatment condition, included scripted portions to deal with the graphic organizer. Due to the poor performance on the pre-test writing sample, all summary writing instruction was provided to all students in both conditions. Teachers in the treatment condition used graphic organizers as a postreading activity. Direct instruction scripts were used to convey relational information to the students in addition to graphic organizers displayed from an overhead projector. Throughout the instruction, teachers identified the cells on the overhead for the corresponding relational information. Teachers then prompted students to fill in the spaces on their own paper copies of the graphic organizers. In the control condition, teachers delivered the same relational information to students in the same manner with the exception that there were no graphic organizers for the teachers to use as visual aids. Throughout the study, both conditions were given assessments. A multiple-choice assessment was given at the beginning and the end of the study to measure factual information. Eight quizzes were delivered to students in both conditions throughout the study. Each quiz was given to students the day following the relevant instruction and consisted of five multiple-choice questions. Finally, two essay prompts were given to students in both conditions. The first writing prompt was given after seven days of instruction and after 20 days of instruction in both conditions. During the writing prompts, students were given a 5-min review session for writing summaries and had 20 min to respond to the prompt. The authors examined the number of words used from each student for each prompt as well as the number of relational knowledge statements found in the responses.
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Results of this study were mixed. On the pre- and post-tests of factual information, students in the control group improved their scores from a mean of 4.25 (22%) to a mean of 12.58 (63%). On the same assessments, students in the treatment condition improved their scores from a mean of 6.08 (30%) to a mean of 13.42 (67%). A two-way ANOVA was conducted on the results from the eight quizzes. Results from that analysis demonstrated that there was no interaction and no main effect. The authors reported means and standard deviations for each individual quiz for each group. On the writing assessments, students in the graphic organizer condition clearly outperformed those in the no graphic organizer condition. The control group made a mean of 2.54 relational statements (SD ¼ 1.56) on both writing samples while the treatment group created a mean of 4.33 relational statements (SD ¼ 2.08) on the samples. The results indicate that the use of graphic organizers may have little impact on the recall of factual information for students with learning disabilities. However, graphic organizers do have a positive effect on the number of relational statements found in writing samples of students over time. The authors also state that the longer the treatment, the more potential for greater positive effects exists. Vallecorsa and deBettencourt (1997) incorporated the use of maps in a study to examine the effects of a story form instruction on reading comprehension and story-writing performance. The authors used a story map as a tool for teaching students with learning disabilities the appropriate structures of text written in story form. Three 13-year-old male students with learning disabilities participated in this study. The authors had four criteria for participation. First the students had to be similar in age and intellectual ability. Next, their teachers had to have identified the students as having difficulties in the areas of reading and writing. None of the students could have received instruction on story form in their past educational experiences. These students had to attend a private after-school remedial center. Finally, the students needed parental consent. A rating scale that identified eight important story elements served as the measure for this study. The eight elements were as follows: main characters, locale, time, starter event, goals, actions, ending, and characters’ reaction. Students were awarded one point for including each of these components in their retelling of the story and another point if their information was considered to be highly developed. The authors did not mention the reliability or validity of the chosen measures. Inter-rater reliability ranged from 90% to 93%. The authors implemented an ABC design with multiple baselines across reading and writing behaviors. During baseline, students individually met
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with the teacher. At this time, the student received a reading passage and was asked to read the passage. When the student completed the task, the student was asked to retell the story. The data were collected during the retelling of the story. The intervention phase was similar to the baseline, but incorporated direct and explicit instruction to teach the eight story components. After the instruction period, students were given the opportunity to participate in guided practice. Eventually, the guided practice was removed and students were expected to use the story map independently. The second intervention phase involved writing instruction. Students were given explicit direction for writing and eventually were permitted to use the story map as a guide for their writing. Results indicated improvement for each student as they progressed through the intervention phases. While the study demonstrated positive effects for the use of maps as a tool to teach reading and writing skills, the results should be viewed with caution. First, the study only examined three students. Each of these students received one-on-one instruction and intervention. This situation is very unlikely in a public school setting, where the number of students involved in direct instruction is much higher. Finally, there were no follow-up assessments to measure the effects of the intervention over time. Sturm and Rankin-Erickson (2002) conducted a study to examine the effects of hand-drawn concept maps and computer-generated concept maps on the descriptive writing essays of middle school students with learning disabilities. The authors used repeated measures within-subject design for this study. There were three conditions in the study: (1) writing with no concept mapping, (2) writing with hand-drawn concept mapping, and (3) writing with the use of computer-generated mapping. The authors implemented these conditions in an eighth grade classroom for students identified as requiring reading support. The class was comprised of 12 non-special education students, 12 students with learning disabilities, and 3 students with mild mental handicaps. While all students participated in all conditions, only data from the 12 students with learning disabilities were recorded for this study. During baseline, students were given writing prompts and asked to develop two descriptive essays based upon those prompts. The first intervention phase, hand-drawn concept maps, occurred during the first week of instruction and involved an overview of the following: strategy description, discussion of goals and purposes, modeling of mapping strategy and guided practice, and feedback. During guided practice, students generated handdrawn concept maps in small groups and were allowed the use of a word
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processor to draft their essays. The second intervention phase, computergenerated concept maps, occurred during the second week of instruction. During this phase, students were taught how to use the computer-generated TM software, Inspiration , to develop concept maps. Students wrote two descriptive essays during each phase of the study, for a total of six essays per student. The essays were analyzed using four measures. First, researchers calculated the number of words per essay. This was done by simply counting the number of words in the finished product. Next, the authors measured syntactic maturity. Another measure of language quantity was the number of t-units found in the essays. Finally, a holistic analytic scale was used to measure the quality of writing of each essay. The authors used a one-way analysis of variance to analyze the data in each of these categories. The results did not clearly indicate that the use of concept maps had a positive effect on the descriptive writing of middle school students.
SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS We conducted a search of the published studies conducted using spatial instructional techniques since Brigham’s (1992) review concluded that the use of spatial strategies that address the organization and retrieval of information produces powerful results. The literature we located continues to support those contentions. Also, the literature continues to identify three predominate areas of spatial instruction for students with learning disabilities: pictures and illustrations, maps, and graphic organizers. In general, the studies reviewed here suggest that learning strategies that rely on spatial components possess substantial promise for instruction of students with learning disabilities and other low-performing students. However, the database is yet not well-developed and concrete suggestions for implementation and use of these strategies in practice remain elusive. The incorporation of spatial strategies (maps) with mnemonic instruction appears to produce strong effects by utilizing the students’ spatial abilities to assist in the retrieval of factual and associative information. The quality of the research in these studies surpasses those in the area of reading in regard to the generalizability of the results. The fact that these strategies are producing solid results should be incentive to conduct more studies that address the spatial abilities in students with learning disabilities. Current work in multimedia learning may help to explain, at least in part, the beneficial effects of spatial instructional techniques. Similar to Paivio
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(1986), Mayer and Moreno (2003) suggested that most learning tasks involve an auditory/verbal channel and a visual/pictorial channel. Further, each channel is subject to the limitations of the individual’s attentional and working memory characteristics and finally, that meaningful learning most often requires a substantial amount of cognitive processing in both the verbal and visual channels. Multiple channel presentations can, in some circumstances, compliment each other by serving disambiguating and explanatory effects as in the studies described earlier where illustrations led to greater comprehension of prose. However, when either channel exerts a disproportionately strong drain on the learner’s cognitive resources, not only do they no longer compliment each other, but they interfere with each other. Poorly drawn diagrams or poorly written instructions have probably been a source of frustration for most readers who have ever assembled a large toy or installed electronic appliances. Providing multiple channels of poor information appears to be more detrimental to many learners than a single channel presentation. Worse yet, is the case in which the information in one channel is irrelevant to the information in the other channel. Under such circumstances, multi-modal presentations can substantially decrease student performance. The researchers cited in the present review appear to have made great efforts to match the spatial elements of instruction to compliment the verbal elements. Nevertheless, the literature continues to lack a sufficient number of studies to clearly illuminate the use of spatial learning strategies in order to produce better outcomes for students with learning disabilities. In most cases, spatial strategies support the outcomes to which they are directed. In a small group of studies, mostly associated with reading, however, the profitability of employing spatial strategies was less robust. Additional studies employing spatial tasks in support of the verbal outcomes that are required in the majority of school learning tasks are needed in order to fully understand how and when to use spatial strategies in instruction of students with disabilities.
INCLUSION AND SPATIAL LEARNING STRATEGIES The present review focuses on the effect of spatial learning strategies on the performance of students with learning disabilities. The modest to strong outcomes associated with illustrations and maps in particular suggest that these devices should become a common element in general education classrooms serving groups of students with and without disabilities. Much of the
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research conducted on achievement in such settings aggregates the class membership into a single unit to allow for pre–post-test comparison or comparisons to similar students receiving different treatments. There is reason to doubt the applicability of such interventions across heterogeneous groups of students. For example, Hockenbury (1999) compared the use of keyword mnemonics and direct instruction techniques for learning concepts from world history. She found an interaction between the techniques and student characteristics. Students with disabilities failed to benefit from keyword mnemonics to the extent of their peers without disabilities, conversely, students without disabilities performed more poorly under direct instruction conditions than did the students with disabilities. There are a number of potential explanations for the effects found by Hockenbury. One is that within the structure of the general education classroom, students with disabilities failed to receive mnemonic instruction of sufficient intensity or duration to promote the salutary effect previously associated with mnemonic instruction. Students without disabilities may have been able to move through the content of the class at a pace much faster than the direct instruction routine allowed. In short, when the conditions (time, activities, etc.) of instruction are held constant, students with severe deficits do not appear prosper to the same extent from the interventions that improve the performance of their non-disabled classmates and vice versa. These conclusions are consistent with the observations of McDaniel and colleagues (McDaniel, Blischak, & Einstein, 1995; McDaniel & Einstein, 1989; McDaniel, Einstein, & Waddill, 1990) regarding the differential effects of ‘‘material-appropriate processing’’ on students with and without learning disabilities. Briefly, McDaniel’s results demonstrate that prose learning tasks are facilitated by different strategies for students with and without learning disabilities. The current emphasis on inclusive service delivery models may preclude the delivery of different forms of instruction to different groups of students served within the same classroom and on the same schedule. Where whole class instructional models dominate, it is necessary to pay particular attention to the strategic training needs of the least able learners. Instruction in which the strategic component is embedded such as provision of spatial tools to organize and represent content, appears to be a particularly useful way to support learners in general education classrooms. Rather than requiring the students to identify the important elements in the instructional material and organize them in a meaningful way, the teacher can simply provide students with completed models or use them in whole class instruction. Such techniques have been demonstrated to
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substantially reduce the cognitive load imposed on students in complex learning situations.
Cognitive Load Theory One area that may help to explain why and how the strategies discussed in the present review yield positive results is ‘‘Cognitive Load Theory’’ (CLT) (Sweller, 1988). CLT states that, while humans have very large amounts of long-term storage for memory, they have a very limited amount of working memory. The cognitive load imposed by a given task is based on the amount of effort required for the particular learner to complete the task. The number of tasks or steps that must be carried out as well as the difficulty of the tasks creates cognitive load. Simple tasks or automatic tasks require comparatively little effort and so carry little cognitive load. Watching a film in a language one does not understand but with subtitles is an example of an increased cognitive load over watching the same film in one’s own language. Now imagine watching a subtitled film with poor reading skills. The cognitive load increases dramatically. The number of tasks and their difficulty in any learning activity is partly determined by the expertise of the individual in question. When students lack adequate background knowledge or effective retrieval strategies, they must engage work to supply the needed information or proceed in the absence of good background knowledge. Individuals with a large amount of prior knowledge that is clearly organized and easily retrievable are at a considerable advantage to those who must laboriously search for each unit of necessary background information or construct it in the immediate situation. Similarly, many individuals appear to approach new learning tasks with schemata that are well learned and automatized. Less adept learners, however, must concentrate effort upon recalling, executing, and controlling the steps of the schema. Learners with better organized memory stores and automatized schemata will be able to reallocate working memory from the search and control tasks that are the focus of less adept learners and, therefore, perform at a substantially higher level in the same amount of time than less able learners. Many co-teaching arrangements involve whole class instruction (Weiss & Brigham, 2000). Students with learning disabilities and other mild disabilities are characterized by deficits in both general information and the tool skills of learning (e.g., reading to learn, expressing thoughts clearly in writing). According to CLT, when such students are faced with large group
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instruction delivered to a heterogeneous population, they are likely to experience as substantially greater cognitive load for the same learning outcome than do students who are better prepared to profit from the same instruction. They must engage in effortful processing to recall background knowledge or understand procedural information that is not required of more adept learners, because they have automatized many of the processes that students with disabilities have failed to master. Embedding instructional strategies in their ongoing lessons is one way to support less able learners. Little research to date has examined the differential effects of providing instructional strategy information within content lessons found by Hockenbury (1999) and demonstrated in the material-appropriate processing studies carried out by McDaniel and colleagues.
The Expertise Reversal Effect and Responsiveness to Instruction The foregoing discussion is focused upon supporting students in special instructional environments or by providing specialized instruction in general education settings. The evidence reviewed here suggests that strategic information can be embedded in instruction with salutary effects on learners with disabilities. In this section, we briefly describe evidence emerging from cognitive psychology which demonstrates that under some circumstances, delivering the strategies needed by less able learners along with the instructional materials can depress the performance of more able learners. The phenomenon has been described as the ‘‘Expertise Reversal Effect’’ (Kalyuga, Ayres, Chandler, & Sweller, 2003). Kalyuga and colleagues suggest that because experts bring automatized schemata to a learning situation, they may not need the additional support provided to other learners. When provided with strategic information in addition to the content of the lesson, these expert learners can be placed under excessive cognitive load. In this case, the extra load is a result of the learners trying to attend to the strategic information that is either redundant to or in conflict with the student’s existing schema for the learning task. The excess drain on working memory is suggested to be the cause for the observed decrement in performance of these typically successful students. Kalyuga et al. (2003) described a variety of situations that evoke the Expertise Reversal Effect. Most of their examples were drawn from multimedia learning with typical learners who had no reported disabilities. To date, we are unable to locate systematic evaluations of the Expertise Reversal Effects on high-performing students instructed in classrooms where
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instruction that is supportive of students with disabilities is delivered. It may be that the level of expertise of the top performing students in elementary and secondary schools is not yet substantial enough to be vulnerable to the Expertise Reversal Effect. It could also be that teachers are unlikely to supply supportive strategies for low-performing students that would be sufficiently intrusive to yield an Expertise Reversal Effect. Given the continued push for full inclusion coupled with test-linked standards of accountability (Brigham, Tochterman, & Brigham, 2001) the potential of optimal instructional strategies for students with disabilities and achievement deficits to have negative consequences for other learners is worth systematic investigation.
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Scruggs, T. E., Mastropieri, M. A., Brigham, F. J., & Sullivan, G. S. (1992). Effects of mnemonic reconstructions on the spatial learning of adolescents with learning disabilities. Learning Disabilities Quarterly, 15, 154–162. Shelton, A. L. (2003). Putting spatial memories into perspective: Brian and behavioral evidence. In: G. L. Allen (Ed.), Human spatial memory: Remembering where (pp. 309–327). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Sturm, J. M., & Rankin-Erickson, J. L. (2002). Effects of hand-drawn and computer-generated concept mapping on the expository writing of middle school students with learning disabilities. Learning Disabilities Research and Practice, 17, 124–139. Sweller, J. (1988). Cognitive load during problem solving: Effects on learning. Cognitive Science, 12, 257–285. U.S. Department of Education. (2001). The condition of education 2001 (NCES Number 2001072). Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office. Vallecorsa, A. L., & deBettencourt, L. U. (1997). Using a mapping procedure to teach reading and writing skills to middle grade students with learning disabilities. Education and Treatment of Children, 20, 173–188. Weiss, M., & Brigham, F. J. (2000). Co-teaching and the model of shared responsibility: What does the research support? In: T. E. Scruggs & M. A. Mastropieri (Eds), Advances in learning and behavioral disabilities (pp. 217–245). Greenwich, CT: JAI Press.
HIGH INCIDENCE DISABILITIES: PLACEMENT DETERMINANTS AND IMPLICATIONS FOR INSTRUCTION AND SERVICE DELIVERY Suzette Ahwee Leftwich and Marjorie Montague ABSTRACT The purpose of this chapter is to describe a study that identified the school variables that seem to have the greatest impact on placement of students in high incidence special education programs (i.e., special programs for students with emotional and/or behavioral disorders, specific learning disabilities, and educable mental handicaps). School records of 42 students who were identified when they were in primary school as at risk for learning, emotional, and behavioral disorders were examined retrospectively over three grades (i.e., grades 3 and 4, grades 5 and 6, and grades 7 and 8). Of these, 21 students had been placed in high incidence special education programs, and 21 had not been placed. Low achievement and academic performance and a high number of negative comments by their teachers were the two most salient variables associated with placement. Implications for prevention/intervention efforts and effective service delivery options are discussed. Cognition and Learning in Diverse Settings Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 18, 71–97 Copyright r 2005 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(05)18004-5
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According to the President’s Commission on Excellence in Special Education Report (U.S. Department of Education, 2002), IDEA establishes complex requirements that are difficult to effectively implement at the state and local level. Nowhere in IDEA is this more complex than in the eligibility determination process. Improving this process, coupled with research-based early intervention programs, may reduce the number of children who are identified as having a disability, particularly when early identification and intervention are in place and research-based interventions are provided before referral.
This report underscores the importance of determining the variables or factors that lead to referral and placement in special education and begs the question, why do students who are similarly at risk for learning, emotional, and/or behavioral disorders in primary school differ in educational outcomes, in this case, special education placement? In the study described in this chapter, some of the at risk students (28%) were placed in high incidence special education programs, whereas others, who had similar types and levels of behavior problems, were not. The phenomenon of different educational outcomes from similar beginnings was investigated. It is well acknowledged that variability within individuals, families, schools, and communities differentially affects referral and placement decisions for students. The specific sources of variability within these systems, however, are relatively unexplored. In other words, all things being equal, why are some children referred and placed in special education and others are not? Additionally, what are the educational implications resulting from these placements? Recommendations to alleviate this problem involve efficient and effective ways of identifying students with disabilities, early prevention and intervention efforts, and continuous monitoring of students’ progress in special education. This chapter first will review the nature of high incidence disabilities and the risk factors that have been associated with placement of students in these special education programs. Next, a study specifically of the school variables that seem to influence placement will be described. Finally, the implications of the findings for prevention and intervention efforts as well as service delivery options (e.g., inclusive classes) will be discussed.
THE NATURE OF HIGH INCIDENCE DISABILITIES Approximately 70% of special education students meet eligibility criteria for high incidence special education programs, which include learning disabilities (LD), emotional and behavioral disorders (EBD), and mild mental
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retardation (MMR; U.S. Department of Education, 2000). Placement in emotional and behavioral programs is especially noteworthy given the high degree of segregation from non-disabled peers that these students experience in their schools (Frey, 2002). Although many students meet eligibility criteria for emotional and behavioral disorders, EBD remains an under-identified category (Bullis & Walker, 1994; Forness, Kavale, & Lopez, 1993; Kauffman, 2001). Estimates indicate that services for students with EBD are provided for only 20% of students who really need them (Institute of Medicine [IOM], 1994; Offord, 1987). Discrepancies also exist between the number of students who are actually identified with learning disabilities and mental retardation by school districts and the number of students who should meet or fail to meet criteria specified by their state education agency (SEA; MacMillan, Gresham, Bocian, & Siperstein, 1997). For instance, Forness, Ramey, and Ramey (1998) found that 0.95% of the Head Start students in their sample were identified with EBD by the school system, as opposed to 0.32% that they predicted would be identified with EBD using their research diagnostic criteria. Additionally, 1.86%, 0.51%, and 6.30% of these Head Start children were placed into the LD, MR, and speech and language programs, respectively. Forness and his colleagues predicted smaller percentages of placement in all three programs. The prognosis for students meeting eligibility criteria for special education programs is not as promising as the prognosis for students not receiving special education services. In 1995, 14.6% of students who dropped out of school were previously identified with disabilities, whereas only 11.8% of non-disabled students dropped out of school (U.S. Department of Education, 1997). In other words, disability status can affect educational outcomes (Scanlon & Mellard, 2002). Systems-based theory provides an avenue for studying the school system (Zera, 2002). According to this theory, the school is considered a system comprised of an infinite number of interrelated subcomponents (Zera, 2002). Some examples of these interrelated subcomponents include the many interactions between teachers and students, between teachers and administrators, and between administrators and students. These interactions occur in contexts that can vary infinitesimally. One of the primary tenets of the systems perspective is that any change in any component of the system, regardless of minuteness, will ripple through the entire system, effecting change throughout (Zera, 2002). With the many possible outcomes/reactions to the infinitesimal interactions that can occur in the school system, it is not surprising that students in similar situations can have very different educational outcomes.
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Systems-based theories were originally used to guide research in the fields of physics, biology, and mathematics (Zera, 2002). However, the systems perspective is now driving aspects of special education research (Zera, 2001; Zera & Lucian, 2001). After all, facilitating the success of individual students (i.e., the child system) within the system of school and thus society is the ultimate goal of special education (Zera, 2002). Teachers or parents often refer children for special education services when they persistently exhibit learning and behavior difficulties to an extreme degree (Gerber & Semmel, 1984; Landrum, 2000; Lloyd, Kauffman, Landrum, & Roe, 1991). Once referred, however, school personnel seek ways to modify students’ current environments (i.e., general education classrooms) in efforts to accommodate their difficulties. If these accommodations are insufficient and their difficulties persist, students are evaluated for special education eligibility and services (O’Shaughnessy, Lane, Gresham, & BeebeFrankenberger, 2002).
Emotional and/or Behavioral Disorders Estimates of the true prevalence of EBD in students range between 0.5% and 6.0%, thus indicating wide variation in the interpretations of eligibility criteria (Landrum, 2000). Given the subjective interpretations of ambiguous criteria specified for what MacMillan and Reschly (1998) refer to as the ‘‘judgmental categories,’’ studying the referral and placement processes for the EBD category (Landrum, 2000) as well as the LD and MMR categories (MacMillan, 1998) is particularly important. For whichever program students with EBD qualify, their behaviors can be grouped into two distinct types. Peterson (1961) examined more than 400 children’s folders located at a child-guidance clinic for behaviors that could be considered as antisocial. An interrelationship existed among 58 items, which were subsequently reduced to two independent clusters: conduct problems and personality problems. Reports for students attending public schools referred to the two major clusters as aggression and withdrawal (as cited in Reynolds & Fletcher-Janzen, 2000), which are indicative of externalizing and internalizing behaviors, respectively. Students exhibiting externalizing behaviors are more likely to be referred for and placed into special education programs for EBD than students exhibiting internalizing behaviors (Forness & Knitzer, 1992; Grosenick, 1981; Kauffman, Cullinan, & Epstein, 1987; Noel, 1982). Research shows that students considered externalizers also
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show lower cognitive, academic, and social functioning than their internalizing counterparts (McConaughy, Achenbach, & Gent, 1988). Information about disciplinary referrals and school absences obtained through students’ school records differentiated between students exhibiting externalizing behaviors and students exhibiting internalizing behaviors, while negative narrative comments by teachers predicted group membership (i.e., internalizer or externalizer) (Gresham, Lane, Macmillan, & Bocian, 1999). Students exhibiting externalizing behaviors tended to have more disciplinary contacts than students exhibiting internalizing behaviors and non-disabled students (Gresham et al., 1999; Lambros, 1999). It is not surprising then, that students considered internalizers are under-referred while students considered externalizers are over-referred for special education assessment (Kauffman, 1993; Severson & Walker, 2002). However, students with internalizing behaviors are retained in grade level more than students with externalizing behaviors (Lambros, 1999).
Specific Learning Disabilities Researchers frequently study LD by examining phenomena associated with ‘‘specific’’ skills (e.g., reading, writing, or language) (Zera & Lucian, 2001). However, the disability reflects a heterogeneous group of disorders. It is well recognized that ‘‘complexity is the hallmark of LD’’ (Kavale & Forness, 1995, p. 262). Rather than simply studying skill deficits in students identified with LD, Zera and Lucian (2001) recommended that researchers focus their efforts on the whole child, at the macro level. Therefore, research undertaken to promote a deeper understanding of LD requires delving into the complex nature of the disability (Zera & Lucian, 2001). As Zera and Lucian (2001) explain, Analyzing LD from a macro level offers a wide range of variance whereby components are allowed to interact in a nonlinear, dynamic fashion. Advocates for the [systems] approach argue that individual differences cannot be assessed in a linear pattern, but are better viewed by examining an open systems model, which comprises continuous interactions between predictable and random conditions that take place over time.
Educable Mental Handicaps Educable mentally handicapped (EMH) is subsumed under the general category of mental handicap. Under this category are two more severe
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subcategories: trainable mentally handicapped and profoundly mentally handicapped. Students with EMH typically display generally low performance intellectually and academically as well as poor adaptive behavior; that is, relative to the general population, they perform at least two standard deviations below the mean on measures of intellectual ability, academic achievement, and adaptive behavior. MacMillan and Speece (1999) refer to these students as having ‘‘expected achievement.’’ In their discussion of diagnostic categories, they reiterate the notion that the EMH and LD categories are judgmental and ‘‘can only be understood in terms of contextual factors’’ (p. 112). Although the eligibility criteria for the disability categories described above vary considerably, students represented in these categories frequently display similar cognitive and behavioral characteristics (e.g., Chandler & Jones, 1983; Stainback & Stainback, 1984). Many students who exhibit learning and behavioral difficulties characteristic of MMR and EBD categories, respectively, have also been identified with LD (MacMillan, 1998). MacMillan (1998), therefore, urges that research in the field of special education not to treat these judgmental categories as independent variables. In other words, students identified with high incidence disabilities should be viewed as a single group of students.
RISK FACTORS Walker and Severson (2002) list characteristics/behaviors of students and their accompanying families, school factors, and community and cultural factors that increase the risk of students engaging in antisocial and criminal behaviors. Student factors include but are not limited to biological attributes (e.g., premature birth, prenatal brain injury, low intelligence, chronic illness), emotional and behavioral tendencies (e.g., insecure attachment, beliefs about aggression, hyperactivity/disruptive behavior, low self-esteem), and processing capabilities (e.g., poor problem solving, poor social skills). Family factors include parental characteristics (e.g., teenage mothers, single parents, antisocial models), family environment (e.g., family violence and disharmony, marital discord, father absence), and parenting style (e.g., poor supervision and monitoring of child, rejection of child, abuse, lack of warmth and affection). Factors in the school context include aspects related to the student’s school experiences such as school failure, deviant peer group, poor attachment to school, and inadequate behavior management.
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Community and cultural factors also play an important role in the presence and degree of risk. These factors include but are not limited to socioeconomic disadvantage, cultural norms, lack of support services, and social or cultural discrimination. There are numerous factors across all four domains that influence decisions specifically regarding special education referral and identification. Demographic (e.g., gender, ethnicity, socioeconomic status), behavioral (e.g., type of behavior problem), teacher, and cognitive factors are important considerations during this process (Glassberg, 1994; Kauffman et al., 1987; Podell & Soodak, 1993; Trent & Artiles, 1995; U.S. Department of Education, 1992, 1996, 1997). Lambros (1999) studied the academic performance, social skills, sociometric status, behavioral difficulties, self-concept, and school record information of 131 students grouped into five categories: (a) The Fledgling Psychopath Group, (b) The Conduct Problem Group, (c) The Hyperactive/Impulsive/Attention Group, (d) The Resilient Group, and (e) The Control Group. Examination of students’ school records revealed higher achievement scores in reading and math for a control group when compared with groups of students exhibiting externalizing-type behaviors (e.g., conduct problems, hyperactive/impulsive/attention) and internalizing behaviors (Lambros, 1999). Although school records indicated that over half of the students in one of the externalizing-type groups were also diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD), they did not mention whether students were on medication or, if they were, the type or dosage of medication. Lack of information about medication as well as the small sample size in two categories were noted as limitations of the study. Another important phenomenon influencing special education referral and identification includes socioeconomic status (SES). A correlation exists between school success and family income. For example, students from lowincome families are 2.4 and 10.5 times more likely to drop out of school than students from middle- and high-income families, respectively (U.S. Department of Education, 1994). The correlation between students with disabilities and low SES (U.S. Department of Education, 1993) compounds the problem. More minorities than whites have low SES and less economic opportunity (U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, 2001). Given that poverty exposes students to greater risk factors for developing disabilities (Chinn & Hughes, 1987), it is not surprising that students of minority ethnicity are over represented in special education programs (Landrum, 2000). For example, mental retardation and low SES are empirically linked (Artiles & Trent, 1994). However, the overrepresentation of minorities in special
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education programs varies from district to district. Oswald, Coutinho, Best, and Singh (1999) hypothesized that a disproportionate representation of African American students identified with EBD exists to a larger extent in wealthy environments and smaller percentages of African American students in less wealthy environments with larger percentages of African American students. This hypothesis is a community and cultural discrimination factor and illustrates the concept of cultural discontinuity (e.g., Boggs, 1985; Delpit, 1995; Ladson-Billings, 1994). Discrepancies among the cultures of minority children and that of their schools exacerbate minority underachievement. The more disparate the cultures of the school from the students’ cultures, the greater the risk of underachievement (E. Harry, personal communication, Fall, 2001). Students’ SES also influences the specific special education category with which they are identified and placed (Frey, 2002). High rates of minorities are diagnosed with mental disorders and typically experience barriers to quality care (U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, 2001). Specifically, African American students tend to be over represented in EBD programs (Oswald et al., 1999; Trent & Artiles, 1995), the mild and moderate mental retardation categories (MacMillan & Reschly, 1998), as well as the LD category (U.S. Department of Education, 1997). The overrepresentation of African American students in all special education disability programs as well as their increased likelihood of high rates of absenteeism and poor academic performance (U.S. Department of Education, 1993) makes ethnicity an important consideration in the special education referral and placement process (Coutinho & Oswald, 1998; Frey, 2002). In fact, the Office of Civil Rights (OCR) has investigated charges pertaining to the overrepresentation of minority students in EMH and EBD programs, lack of equal access opportunities for minority students in prereferral programs, as well as similar experiences for students with limited English proficiency (LEP; U.S. Department of Education, 1997). Zhang and Katsiyannis (2002) statistically analyzed three federal government publications: the 22nd Annual Report to Congress on the Implementation of the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (U.S. Department of Education, 2000a), National Center for Education Statistics: Statistics in Brief (U.S. Department of Education, 2000b), and Poverty in the United States (U.S. Census Bureau, 1999). They found that African American and American Indian/Alaskan students were most represented in the EBD category, while Asian/Pacific Island and Hispanic students were least represented. White students’ representation in this category fell in between these two distinctions. African American students were again ranked highest in
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the LD category, followed by American Indian/Alaskan, White, Hispanic, and then Asian/Pacific Island students. The same trend showed for the mental retardation category. In spite of these overall trends across all 50 states, significant variations existed across regions. However, placement rates by ethnicity in Florida resembles the national trend (as cited in Harry & Klinger, in press). Rather than risk models identifying general dispositional risk factors for fostering antisocial behavior (e.g., Vance, Fernandez, & Biber, 1998), research is also emphasizing person–environment interactions (Sameroff & Feise, 1992; Tolan & Loeber, 1993; Loeber, Wung, Keenan, Giroux, Stouthamer-Loeber, Van Kammen, & Maughan, 1993). With the overwhelming amount of interactions that can occur in the school system, it is impossible to simultaneously study all aspects or subcomponents of the system. However, a good indicator of the child’s total experiences in the school system is his/her school archival records. As students progress through grade levels, school records increasingly provide more complete pictures of their academic, behavioral, and social statuses (Walker, Block-Pedego, Todis, & Severson, 1991). Advantages to using school records to obtain student status in these three domains are that the variables depicting these domains tend to be stable over time (Walker, Stieber, & O’Neill, 1990) and the information written in these records seems more valid than ratings provided by peers, teachers, and parents (Walker et al., 1991). When a student engages in behavior requiring a discipline referral to the office, the referral is kept in the student’s permanent school records. Research shows that these data indicated high rates of discipline referral for minority students (McCarthy & Hoge, 1987; Skiba, Peterson, & Williams, 1997) and distinguish discipline patterns between students with disabilities and students without disabilities (Wright & Dusek, 1998).
A STUDY OF SCHOOL VARIABLES AND PLACEMENT IN HIGH INCIDENCE DISABILITY PROGRAMS This study specifically addressed the following questions: (1) which school variable or combination of school variables best differentiates the special education group (SE) from the students not placed in special education (No SE)? and (2) which school variable(s) best predicts group membership? Given the impact of type of behavior, SES, ethnicity, risk level, and gender
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on special education referral and placement, greater control over these variables was warranted. Therefore, an attempt was made to purposively match the make-up of the No SE group to the make-up of the SE group with respect to type of behavior, SES, ethnicity, risk level, and gender. Attempts were also made to match the two groups on grade level. With such control over alternative explanations for the differing educational outcomes, results could be interpreted with greater confidence. We hypothesized that the two groups of students could be differentiated on school variables; however, the extent to which individual variables differentiated the two groups was of importance. The school variables that best differentiated these two groups could then be effectively targeted in intervention efforts for students at risk for developing EBD with greater confidence. By pinpointing the most salient variables in students’ school records that may lead to special education referral and placement, theoretically, school personnel could closely monitor at risk students on these particular variables. In other words, this study focused on the use of school records in determining appropriate special education placements and services and monitoring those services (Walker et al., 1991). Participants The participants for this study were drawn from a recent 6-year follow-up study of children who were identified when they were in kindergarten or first grade as at low, moderate or high risk for developing EBD (Montague, Enders, & Castro, in press). The children were identified in an earlier study (McKinney, Montague, & Hocutt, 1998), 1994–1998, by screening 628 students across 24 kindergarten and first-grade classrooms in two schools located in Miami-Dade County, Florida. They were researcher-screened for type of behaviors (i.e., externalizing or internalizing) as well as degree of risk (i.e., high, moderate, or low) for developing emotional and/or behavioral disorders using the Systematic Screening for Behavior Disorders (SSBD; Walker & Severson, 1990). Using the multiple-gating process outlined by the SSBD, researchers identified 206 students (32.8%) as at risk for developing EBD. Of the 206 students who were previously identified as being at risk, 58 (28.2%) were later placed in high incidence special education programs: emotional/behavior disabilities (ED; n ¼ 12), learning disabilities (LD; n ¼ 44), and educable mental handicaps (EMH; n ¼ 2). The 12 students (5.8%) who were identified with emotional disturbances were placed into one of two behavioral programs recognized by the State of Florida: Emotional
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Table 1.
Number of Placements in Special Education Categorical Programs by Risk Level.
Risk
EH
SED
SLD
EMH
SI
Deaf or HH
OHI
Gifted
No SE
Total
High Moderate Low Total
2 7 — 9
2 — 1 3
8 18 18 44
1 1 — 2
3 1 — 4
1 — — 1
— 1 — 1
1 2 7 10
15 51 66 132
33 81 92 206
Note: EH ¼ emotional handicaps, SED ¼ serious emotional disturbances, SLD ¼ specific learning disabilities, EMH ¼ educable mental handicaps, SI ¼ speech impaired, HH ¼ hard of hearing; OHI ¼ other health impaired, No SE ¼ no special education.
Handicaps (EH) and Serious Emotional Disturbances (SED). Table 1 shows the distribution of placements in special education programs by risk level. Students attending the two schools were primarily minority and low SES. Seventy-nine percent of the students in one school were of Hispanic ethnicity, while 72% of the students in the second school were of African descent. Of the 206 students determined to be at risk for developing EBD, 44% were African American, 50% were Hispanic, 5% were Caucasian, and only 1% was Native American/Asian. Additionally, 62% and 38% of the students were males and females, respectively. A large percentage (85%) of these students qualified for free and reduced lunch, indicating low SES. The participants in the current study included only those students from the earlier study who consented to participate in this phase of the longitudinal study (n ¼ 42). Only 21 of the 58 students placed in high incidence disabilities programs agreed to participate. These students were matched with at risk students from the original group who were not placed in special education on grade, gender, ethnicity, and risk type (i.e., externalizer, internalizer). The matched students were the comparison group. See Table 2 for the student demographics. To ensure that the two groups did not differ significantly on any of these four variables, a one-way analysis of variance was conducted. There were no statistically significant differences between the SE and No SE groups on any variables at the 0.05 level. Given the tendency of group differences to approach non-significance with small samples (Stevens, 1999), however, it was prudent to also obtain measures of effect size, which were all small (Cohen, 1977). Effect size removes the effects of sample size and attempts to quantify the magnitude of the group differences.
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Table 2.
Student Demographics.
Variable
Group
Type of behavior Externalizing Internalizing Ethnicity White Hispanic African American Gender Male Female Grade level 7 8 9 Socioeconomic status Low Average
SE
No SE
12 9
11 10
16 5
14 7
13 8
13 8
4 8 9
1 10 10
19 2
19 2
Note: Socioeconomic status was determined by students’ enrollments in Title 1 schools across all academic years.
Instrumentation The School Archival Records Search (SARS) (Walker et al., 1991) was developed to facilitate the determination of students’ current educational statuses as well as their behavioral and educational histories in a quantifiable and systematic manner. Information on the following eleven archival variables can be obtained and coded with this instrument: (1) demographics, (2) attendance, (3) achievement test information, (4) school failure, (5) disciplinary contacts, (6) within-school referrals, (7) certification for special education, (8) placement out of regular classroom, (9) receipt of Title I services, (10) out-of-school referrals, and (11) negative narrative comments. Interrater reliability for the SARS variables ranges between 94% and 100%, while its overall reliability is 96% (Walker et al., 1991). Factor analyses indicated loadings of ten variables across three factors. The following variables loaded most strongly onto the disruption factor: (a) referrals within school for behavioral problems, (b) disciplinary contacts with principal, (c) referrals to outside agencies, and (d) negative narrative comments. The following four variables loaded onto a factor termed needs
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assistance: (a) placement in non-regular classroom, (b) existence of current Individualized Education Program (IEP), (c) within-school referral for speech and language services, and (d) within-school referral for academic help. A third factor, low achievement, included the ‘‘receives Title I services’’ and ‘‘achievement test total score’’ variables. Disruption [F ð2; 62Þ ¼ 28:20; po0:01)], needs assistance [F ð2; 62Þ ¼ 11:39; po0:01)], and low achievement [F ð2; 62Þ ¼ 13:43; po0:01)] are powerful discriminants between students with externalizing and internalizing behavior disorders and their control counterparts. Scores on these three factors are also consistent with outcomes obtained using the SSBD screening stages. For this study, a slightly modified version of SARS was used. Achievement test information included students’ national percentile rankings on state-administered reading and math achievement tests only (i.e., Standardized Achievement Tests and Florida Comprehensive Assessment Test) and final report card grades in language arts and mathematics. The types of consequences students experienced resulting from their disciplinary contacts were also noted. Additionally, the ‘certification for special education’ variable was removed from the analyses given that students’ participation in special education was the defining variable for group membership. All other information included in SARS remained.
Procedures Data Collection The retrospective and systematic examination of students’ archival records with the SARS form as a guide began in February of 2003. Six researchers were trained on the types of information needed from students’ cumulative folders. All relevant information from students’ cumulative records was either photocopied or manually copied. Information not available in students’ paper records was accessed electronically from the district’s centralized computing system. The researcher subsequently translated all relevant information onto a SARS form for each student. To determine patterns across years, three school years were sampled. The most recently completed academic year (2001–2002) was included. Then, going back every other academic year twice (1999–2000, 1997–1998) ensured a more complete picture of the students’ histories. Another trained researcher followed the same procedures for all students. Initial interrater agreement rate was 0.92; the two researchers discussed their few differences and established 100% agreement.
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Data Analysis Discriminant analysis (Tabachnick & Fidell, 2001) was used to differentiate the groups and predict group membership (SE versus No SE) on eight clustered variables initially: (a) attendance, (b) academic achievement, (c) total number of schools, (d) grade retention, (e) in-school referrals, (f) referrals out of school, (g) negative narrative comments, and (h) disciplinary contacts. These eight clusters served as independent variables and were formed in various ways: 1. Attendance cluster: students’ attendance profiles were calculated by averaging the numbers of days absent across the three measured years. 2. Academic cluster: students’ national percentile rankings on state-administered achievement tests were averaged across the 3 years. Their averages were then translated into quartiles. Students’ averaged percentile rankings ranged from the 1st to the 25th percentile, 26th to the 50th percentile, 51st to the 75th percentile, and 76th to the 100th percentile. These were then assigned quartiles of 1, 2, 3, and 4, respectively. Furthermore, students’ final grades in language arts and mathematics were averaged across the three years and then translated into quartiles. Students with averaged grades of A, B, and C earned quartiles of 4, 3, and 2, respectively. Students with averaged grades of D and F earned a quartile of 1. All four quartiles (i.e., reading achievement, math achievement, language arts grade, and mathematics grade) were then averaged to obtain one figure. 3. Total number of schools cluster: the number of schools students attended since kindergarten was calculated. 4. Grade retention cluster: the total number of grade retentions each student had was calculated. 5. In-school referrals cluster: the total number of academic, behavioral, speech/language, and other referrals was calculated for all 3 years. 6. Referrals out of school cluster: the total number of referrals to State Protective Services, counseling, medical, and other outside agencies was calculated. 7. Negative narrative comments cluster: the total number of written negative comments was counted. 8. Disciplinary contacts cluster: the total number of disciplinary contacts within the school and with someone other than the teacher was calculated. A discriminant analysis with these eight predictor variables revealed nonsignificance, L ¼ 0:671; w2 ð8; N ¼ 42Þ ¼ 11:984; p ¼ 0:15: A precursory
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examination of the simple correlation (i.e., structure weight) between each predictor variable and the composite (total of all predictor variables) was, therefore, warranted. Using the recommended cutoff score of 70.30, four variables did not appear to contribute much in differentiating the two groups. In other words, they were least aligned with the composite in an absolute sense and were, consequently, removed from the analyses. They were the Grade Retention Cluster, Disciplinary Contacts Cluster, Referrals Out of School Cluster, and Attendance Cluster with structure weights of 0.280, 0.277, 0.243, and 0.185, respectively. Discriminant analysis was then re-run with the remaining four clusters. Given that discriminant analysis procedures are appropriate only for continuous predictor variables to differentiate categorical dependent variables, additional analyses were conducted to summarize data not considered continuous. A descriptive table summarized another variable obtained through SARS: placement out of the regular classroom. Moreover, another descriptive table summarized the types of disciplinary consequences they experienced. Although the number of times students experienced certain types of disciplinary consequences is a continuous variable, it was not included in the discriminant analysis for two reasons: (a) patterns were established for too many different types of consequences (i.e., 28), and (b) meaningfully clustering these types of consequences was not possible. Results Table 3 presents descriptive statistics for the four predictor variables as a function of special education placement. The mean of the predictor variable, Negative Narrative Comments Cluster ðM ¼ 11:03Þ; looks substantially different from the means of other predictor variables [i.e., Total Number of Schools Cluster ðM ¼ 4:31Þ; In-School Referrals Cluster ðM ¼ 3:61Þ; and Academic Cluster ðM ¼ 1:88Þ] for the total sample. Log determinants Table 3.
Means and Standard Deviations of Predictor Variables as a Function of Special Education.
Predictor Variable
Negative narrative comments cluster In-school referrals cluster Total number of schools cluster Academic cluster
SE
No SE
Total
M
SD
n
M
SD
n
M
SD
n
17.94 5.56 4.89 1.63
26.99 9.78 3.09 0.23
18 18 18 18
4.11 1.67 3.72 2.13
6.20 1.19 1.07 0.67
18 18 18 18
11.03 3.61 4.31 1.88
20.54 7.15 2.35 0.55
36 36 36 36
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Table 4.
Correlations among Predictor Variables.
Predictor Variables 1. 2. 3. 4.
1
Total number of schools cluster Academic cluster In-school referrals cluster Negative narrative comments cluster
1.000 0.042 0.661 0.725
2
1.000 0.023 0.001
3
4
1.000 0.919
1.000
quantify the amount of variability in each group’s error matrix. The SE log determinant was 7.11 and the No SE log determinant was 2.67. The log determinant of the pooled error covariance matrix was 7.50. Although unequal log determinants and a significant Box’s M test [F ð10; 5526:69Þ ¼ 7:73; po0:005] suggested that the equality of covariance matrices assumption was problematic, equal sample sizes indicated that the assumption was met. When sample sizes are equal, assumption violations tend to have little impact on the results. Therefore, the equality of covariance matrices assumption was met. In other words, this analysis indicated that the variances and covariances (see Table 4 for correlations among predictor variables) were equal across the two groups of students indicating multivariate normality; therefore, interpretation of the discriminant analysis legitimate. Given that two groups (i.e., SE versus No SE) were being differentiated, one composite was mathematically possible. The test of variance explained by this one function was statistically significant, L ¼ 0:703; w2 ð4; N ¼ 42Þ ¼ 11:260; p ¼ 0:024: In other words, this dimension differentiated the two groups. To determine the magnitude of the significant difference, effect size was calculated as follows: Z2 ¼ 1
L¼1
0:703 ¼ 0:297
In other words, 30% of the variability was explained by the composite independent variable. Based on Cohen’s (1977) benchmark values for interpreting Z2 ; the magnitude of this effect was large. A discriminant analysis was performed to further understand the nature of this multivariate effect. Table 5 presents both standardized discriminant function coefficients and structure coefficients from the multivariate discriminant analysis. Standardized weights gave each independent variable’s (IVs) unique contribution to the composite variable. Like beta weights in regression, the effects of other IVs were removed (i.e., partial regression weights). Given that no cutoff was applicable when examining standardized
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Table 5. Correlation of Predictor Variables with Discriminant Functions (Function Structure Matrix) and Standardized Discriminant Function Coefficients. Predictor Variable
Academic cluster Negative narrative comments cluster In-school referrals cluster Total number of different schools cluster a
Correlation with Discriminant Functions
Standardized Discriminant Function Coefficients
0.795a 0.560a
0.811 1.157
0.442 0.400
0.581 0.089
Largest absolute correlation between each variable and any discriminant function.
weights, variables that looked substantially different from the other variables were identified. Predictor variable Negative Narrative Comments Cluster stood out from the rest ( 1.157), as did Academic Cluster (0.811). Structure weights indicated how closely each IV was aligned with the composite in an absolute sense (i.e., simple correlations). Using a cutoff of 70.30, all four predictor variables were identified as salient variables in the group. Arbitrarily raising the cutoff to 70.50 resulted in only two predictor variables being identified as salient: Academic Cluster (0.795) and Negative Narrative Comments Cluster ( 0.560). The importance of both predictor variables indicated some consistency with the standardized weights. Using the formula, C ¼ p2 þ ð1 pÞ2 to calculate chance accuracy, a chance rate of 0.50 resulted. In other words, 50% of the cases might be correctly classified (with respect to group membership) simply due to chance. As advocated by Hair, Anderson, Tatham and Black, (1998), the hit rate should be greater than 62.5% (1.25 50%). With 71.4% of the original grouped cases being correctly classified, our sample exceeded this cutoff. Calculation of Press’s Q statistic ðQ ¼ 7:71Þ revealed a hit rate significantly greater than chance at the 0.05 level. Table 6 presents ‘‘leave-one-variable-out’’ (L-O-V-O; Huberty, 1994) statistics for each of the four-predictor variables. Discriminate analysis was re-run four times, each time leaving a different predictor variable out of the analysis. The predictor variable that, when excluded from the analysis, resulted in the lowest hit rate for correctly classifying students was deemed the best predictor of group membership. In other words, the more important a variable that was left out, the lower the hit rate. When the Academic
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Table 6. Predictive Discriminant Analysis Statistics. Excluded Predictor
Academic cluster Negative narrative comments cluster In-school referrals cluster Total number of different schools cluster
Total L-O-V-O Z2
Hit Rate %
Rank
0.211 0.117 0.076 0.063
57.1 64.3 66.7 69.0
1 2 3 4
Note: Based on the Leave-One-Variable-Out (L-O-V-O) technique, predictors were ranked from 1 (best) to 4 (worst).
Cluster was excluded from the analysis, only 57.1% of students were correctly classified into their groups. Therefore, the Academic Cluster seems to be the best predictor of group membership. Table 6 also presents univariate effect sizes ðZ2 Þ for each of the four predictor variables. Based on Cohen’s (1977) interpretation of Z2 ; the effects ranged from medium to large. The larger the effect size, the stronger the relationship between the predictor variable and group membership. To summarize, initial analyses suggested that the groups could be discriminated if four variables were removed from the analyses. Subsequent analyses included: (1) testing the assumptions; (2) testing for group differences; and (3) determining a large effect size. Follow-up tests were then conducted to determine which variables were actually differentiating the groups. Examination of the structure weights revealed that the Academic Cluster and Negative Narrative Comments Cluster were important variables. Predictor variable Academic Cluster was particularly important and was also somewhat consistent with the standardized weights. Considerable colinearity among the predictor variables resulted in standardized weights that made less ‘‘sense’’ in this case (e.g., positive and negative In-School Referrals Cluster and Total Number of Different Schools Cluster). Plotting the group means on the composite variable (i.e., centroids) provided a visual picture of the findings (Fig. 1). The centroid plot showed that the SE group had lower academic achievement than the No SE group; also, the SE group had more negative narrative comments than the No SE group. Taking the analyses a step further, the L-O-V-O technique revealed the Academic Cluster as the best predictor of group membership, followed by the Negative Narrative Comments Cluster. Although statistically significant results with a large effect size were reported, a post hoc estimation of power was calculated using the GPOWER 2.0 (Faul & Erdfelder, 1992) statistical program due to
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SE Group -0.631
-1
No SE Group 0.631
-0.5
0
Many Negative Narrative Comments Low Academic Achievement
0.5
1
Few Negative Narrative Comments High Academic Achievement
Composite Variable Centroid Fig. 1.
Group Centroids Plot from Discriminant Function Analysis.
small samples. With an effect approaching large ðd ¼ 0:57Þ; there was a 43% chance of finding a difference if one existed. Of the 21 students in the SE group who received special education services outside of the regular classroom, four students (19%) were excluded from the mainstream for the full day. The remaining 17 students (81%) in the SE group received special education services outside of the regular classroom for only part of the day. Further, the number of times students in each group experienced a type of disciplinary consequence with people other than their classroom teachers was calculated. The most noteworthy of these frequently occurring consequences were conferences with the students themselves, conferences with parents, and a reprimand/warning being issued. Conferences with students occurred 96 times for students in the SE group as opposed to only ten times with students in the No SE group. Conferences with parents occurred 59 times for the SE group in comparison to 12 times in the No SE group. Reprimands/Warnings were issued 52 times to students in the SE group versus only three times for students in the No SE group.
DISCUSSION It seems that students who are identified initially as at risk in primary school due to behavior problems may eventually be referred and placed in special education when they begin to fail academically. Their at risk peers, who do not have academic problems, are usually not referred. Research consistently indicates that the sequelae for at risk students referred and placed in special
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education is more negative than positive. This is evidenced by continued negative interactions with teachers, negative teacher comments in student records, and academic failure. With poor achievement and academic failure being the cornerstone of high incidence disabilities’ eligibility criteria, it is not surprising that the achievement/academic performance variable was the best predictor of special education placement. In fact, Lambros (1999) corroborated that achievement scores in reading and math for students exhibiting externalizing- and internalizing-type behaviors and placed in special education were much lower than the achievement scores for students not exhibiting these behaviors. Low academic achievement reflects academic skill deficits and often leads to motivational problems (Walker et al., 1991). The second best predictor of placement was negative teacher comments in students’ school records. According to Walker et al. (1991), negative narrative comments indicate the student’s failure to meet teachers’ expectations. Previous research conducted as part of the earlier 1994–1998 study (McKinney et al., 1998) specifically examined teacher expectations and teacher–student interactions in the classroom. The first of three studies, when at risk students were in first and second grade, showed that teachers made more negative, non-academic, and neutral responses to at risk students than to their not-at-risk peers (Lago-Dellelo, 1998). Furthermore, as students moved through the elementary grades, they became more cognizant of their teachers’ negative expectations of them and began to view themselves more negatively (Montague & Rinaldi, 2001). The pattern of negative teacher interactions continued for these students into middle school (Marinaccio, 2001). The findings suggest the imperativeness of making teachers aware of the negative impact they may be having on students who experience behavioral and learning problems. A variable largely related to school success and motivation is school attendance. Although some research showed that a high rate of absenteeism was more pervasive for students with disabilities than for students in general education (e.g., Gresham et al., 1999; Wagner et al., 1991) and that it correlated strongly with low grade point average (Talbott & Thiede, 1999), this variable did not differentiate students’ placement into high incidence special education programs in our study. Likewise, although Wright and Dusek (1998) found that school records distinguished discipline patterns between students with disabilities and students without disabilities, the number of discipline contacts was a poor predictor of special education placement in our study. Given that all of the structure weights for our predictor variables exceeded the cutoff of 70.30, these variables represented a very powerful
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selection of variables for determining special education placement; however, there was evidence of colinearity. For example, strong correlations for inschool referrals and total number of schools attended with other predictor variables were evident; however, we chose to ‘‘honor the nature of reality in which many variables are really correlated’’ (Venable & Thompson, 1998, p. 287). Although two other predictor variables (i.e., in-school referrals and total number of schools attended) were not as strong as negative narrative comments and academic achievement, we caution school personnel against ignoring these two predictor variables in students’ school records. They should be considered along with the number of negative narrative comments and low academic achievement when considering students for special education. By targeting the most salient variables in students’ school records that are indicative of special education referral and placement, however, school personnel can also closely monitor at risk students on these particular variables. Our hit rate (71.4%) exceeded the hit rate (62.5%) recommended by Hair et al. (1998). In other words, we can do better than chance in predicting whether students are placed in programs for high incidence disabilities by considering students’ academic achievement and the amount of negative narrative comments in their records. Gresham et al. (1999) also found that negative narrative comments predicted group membership; however, their groups’ defining characteristic was type of behavior. Given our findings, paying particular attention to students’ academic achievement as well as the negative narrative comments in their records is warranted. When their achievement and academic performance suffers like that of the SE group in our study (M ¼ 1:63; SD ¼ 0:23), and/or when the number of negative narrative comments in school records approaches the mean of the SE group (M ¼ 17:94; SD ¼ 26:99), school personnel should begin prevention/intervention efforts. That is, these characteristics are evident early on; thus, strong early intervention is warranted. In the present study, the majority of students in the SE group (81%) were placed in the general education program with variable time spent in resource settings; only 19% were being educated in segregated settings. This pattern of service delivery has been typical for students in high incidence programs for the past 30 years (Zigmond, 2003). Consequently, most students in the SE group had considerable contact with nondisabled peers. Whether or not this contact compensated for the negative school experiences including academic failure, negative teacher interactions, and frequent referrals has not been determined. Zigmond (2003) extensively reviewed the research on ‘‘effective service delivery’’ for students with high incidence disabilities and
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noted that ‘‘typical general education environments have been shown in research not to be supportive places in which to implement what we know to be effective teaching strategies for students with disabilities’’ (p. 120). The question is what do we know and, then, obviously, based on what we know, what can we do to reverse the negative school trajectory of students placed in high incidence disability programs? We know that academic and behavioral information in school records tends to be stable over time (e.g., Montague, Castro, & Ahwee, 2003; Walker et al., 1990); thus, without intervention, students’ behavioral and academic problems continue. We know a great deal about effective interventions across the developmental stages for students with high incidence disabilities (Swanson, Harris, & Graham, 2003). Thus, we have the knowledge and the tools for diagnosing problems and designing effective and early prevention and intervention programs. The service delivery model may very well underlie the problem of providing optimal instructional environments for students. As Zigmond (2003) so aptly commented, ‘‘until we are ready to say that receiving special education services in a particular setting is good for some students with disabilities but not for others; that different educational environments are more conducive to different forms of teaching and learning; that different students need to learn different things in different ways; and that traditional group research designs may not capture these individual differences in useful way, we may never get beyond the equivocal findings reported to date’’ (p. 120). In sum, it seems safe to say that educational programming from early on for students exhibiting behavioral and learning problems should consider the salient variables that influence referral and placement of students in high incidence special education programs: poor academic performance, continuing behavior problems, and negative teacher–student interactions. Intensive academic remediation in small groups, positive behavioral supports in the classroom, and teacher awareness training to lessen the negativity toward these students in the general education setting must be provided to enhance the probability of school success for students with high incidence disabilities.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT This research is supported by grant No. H324C010091 from the Office of Special Education Programs (OSEP), U.S. Department of Education.
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Opinions expressed herein are those of the authors and do not represent the position of the U.S. Department of Education. The authors are grateful to the school personnel and students in the Miami-Dade County Public Schools for their cooperation and support.
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COGNITION AND LEARNING IN INCLUSIVE HIGH SCHOOL CHEMISTRY CLASSES Margo A. Mastropieri, Thomas E. Scruggs and Janet E. Graetz ABSTRACT The purpose of this investigation was to compare outcomes associated with peer tutoring vs. teacher-directed instruction for secondary level students with mild disabilities in inclusive chemistry classes. Thirty-nine students of whom 10 were classified with disabilities participated in a 9-week chemistry unit, under either experimental or traditional instruction conditions. The same co-teachers, including one chemistry and one special education teacher during the regularly assigned chemistry classes, taught both classes. The students in the experimental condition participated in classwide peer tutoring of important content required on statewide high stakes testing. Mnemonic and other verbal cues were included to facilitate verbal recall, and peer questioning provided for comprehension and elaboration of the concepts. Post-tests revealed that students in the tutoring condition outperformed students in the traditional condition, and that the gains of the students with learning disabilities descriptively exceeded those of the typically-achieving students. Students without learning disabilities outperformed students with learning disabilities, and Cognition and Learning in Diverse Settings Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 18, 99–110 Copyright r 2005 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(05)18005-7
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students scored higher on factual items than on comprehension items. Implications for instruction and future research are discussed. Research has documented many effective instructional strategies for content area learning of students with learning disabilities. However, many challenges exist with respect to content area learning on the secondary level (see Mastropieri, Scruggs, & Graetz, 2003, for a discussion). One obvious challenge is the disparity between reading ability of students with learning disabilities, and the reading level of required reading materials in middle and high school. Many secondary students with learning disabilities read on an elementary grade level, but the adopted textbooks are at a much higher level. Frequently, secondary school textbooks have readability levels that are even higher than the assigned grade levels for which they were written. For example, Kinder, Bursuck, and Epstein (1992) reported that the readability level of eighth-grade social studies textbooks ranged from ninth grade to the third year of college, with a mean of a tenth grade level. Many researchers have noted that textbooks are the major instructional resource in classes (Bean, Zigmond, & Hartman, 1994; Okolo & Ferretti, 1996). Such findings highlight the enormous difficulties encountered by secondary students with learning disabilities. Another challenge for students with learning disabilities is the unfriendly nature of many content area textbooks. Armbruster and Anderson (1988) reported that textbooks frequently lack ‘‘considerateness,’’ in that they are inconsistently organized, lack clear structure, provide insufficient definitions of important vocabulary, and require inappropriate skill demands of learners. Science and social studies textbooks typically emphasize breadth over depth in content coverage; consequently, enormous amounts of content are treated with little depth of coverage or elaboration. Content textbooks typically are at present not reader-friendly, but instead contain densely worded paragraphs that include an overwhelming number of concepts, facts, and details with insufficient explanation (see also Beck, McKeown, & Gromoll, 1989). Further, content area textbooks introduce an extraordinary number of new vocabulary words. Yager (1983) examined vocabulary introduced in science textbooks and concluded that more vocabulary words were introduced in a single year of science than were introduced in the first year of a foreign language class. For example, the following is from a high school chemistry text: In most polymers, like polyethylene and cellulose, the monomers are all identical. In other cases, such as proteins, different monomers may be combined. Although the amino acid monomers that make up proteins appear to be very different, each one has an amino functional group and an organic acid functional group, so the monomers all link in the
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same way, forming a ‘‘backbone’’ of carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen atoms. A polymer with three amino acids is called a tripeptide (Tocci & Viehland, 1996, p. 257).
As dense and complex as this passage appears, it must be considered that this single paragraph occupies perhaps 15% of the space of one page of an 848-page book, resulting in a text that is also overwhelming in the volume of content presented. Another challenge for inclusive secondary instruction is the pace at which teachers proceed through the content. Commonly, a chapter is covered in a single class session; recently, many teachers have felt compelled to increase the pace of instruction because of pressures of end-of-school-year highstakes testing (Frase-Blunt, 2000). Some students find a new set of concepts being introduced before they have had time to understand the previously introduced content. Since the curriculum in many classes builds from unit to unit, these students may fall farther behind peers and become more frustrated as the school year progresses. For example, in chemistry classes, if students do not learn the initial concepts relevant to the periodic table of elements, they will experience problems throughout the year as more complex problems involving applications of the periodic table are required. Peer tutoring has been recommended for improving content area learning of students with learning disabilities. Differentiated from cross-age tutoring, in which an older student tutors a younger student in academic skills, peer tutoring serves to increase academic engagement and ownership of learning among students of the same age. Within different tutoring configurations, classwide peer tutoring has often been employed to enhance academic skills of inclusive classroom settings, particularly for low achieving students. However, much previous peer-tutoring research has targeted specifically basic skills such as phonics and word reading (e.g., Scruggs & Osguthorpe, 1986). Peer tutoring has addressed reading comprehension strategies in inclusive classes of diverse academic abilities in elementary grade reading classes (e.g., Mathes, Howard, Allen, & Fuchs, 1998). Some previous peer tutoring has also addressed factual learning in secondary content classes (Maheady, Harper, & Sacca, 1988; Maheady, Sacca, & Harper, 1988). More recently, Fuchs, Fuchs, and Kazdan (1999) applied reading fluency and comprehension strategies with peer tutoring with secondary students with disabilities and obtained equivocal findings. Results of research to date appear promising with respect to increased academic time on task, academic growth, and positive reports about tutoring from students and teachers. However, little is known with respect to the use of peer-mediation strategies to teach higher level content using elaborative strategies in chemistry at the secondary level. The present investigation addressed a peer-tutoring
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program in chemistry classes conducted within high school inclusive classes. In this investigation, we attempted to integrate elaborative strategy instruction within chemistry classes using a peer-tutoring model for practice, given the successful record of mnemonic and other verbal elaborations (Scruggs & Mastropieri, 2000). For example, Scruggs and Mastropieri (1992) taught students with learning disabilities and mild mental handicaps, information about vertebrate and invertebrate animals using the keyword method. For example, to teach that tricina is a parasitic roundworm that causes disease and comes from undercooked pork, students were shown a picture of a roundworm coming out of an undercooked pig and saying, ‘‘I have a trick, I’ll make you sick!’’ In this case, trick was the keyword to help students remember tricina, and the other information. Students taught by this method greatly outperformed students taught by traditional methods. However, in that investigation, students received instruction from special education teachers in self-contained special education classes, and classwide peer tutoring was not employed. The present investigation was intended to employ quantitative and qualitative methods to determine the success of classwide peer tutoring in inclusive high school chemistry classes. Also of interest were teacher and student perceptions of the experimental methods and materials.
METHOD Participants Thirty-nine high school students with and without disabilities participated in the investigation. Ten of the students enrolled in the inclusive classes met federal and state criteria for learning disability classification. Forty-eight percent of the participants were males, and represented a range of racial and ethnic backgrounds. Students spent a 90-min block period in chemistry classes on a rotating day schedule, such that in 1 week chemistry class was on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and the following week on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Students with disabilities spent their school day in inclusive classes. The IQs of the special education sample ranged from 84 to 122 with a mean of 104.6 (SD ¼ 10:1). On the Woodcock-Johnson, reading achievement standard scores ranged from 65 to 121 with a mean of 94.9 (SD ¼ 14:3); math achievement standard scores ranged from 85 to 122 with a mean of 101.9 (SD ¼ 11:2); and written language standard scores ranged from 74 to 106 with a mean of 88.1 (SD ¼ 11:0). Stanford 9 percentile scores
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for the entire group in reading ranged from 5 to 98 with a mean of 60.9 (SD ¼ 24:4) (LD ¼ 44:4; non-LD ¼ 68:9); math scores ranged from 6 to 99 with a mean of 58.3 (SD ¼ 27:6) (LD ¼ 43:6; non-LD ¼ 64:9); and science scores ranged from 1 to 99 with a mean of 65.7 (SD ¼ 26:4) (LD ¼ 52:1; non-LD ¼ 72:2). The two classes did not differ significantly on any measure. The chemistry classes were taught by the same two co-teachers: a chemistry teacher and a special education teacher. The co-teachers had previously worked together in inclusive chemistry classrooms.
Materials Both conditions used the same textbooks and accompanying materials. The books by Tocci and Viehland (1996) (Holt Chemistry: Visualizing Matter) and by Smoot, Smith, and Price (1995) (Merrill Chemistry) were adopted by the school district for students enrolled in 10th grade chemistry. Teachers also used the standards of learning adopted by the state for guidance in selecting most important content to emphasize. Traditional Condition Materials Materials in the traditional instruction condition consisted of teacher lecture, class notes, class lab activities, and accompanying textbook materials. These materials consisted of worksheets that accompanied each chapter with fill-in-the-blank items, matching items, vocabulary, and short answer items. Teacher materials also included using a general model of teacher effectiveness, in that each day contained daily review, statement of purpose, and teacher presentation of information, guided, and independent practice. Teacher questioning, completion of the notes with assistance using the overhead projector was used, use of supplemental videos, and lab activities. Experimental Condition Materials Tutoring materials were developed based on previous research-based strategy instruction with special populations. Materials previously employed by Greenwood and colleagues and Fuchs and Fuchs and their colleagues, and Mastropieri, Scruggs, Mohler, Beranek, Spencer, et al. (2001) were modified and adapted to meet the needs of secondary students in inclusive chemistry. Materials included lesson plans for introducing the rules and procedures, for identifying and correcting errors, for using elaborative strategies, and for recording daily progress with the information contained in the tutoring materials. All the participants received folders containing check-off sheets
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on which they recorded their progress with the information covered during tutoring. The specific content of the materials is described next. Information identified by the teachers as critical for the school year was developed into tutoring materials. For the target unit, this content included, but was not limited to, thermic reactions, including exothermic and endothermic reactions, enthalpy, products, reactants, Mendeleev’s periodic table of elements, groups, periods, alkali metals, alkaline metals, metalloids, halogens, noble gases, transitional elements, mole, molarity, Avogadro’s number, and colligative properties. Cards containing important concepts and related information were developed, including relevant elaborative strategies to enhance learning and recall of the information. Since comprehension of relevant content was considered to be very important, materials were designed so that they provided not simply question and answer on unit content, but also provided for elaboration and expansion on the answer, and provision of examples by the tutee. In this way, it was hoped that the materials would facilitate factual recall, but also a more thorough understanding of unit content. Materials were designed so that strategies were included and would be used only if students required assistance learning the new materials. Otherwise, the tutor would simply proceed to the next question. For example, one card contained the question, ‘‘What is a mole?’’ the answer being, ‘‘Atomic weight in grams of an element or compound.’’ If the student did not answer correctly, the student was shown a relevant strategy, in this case a picture of a mole (the animal, a keyword for mole) sitting on a scale, next to a sign that read, ‘‘Your weight in grams isy’’ The tutor then read from the card to tell the tutee, ‘‘Think of the word ‘mole.’ Then, think of this picture of a mole on a scale looking at his weight in grams, to help you remember that a mole is the atomic weight in grams of an element.’’ The student was then asked to repeat the relevant information about moles. Elaborative strategies were skipped if students knew the information when the tutor first asked the question, and the elaboration and comprehension questions displayed on the card were then asked. After the tutee answered the mole question correctly, for example, additional questions had been printed on the card to promote comprehension of the target content. In this case, the question read, ‘‘What else is important about moles?’’ A possible answer was: ‘‘The mole serves as a bridge between the invisible world of atoms and the macroscopic world of materials and objects.’’ The next question read, ‘‘What is an example of a mole?’’ A possible answer included, for example, ‘‘O (oxygen) is atomic weight 16, so 1 mole O ¼ 16 grams O.’’
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For another example, another card, to be shown after the mole questions, asked, ‘‘What is molarity?’’ the answer being, ‘‘the concentration of a solute in a solution; moles per liter.’’ If the tutee answered correctly, a picture was displayed (in this case, of a number of animal moles in a large beaker of solution), and an elaboration question was printed for the tutor to ask. If the tutee did not know the answer, the strategy was printed on the card for the tutor to review: ‘‘Think of the word ‘moles’ for mole, and remember the picture of a number of moles in solution, to remember molarity is the concentration of a solute in a solution, in moles per liter.’’ After further strategy questioning, the elaboration question was printed for the tutor to ask next. In this case, the question next read, ‘‘What else is important about molarity?’’ Possible acceptable answers included: ‘‘Molarity is a ratio,’’ or ‘‘Moles of solute divided by liters of solution.’’ Approximately five cards were included in separately sequenced folders, such that when students finished with one folder they proceeded at their own pace to the next folder and so forth until they had completed learning the content for the respective unit of instruction.
Procedure Once district, student, and parent permission were obtained, classes were assigned a treatment order to the two instructional conditions. Since one class was considered lower functioning than the other class, this lowerfunctioning class was assigned to the treatment condition to provide a more rigorous contrast. The intervention was conducted over a period of 9 weeks and included pre-testing, training, post-testing, and final exams. Since the high school used block scheduling, classes met for approximately 90 min on a rotating block schedule. Students in both classes were informed they were participating in a project designed to provide information on how teachers could be better trained to teach students in chemistry. Sessions were observed by project staff who recorded notes and videotaped classes. Traditional Condition Procedure During this condition, the teachers directed all aspects of instruction. Lessons began with a daily review, teacher presentation of new information, guided and independent practice, and lab activities. Students participated in answering teacher questioning of content, taking notes independently, and in completing relevant lab work. Relevant worksheet activities and student labs on the chapters were also completed.
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Tutoring Condition During this condition, all teacher presentations were the same as the traditional condition; however, time usually spent completing worksheets was devoted to the tutoring activity. Tutoring roles, rules, materials were covered, and students tutored one another using the tutoring materials. Teachers selected dyads such that only one student with disabilities was in a particular dyad. During tutoring the stronger students began by asking partners the chemistry content. Immediately following this, roles were reversed and the other partner asked the questions. Dyads proceeded through the materials independently, and recorded their performance on their recording sheets. When a set of approximately five pieces of information was mastered, students selected the next folder of materials. Data Sources Quantitative data sources included pre- and post-tests of chemistry content. The post-tests consisted of factual items and comprehension items, which were analyzed separately in this investigation. Qualitative data sources included videotapes, observations, field notes, surveys, and interviews.
RESULTS Since pre-test scores were very similar across classrooms, and in fact favored the control condition, analysis of covariance was not conducted. Post-test data were entered into a two condition (experimental vs. traditional) by two group (non-LD vs. LD) by two item type (facts vs. comprehension) analysis of variance (ANOVA), with repeated measures on the test variable, which yielded significant main effects for condition, F ð1; 34Þ ¼ 6:97; p ¼ 0:012; group F ð1; 34Þ ¼ 6:89; p ¼ 0:013; and test F ð1; 34Þ ¼ 11:36; p ¼ 0:002: Descriptively, experimental condition students outperformed traditional condition students, with mean scores of 22.4 ðSD ¼ 5:2Þ and 19.1 ðSD ¼ 5:4Þ; respectively. Students without learning disabilities outperformed students with learning disabilities, with mean scores of 21.9 ðSD ¼ 4:6Þ and 17.1 ðSD ¼ 6:6Þ; respectively. Finally, students overall scored higher on factual items than on items reflecting comprehension of the content, with mean scores of 11.6 ðSD ¼ 2:6Þ and 9.1 ðSD ¼ 3:6Þ; respectively (Table 1). No twoway or three-way interactions were found to be statistically significant. However, it was observed that the advantage of the experimental condition over the control condition for students with learning disabilities was 42.5%, while the advantage of the experimental condition over the control
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Table 1.
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Means and Standard Deviations by Condition, Group, and Item Type.
Variable
Mean (SD)
Condition Tutoring Traditional
22.4 (5.2) 19.1 (5.4)
Group Normally achieving Students with LD
21.9 (4.6) 17.1 (6.6)
Item type Factual Comprehension
11.6 (2.6) 9.1 (3.6)
Effects of Peer Tutoring 24 22
LD non-LD
Score
20 18 16 14 12 10 Traditional
Experimental Condition
Fig. 1.
Effects of Peer Tutoring for Students with and without Learning Disabilities.
condition for students without learning disabilities was 16.1%. These means are presented graphically in Fig. 1 and reported descriptively in Table 2. Some qualitative information was also collected from videotapes, observations, field notes, surveys, and interviews with teachers. On the surveys, the majority of the students agreed they enjoyed working together with partners,
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Table 2.
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Means and Standard Deviations of Pre-test and Total Post-test Scores by Condition and Group.
Variable
Pre-test (SD)
Post-test
Control condition Special Ed. General Ed.
3.92 (2.01) 5.06 (2.16)
13.63 (6.21) 20.44 (4.35)
Experimental condition Special Ed. General Ed.
3.88 (2.67) 4.41 (1.89)
19.42 (6.20) 23.73 (4.3)
and felt that the extra practice with materials was beneficial. Some students felt they already knew the materials and wanted to proceed at a more rapid rate. Analysis of teacher reports revealed positive support for tutoring, citing for benefits teacher collaboration, student interactions, student enthusiasm, student learning, and use of elaborative strategies. The concern most frequently noted was some of the brighter students in the experimental condition might not have needed the tutoring practice (although analyses of the data indicated that students performed better with tutoring). Analysis of field notes and videotape records triangulated and confirmed information taken from student and teacher responses and journal entries.
DISCUSSION The present investigation confirmed the effectiveness of a peer tutoring in chemistry conducted within a secondary inclusive class. When using tutoring materials that included elaborative strategies, students outperformed peers taught more traditionally on a post-test of content knowledge. In addition, teacher and student attitudes were overall very positive about tutoring. Although the total number of participants was limited, results of the present investigation suggest that appropriately employed peer-tutoring programs can be used to increase comprehension and content area learning in high school inclusive chemistry classes. In sum, the results of this investigation suggest that students with learning disabilities can participate in classwide peer tutoring in inclusive chemistry classes, and that the performance of all students is improved under these circumstances. Descriptive analysis of the data suggested that, while all students apparently benefited from the experimental condition, students with learning
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disabilities appeared to gain more from the intervention. This interaction was not statistically significant; however, this may have been due to the relatively small number of students with learning disabilities. Further research could address this issue. Students in both conditions scored higher on factual recall than on comprehension of chemistry content; no condition by test item-type interaction was observed; tutoring effects were apparently similar for both item types. As students with mild disabilities progress through the grade levels to secondary school, they find less and less regular classroom time allocated to strategic instruction for learning the content area information. The results of the present investigation suggest that students in inclusive chemistry classes can tutor each other in critical content area materials, and that when they do so, their content area learning improves at a rate greater than that attained through more traditional instruction. Co-teachers of high school students should consider classwide peer tutoring as one important method for delivering high-quality instruction to all students.
AUTHOR NOTE The research reported in this chapter was supported in part by a grant from the U.S. Department of Education, Office of Special Education Programs.
REFERENCES Armbruster, B. B., & Anderson, T. H. (1988). On selecting considerate content textbooks. Remedial and Special Education, 9, 47–52. Bean, R. M., Zigmond, N., & Hartman, L. (1994). Adapted use of social studies textbooks in elementary classrooms: Views of classroom teachers. Remedial & Special Education, 15, 216–226. Beck, I. L., McKeown, M. G., & Gromoll, E. W. (1989). Learning from social studies texts. Cognition and Instruction, 6, 99–158. Frase-Blunt, M. (2000). High stakes testing a mixed blessing for special students. CEC Today, 7(2) 1, 5, 7, 15. Fuchs, L. S., Fuchs, D., & Kazdan, S. (1999). Effects of peer-assisted learning strategies on high school students with serious reading problems. Remedial and Special Education, 20, 309–318. Kinder, D., Bursuck, W. D., & Epstein, M. H. (1992). An evaluation of history textbooks. Journal of Special Education, 25, 472–491. Maheady, L., Harper, G. F., & Sacca, K. (1988). A classwide peer tutoring system in a secondary, resource room program for the mildly handicapped. Journal of Research and Development in Education, 21(3), 76–83.
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Maheady, L., Sacca, M. K., & Harper, G. F. (1988). Classwide peer tutoring with mildly handicapped high school students. Exceptional Children, 55, 52–59. Mastropieri, M. A., Scruggs, T. E., & Graetz, J. E. (2003). Reading comprehension instruction for secondary students: Challenges for struggling students and their teachers. Learning Disability Quarterly, 26, 103–116. Mastropieri, M. A., Scruggs, T. E., Mohler, L., Beranek, M., Spencer, V., Boon, R. T., & Talbott, E. (2001). Can middle school students with serious reading difficulties help each other and learn anything? Learning Disabilities Research & Practice, 16, 18–27. Mathes, P. G., Howard, J. K., Allen, S., & Fuchs, D. (1998). Peer-assisted learning strategies for first-grade readers: Making early reading instruction more responsive to the needs of diverse learners. Reading Research Quarterly, 33, 62–95. Okolo, C. M., & Ferretti, R. P. (1996). Knowledge acquisition and technology-supported projects in the social studies for students with learning disabilities. Journal of Special Education Technology, 13, 91–103. Scruggs, T. E., & Mastropieri, M. A. (1992). Classroom applications of mnemonic instruction: Acquisition, maintenance, and generalization. Exceptional Children, 58, 219–229. Scruggs, T. E., & Mastropieri, M. A. (2000). The effectiveness of mnemonic instruction for students with learning and behavior problems: An update and research synthesis. Journal of Behavioral Education, 10, 163–173. Scruggs, T. E., & Osguthorpe, R. T. (1986). Tutoring interventions within special education settings: A comparison of cross-age and peer tutoring. Psychology in the Schools, 23, 187–193. Smoot, R. C., Smith, R. G., & Price, J. (1995). Merrill chemistry. Glencoe, IL: McGraw Hill. Tocci, S., & Viehland, C. (1996). Holt chemistry Visualizing matter. New York: Holt, Rinehart, & Winston. Yager, R. E. (1983). The importance of terminology in teaching K-12 science. Journal of Research in Science Teaching, 20, 577–578.
TEACHER–STUDENT RELATIONSHIPS AND EARLY SCHOOL ADJUSTMENT Panayota Mantzicopoulos ABSTRACT In this chapter I address: (a) current perspectives on the teacher–student relationship; (b) assessment issues; and (c) the implications of early student-teacher relationships for school adjustment. While substantial progress has been made on the conceptualization and measurement of the teacher–child relationship construct, it is important to empirically establish the multidimensionality of the construct across the school years. Research that examines the perspectives of both teachers and children is also critically needed in light of growing evidence that the teacher–child relationship is crucial in the early school years. The evidence on the role of the teacher–student relationship on school adjustment indicates that low relational negativity seems to particularly benefit children who present with troubling behaviors early in school. However, the nature of the association between early school adjustment and the teacher–child relationship is far from conclusive. Attention to constructs that represent warmth, closeness, caring, and nurturance is needed for research to
Cognition and Learning in Diverse Settings Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 18, 111–138 Copyright r 2005 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(05)18006-9
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explore what aspects of these constructs might serve as buffers against adversity.
The quality of a child’s relationships with others is an important indicator of social competence and considerable agreement exists that social competence plays a key role in children’s overall school success (Becker & Luthar, 2002; Raver & Zigler, 1997; Teo, Carson, Mathieu, Egeland, & Sroufe, 1996; Welsh, Parke, Widaman, & O’Neil, 2001). The literature on resilience has long documented that supportive relationships with adults serve as a buffer against adversity and contribute to successful adaptation in the long run (Garmezy, 1988; Masten, 2001; Haggerty, Sherrod, Garmezy, & Rutter, 1994; Masten & Coatsworth, 1998; Rutter, 1988). However, it is in the last two decades that research has increasingly focused on the nature of early student–teacher relationships as an avenue to understanding the circumstances under which children, particularly those from high-risk backgrounds experience positive school adjustment outcomes (e.g., Birch & Ladd, 1998; Howes, Hamilton, & Matheson, 1994; Mantzicopoulos & Neuharth-Pritchett, 2003; Pianta, Nimetz, & Bennett, 1997; Pianta, Steinberg, & Rollins, 1995; Saft & Pianta, 2001). This literature has tackled begun to address the conceptualization and measurement of the student–teacher relationship (e.g., Howes & Hamilton, 1992; Lynch & Cicchetti, 1991; Mantzicopoulos & Neuharth-Pritchett, 2003; Pianta, 2001; Pianta & Nimetz, 1991) as well as questions about the role of specific subcomponents of the construct in academic and social-emotional competence (e.g., Birch & Ladd, 1998). Although the research has not specifically addressed children with disabilities in inclusive settings, it has important implications for understanding the school trajectories of diverse groups of students including those with aggressive and troubling behaviors (e.g., Meehan, Hughes, & Cavell, 2003; Stuhlman & Pianta, 2001). In this chapter I examine the literature on student–teacher relationships. My focus is on the early school years because it has been documented that the difficulties experienced by certain groups of children (e.g., those from economically disadvantaged or minority backgrounds) later in school can be traced to patterns of adjustment in the first few years of school (Alexander & Entwisle, 1988). In this review, therefore, I address: (a) current perspectives on the teacher–student relationship; (b) measurement considerations; and (c) the implications of early student–teacher relationships for school adjustment with particular attention to children with problem behaviors.
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PERSPECTIVES ON THE TEACHER–CHILD RELATIONSHIP Teacher–child relationships as contexts for development Recent arguments in the developmental literature highlight the need for careful consideration of the individual–social context interface in our conceptual and empirical work (Goodnow, 1992, 2001, 2002; Weisner, 2002), and by its very nature, the teacher–child relationship construct demands attention to this issue. From a theoretical standpoint, current views (e.g., Elicker, 1997) suggest that the inherent complexities of this construct are best captured by contextualist (e.g., Bronfenbrenner, 1979; Vygotsky, 1978) as well as relational (Hinde, 1987; Furman, 1984) perspectives. Paradigms concerned with individual differences across various characteristics of children or teachers, do not adequately accommodate relational constructs but could contribute critical information when integrated with contextualist frameworks. Specifically, ecological views are consistent with the notion that teacher– child relationships are ever-evolving psychological constructs that must be understood by taking into account the person–environment interaction as it exists within specific settings and time frames (e.g., Bronfenbrenner, 1979). Further, Vygotsky’s (1987) sociocultural perspective stresses that interactional processes between children and adults are a ‘‘central element of the educational process’’ (p. 169), while relational perspectives also focus on child development within networks of relationships that are context-specific (Hinde, 1987, 1992). Relationships have multiple facets and serve multiple functions that are part of a coherent whole so that changes in one part of the whole have consequences for other parts as well as for the entire relational system (Furman, 1984). Thus, relationships are cohesive units that provide the context for interactional patterns that constantly change through time: current interactions within a relational framework incorporate and are shaped by previous interactions. Viewed from a relational framework, teacher–child relationships are characterized by dynamic qualities that develop over time, are based on a history of interactions, include emotional content and expectations produced by this history, and provide an experiential context that both supports and constrains the behavior of individuals who are in them (Elicker, 1997, p. 5).
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Views from Motivational, Socialization, and Attachment Perspectives Beyond these broad contextualist and relational perspectives, recent work fueled by diverse orientations, has addressed aspects of teacher–student relationships as well as the mechanisms through which these relationships develop and ultimately affect student outcomes. Such theoretical orientations include motivational theory (e.g., Connell & Wellborn, 1991), socialization theory (e.g., Wentzel, 2002), and applications of attachment theory (Pianta, 2001). With respect to motivational perspectives, Connell and Wellborn’s (1991) model of self-system processes is particularly relevant because it views the self as a system organized around three basic psychological needs that comprise competence, relatedness, and autonomy. Central to the model is the individual’s perception of him/herself across various contexts in reference to these three needs. A defining component of the model is the need for relatedness, a feeling of being securely connected to others. This construct has captured the attention of researchers interested in teacher–student relationships, and has been highlighted in independent investigations (e.g., Lynch & Cicchetti, 1991). Relatedness has been studied through assessments of student appraisals. Connell and Wellborn (1991) suggest that students’ perceptions of the quality of their relationship with teachers influence academic outcomes through their direct contributions to student motivation and school engagement. When students experience a sense of relatedness they are more likely to internalize the social goals and values of their teacher and to develop a sense of commitment to school (Deci & Ryan, 1985). Thus motivational researchers have underscored the importance of cognitive appraisal processes and have found support for the notion that students’ motivation for school is enhanced when they believe that the teacher is caring and supportive (e.g., Midgley, Feldhaufer, & Eccles, 1989; Wentzel, 1997). Under this framework, the construct of teacher support includes conceptions of the teacher as caring, able to establish meaningful relationships with them, and able to provide emotional and academic support (e.g., Blankemeyer, Flannery, & Vazsonyi, 2002; Davis, 2001; Demaray & Malecki, 2002; Dubow & Tisak, 1989; Goodenow, 1992; Ryan & Patrick, 2001; Wentzel, 1997). While motivation researchers focus on student perceptions, socialization researchers (e.g., Baumrind, 1971, 1991) are concerned with recurring interaction patterns and their effects on developmental outcomes. Blending motivational with socialization theory, Wentzel’s (2002) point of departure
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was Baumrind’s (1971, 1991) seminal work on parent socialization practices which generated a body of evidence that parents interact with their children in relatively stable ways (styles) that have important consequences for the development of children’s competent behaviors. Baumrind’s (1971) research with young children yielded four parenting styles that were later replicated in work with older children and adolescents (e.g., Dornbusch, Ritter, Leiderman, Roberts, & Fraleigh, 1987; Lamborn, Mounts, Steinberg, & Dornbursh, 1991). Of these styles, authoritative parenting (a style characterized by high levels of nurturance, provision of structure, and autonomy support) was at the core of Wentzel’s (2002) notion of pedagogical caring. This style has been shown to contribute to children’s increased sense of responsibility, self-confidence, and autonomy (Grolnick & Ryan, 1989; Grolnick, Ryan, & Deci, 1991; Steinberg, Elmen, & Mounts, 1989). Wentzel argued that like effective parents, good teachers create optimal socialization contexts that promote the internalization of goals as well as the motivation needed for positive school adjustment. However, in addition to nurturance (warmth) and rule setting (control) that make up Baumrind’s (1971) dualdimensional system, Wentzel also examined fairness and high expectations that have been described by Baumrind as characteristics of authoritative parenting. Moreover, borrowing from social cognitive theory she argued that teachers’ modeling of motivation is a powerful socialization factor and added it to her model as a fifth dimension of pedagogical caring. Using a self-report instrument with a large sample of sixth-grade students, Wentzel (2002) found support for the relationship between the five teaching dimensions and a range of behavioral and motivational outcomes. Although this work presents a promising approach, it is of note that nurturance, despite being a central construct in the investigation, was measured by items that reflected negative feedback (e.g., ‘‘the teacher scolds me for not trying,’’ p. 292) and lack of encouragement (e.g., ‘‘the teacher makes me feel bad when I don’t have the right answer,’’ p. 292). Therefore, it would be important to examine the role of nurturance through items that directly assess this construct. In addition, it would be worthwhile to explore (a) the extent to which the five dimensions defined by Wentzel have the same significance across grade levels for diverse groups of students; and (b) the effects of continuity (or discontinuity) between parenting and teaching styles on student outcomes. Despite their numerous contributions, motivation researchers have only recently focused on aspects of the instructional context and on the interplay between student and teacher expectations, beliefs, and strategies as they affect student engagement and motivation (Davis, 2003). Motivation
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researchers have historically assumed that the direction of effects is from teacher to student and have not taken a developmental approach to the study of teacher–student relationships. Thus, they have not typically been interested in students’ relationships with teachers as reflections of prior relational patterns and experiences in key socializing contexts. Work with younger children (e.g., Pianta & Nimetz, 1991), however, has used attachment theory (Bowlby, 1969) to develop a conceptual model that accounts for both the emergence and developmental continuity in child–teacher relationship patterns. Attachment theorists suggest that attachment (a strong affective bond between a child and a caregiver) is the result of caregiver–child interaction patterns that emerge during the first year of life. Empirical work has identified attachment configurations that vary across dimensions of security and insecurity and has demonstrated that maternal sensitivity (i.e., awareness and accurate interpretation of the child’s signals and needs) is predictive of secure attachment relationships (Ainsworth, Bell, & Stayton, 1974). This finding is of note, considering that secure attachments are likely to encourage the development of competence by creating a secure base within which the child feels safe to explore and interact with others (Cassidy & Shaver, 1999). Attachment theorists posit that children’s bonding experiences with their caregivers contribute to the development of an internal working model (IWM), a mental representation of their interactions with their parents/ caregivers (Bowlby, 1969; Bretherton, 1990). IWMs may be likened to enduring relationship schemas or cognitive organizational structures that incorporate children’s cognitions, affect, and interpersonal behaviors. Thus, IWMs are the mechanism that influences children’s daily interactions with their caregivers because they contain specific information and expectations about the nature of these interactions as well as the child’s role and associated feelings of efficacy in relating to his/her caregiver. In addition, IWMs influence future relationships with individuals other than the child’s immediate caregivers by creating expectations of a more general nature about the process and content of relationships with others and the child’s sense of competence within this transactional context (Cassidy & Shaver, 1999). Conceptually aligned with this perspective, Pianta and others have examined early teacher–student relationships and their developmental outcomes (e.g., Birch & Ladd, 1998; Hamre & Pianta, 2001; Howes et al., 1994; Pianta & Nimetz, 1991; Pianta et al., 1997; Pianta et al., 1995; Saft & Pianta, 2001). This literature has emerged in the last decade and is based on the premise that young children also form relationships with their teachers that share features of child–parent attachment relationships.
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Like child–parent attachment relationships, student–teacher relationships are psychological structures of a dynamic nature. They comprise rich internal representations that develop in school settings and although distinct from individual behaviors, values, and beliefs, do in reciprocal ways interact with and influence both individual and context characteristics. However, teaching and parenting do differ substantially and there is evidence that even very young children’s do not hold overlapping views of teacher and parent roles. For example, Klein (1988) showed that preschoolers ‘‘attribute more role dimensions to mothers than to teachers,’’ (p. 40) in the sense that parents are thought of as individuals who are nurturant and caring but who also have lives outside the home. In contrast, teachers are viewed as individuals with both caring and instructional functions that seem to evolve as children move from preschool to kindergarten. Certain aspects of caring may be more salient at home than at school and Kesner (2000) noted a number of differences that must be taken into account when thinking about early attachment and the forms of children’s relationships with teachers. These include variations in: (a) the range and nature of caregiving that parents and teachers engage in; (b) the issues and phenomena that fall within the control and responsibility of the teacher vs. that of the parent; and (c) access to the teacher vs. the parent (the teacher may be less available to an individual child than a parent as many more children compete for access to a single teacher). Timing is also an issue for at least two reasons. First, children’s representations of their relationship with their teacher emerge after the child has an established set of internal representations of interactions that have occurred in the family setting. Second, children have a much shorter period of time with their teacher (usually 1 year in duration), whereas their relationship experiences in the family span over several years. Children’s attachment representations (IWMs) in the family are thus thought of as precursors of future attachment relationships (Cassidy & Shaver, 1999). Guided by this notion, teacher–child relationship researchers have proposed that children come to school with IWMs that exert a measurable influence on the quality of their relationship with teachers (Pianta, 1992). However, the context under which new attachment relationships develop plays an important role on the extent to which parent–child attachment is concordant with the teacher– child attachment (Howes & Matheson, 1992; Kontos, 1992). The evidence on whether as a result of dyadic interactions with their teachers, children actually construct additional IWMs or simply operate on already established IWM patterns is far from conclusive. At the same time, the literature supports the notion that ‘‘child–parent relationships provide
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much of the developmental infrastructurey and that child–teacher relationships in turn operate upon this infrastructure’’ (Pianta, 1997, p. 21). It follows that attention to the teacher–child relationship is crucial in the early school years because it provides opportunities for teachers to strengthen competencies (interpersonal, self-regulatory, and task-oriented) that are thought to be influenced by positive relational patterns established before school (Pianta, 1997). In addition, teachers can play a formative role in the development of new, adaptive relational representations that are critical for children who come to school with relationship histories (i.e., insecure, anxious) that may interfere with early school adjustment. The above-noted discussion highlights the complexity of issues related to the student–teacher relationship that include differences across conceptual models with respect to the nature and dimensionality of the construct as well as the possible mechanisms of influence. Although conceptually distinct, the motivational, socialization, and attachment perspectives are not incompatible, particularly when situated within broad contextualist paradigms of student–teacher relationships. As would be expected, however, each approach has direct implications for the measurement of student–teacher relationships, an area of considerable importance for both empirical and theoretical advances in this area.
ASSESSMENT CONSIDERATIONS IN THE TEACHER–STUDENT RELATIONSHIP What We Have Learned from Measures used with Older Children and Adults Researchers have assessed the teacher–child relationship in rather diverse ways that are aligned with the theoretical orientations presented earlier in this chapter. For example, a body of work in the motivation literature has carefully considered a broad range of teacher cognitions and behaviors and their effects on student engagement and learning (Brophy, 1987; Brophy & Good, 1974; Davis, 2003). Motivation researchers have been particularly interested in students’ appraisals of teacher support and have typically measured the construct either as a subdimension embedded in larger scales of social support or school climate (e.g., Baker, 1999; Demaray & Malecki, 2002; Dubow & Ullman, 1989; Midgley, et al., 1989; Wentzel, 1998), or as a single dimension based on items extracted from other scales
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(e.g., Blankemeyer et al., 2002; Hughes, Cavell, & Jackson, 1999; Ryan & Patrick, 2001). Recent work has begun to explore the dimensionality of the construct along multiple domains that include warmth, emotional support seeking, caring, and indifference (not caring) (Davis, 2001; Wentzel, 1997). However, with the possible exception of this recent work, Pianta (1994) has argued that this literature does not view student–teacher interactions as reflecting broad relationship patterns of an enduring nature. Nevertheless, motivation researchers (e.g., Midgley et al., 1989) have investigated changes in perceptions of teacher support as older children have transitioned from one grade to the next, which suggests an interest in the enduring nature of student relational cognitions over time. Whether the same continuity applies to the structure of early student–teacher relationship patterns is an important question that has been more recently addressed in research that is rooted in attachment theory and has taken a developmental approach to the study of student–teacher relationships. Studies with an attachment orientation have primarily examined early teacher–child relationships through: (a) observational methods (e.g., Hamilton & Howes, 1992; Howes & Hamilton, 1992; Howes & Matheson, 1992; Howes et al., 1994; Ladd, Birch, & Buhs, 1999; Pianta et al., 1997); (b) selfreports from teachers based on data from interviews or rating scales (e.g., Pianta, 1996, 2001; Pianta & Nimetz, 1991; Stuhlman & Pianta, 2001); (c) self-reports from elementary school children (e.g., Lynch & Cicchetti, 1991, 1992). Regardless of the method used, dimensions commonly underlying the constructs of interest include security, resistance/conflict, and ambivalence/ dependency which are important themes in attachment relationships. Observational assessments of the teacher–child relationship have used time-sampling techniques or the Q-sort method. Time sampling, has recently been used to record positive or negative aspects of the emotional tone of teacher–child relationships (e.g., Ladd et al., 1999). Although the method has promise, it has not been systematically used to examine the dimensionality of teacher–child relationships and little information is available about the validity of this approach. Rather, observations followed by Q-sort methods have been used more frequently in studies focused on the early school years. Specifically, an adaptation of the Attachment Q-set (e.g., Waters, 1987; Waters & Deane, 1985) is the Teacher Attachment Q-set (Howes, & Hamilton 1992; Mitchell-Copeland, Denham, & DeMulder, 1997). In research by Howes and her colleagues, independent observers who spent at least two hours observing a child with his/her teachers, have used a Q-set of 75 statements to represent child–teacher relationship patterns. To do so,
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observers sort the descriptive statements into categories from most characteristic to least characteristic of the relationships. These sorts are then used to classify teacher–child relationships along dimensions that parallel those in the attachment literature (e.g., secure, avoidant, ambivalent). Although those who have used the Teacher Attachment Q-set method (Howes and colleagues) have provided data in support of the method’s validity, it should be noted that the Q-set methodology is cumbersome with respect to its demands on observer time and scoring. It’s perhaps for these reasons that Q-sets have not been used extensively in research. Instead, variations of the Q-sort technique (e.g., Pianta et al., 1997) and teacher selfreport measures (e.g., Pianta, 2001) have been used in attempts toward theoretically and empirically sound approaches to studying relationship constructs. Specifically, a teacher self-report option, using the Q-sort technique is found in work by Pianta and his colleagues (1997). Rather than relying on trained observers, Pianta et al. asked teachers to describe their relationships with students on an 81-item Q-set. Although less time-consuming than an observational method, this strategy has not been used in other work and validity information is lacking. More psychometric evidence, however, exists for Pianta’s Student–Teacher Relationship Scale [STRS] (Pianta, 1996, 2001; Pianta & Nimetz, 1991), and more recently the Teacher Relationship Interview [TRI] (Pianta, 1999; Stuhlman & Pianta, 2001). These self-report measures are based on the premise that the ‘‘study of relationships integrates information about interactive behaviors with individual, cognitive, affective, and motivational attributes.’’ (Pianta, 1994, p. 17). The STRS is a teacher rating scale whereas the TRI has a semistructured interview format intended to tap teachers’ representations of their relationships with students. Following a decade of empirical work, the current version of the STRS is based on a three-dimensional model represented by Closeness, Conflict, and Dependency. Closeness reflects the degree of warmth and openness in the relationship, conflict marks discordant relationships through negative interactions and cognitions, whereas dependency describes clingy, socially immature behaviors (Pianta, 1996, 2001). In addition to being validated in Pianta’s own research, the STRS has been used in recent independent studies investigating academic and adjustment outcomes with diverse samples (e.g., Birch & Ladd, 1997, 1998; Hughes et al., 1999; Kesner, 2000). In addition to the STRS, another assessment option is found in the most recent version of the TRI (Stuhlman & Pianta, 2001) that comprises 12 questions intended to explore in greater depth a teacher’s relationships with
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a specific student. The TRI assesses: (a) affective aspects of the relationship (positive and negative affect); (b) support (e.g., provisions from the teacher and/or requests from the child; (c) agency (teacher perceptions of her role in influencing the child’s behavior; (d), compliance (references to the child’s rule-abiding behaviors in the classroom); (e) achievement (references to the child’s achievement growth). Although the TRI has not been extensively validated it does have promise for use not only as a research tool but also as a consultation device (Stuhlman & Pianta, 2001; Cavell & Hughes, 2000). This brief review of measurement approaches, developed by motivational and early childhood researchers, substantiates. What we have learned from measurement aligned with motivational and attachment is that despite the lack of a commonly accepted model of student–teacher relationships, there is evidence that teachers as well as older children and adolescents hold multidimensional views of this construct. Moreover, independent observers of teacher–child interactions also produce reliable classifications of student– teacher relationships along multiple dimensions (e.g., Howes & Matheson, 1992; Ladd et al., 1999). Even though it has been argued that to understand relationships we must incorporate the perspectives of both outsiders and the participants themselves (Furman, 1984, p. 23), less is known about young children’s conceptions of their relationships with teachers.
We Need Young Children’s Relationship Perspectives, but Can We Access Them? The need to focus on early teacher–student relationships has been clearly articulated in the literature (e.g., Birch & Ladd, 1997, 1998; Hamilton & Howes, 1992; Howes, Phillipsen, & Peisner-Feinberg, 2000), but thus far our knowledge base on this issue has been primarily informed by assessments of outsiders (independent observers) and teachers. Older children’s reports, consistent with the data obtained from teachers or observers, differentiate teacher–child relationship patterns across distinct subdomains or clusters (Lynch & Cicchetti, 1992; Davis, 2001). However, little evidence exists on whether young children are also capable of conceptually differentiating across distinct relational domains. To this end, approaches designed to elicit children’s conceptions through self-reports are worthy of consideration because they provide measurement options that take into account children’s rather than adults’ perspectives. Our recent work (Mantzicopoulos & Neuharth-Pritchett, 2003), which evolved over a period of time, resulted in the development of Y-CATS
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(Young Children’s Appraisals of Teacher Support), a self-report measure intended to explore the content and structure of young children’s relational representations. Our efforts were guided by research on children’s self-cognitions as well as evidence that attention to children’s verbal and information processing abilities makes it possible to access a great deal of psychological information (Eder, 1989, 1990). Throughout the development of Y-CATS we were keenly aware of the thorny issues around the use of the self-report method with young children. For example, claims that information elicited from children is highly desirable because it provides direct access to their thinking, have been countered by arguments about the invalidity of such information (Beitchman & Corradini, 1988; Martin, 1986). There is concern that self-reports may be affected by preschool children’s restricted verbal expression skills and limited information processing abilities (Martin, 1986). This issue is of particular salience when researchers ask open-ended statements (e.g., ‘‘tell me about your teacher’’) of very young children who do not possess the linguistic skills to articulate differentiated perceptions across domains of interest (Eder, 1990). In addition, dichotomous response formats that are thought to be appropriate for assessing young children’s psychological knowledge (e.g., Marsh, Ellis, & Craven, 2002) may fall pray to response biases when the questions exceed children’s comprehension abilities (Fritzley & Lee, 2003). To work within children’s developmental capabilities, Eder (1990) underscores the importance of using item formats that take into account the fact that young children’s comprehension skills are higher than their language production skills (Feagans & Farran, 1993, 1994; Foster, 1990; Kuczaj & Maratsos, 1975). Effective item-formats include descriptive statements that are general in nature (e.g., ‘‘I usually play with my friends’’) and refer to children’s typical and familiar experiences (Eder, 1989, 1990). There is preliminary evidence that when probed specifically about behaviors and activities, even 3-year-olds can provide a great deal of psychological information (Eder, 1989). There is also evidence that children’s comprehension, interest, and engagement are enhanced when these descriptive statements are accompanied by concrete materials (Eder, 1990; Measelle, Ablow, Cowan, & Cowan, 1998; Miller, 1985; Mize & Ladd, 1988). These concerns and associated recommendations were taken into consideration as Y-CATS evolved. In developing the scale we were particularly interested in work by Lynch and Cicchetti (1992), that was grounded in attachment theory but was based on Connell and Wellborn’s (1991) measure of relatedness to examine patterns of student–teacher relations in a group
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7–13-year-old children. However, we settled on a different approach in response to the following concerns. First, the sample in Lynch and Cicchetti (1992) comprised older children and it was not clear whether the two-scale measure (emotional quality and psychological proximity seeking) used in their study was appropriate for our younger sample that included preschoolers. Although we did not have specific concerns about the emotional quality dimension, we were skeptical whether preschoolers understood the meaning of the items in the psychological proximity seeking subscale (e.g., I wish my teacher knew me better). Also, we questioned the value of inferring conflictual relationships from proximity seeking. Consistent with the model of teacher–student relationships reported in the early childhood literature (Pianta, 1991, 1996, 2001), we were interested in exploring directly the extent to which children’s relationship constructs explicitly included conflictual interactions with their teachers. Thus, Y-CATS was based on a multidimensional approach that built on three years of pilot work to examine children’s appraisals of the teacher–student relationship across three scales: Warmth/Closeness, Autonomy (as opposed to dependency), and Negative Interactions/Conflict. These dimensions are conceptually similar to the STRS and were supported in our empirical work with Head Start children. We have preliminary evidence that Y-CATS elicits reliable and meaningful information from children about their relationships with their teachers, and hope that this work will provide an additional avenue to exploring early patterns of relationships between children and their teachers.
Concluding Comments on Teacher–Student Relationship Assessments From this brief review it follows that a number of methodologies and a number of measures, each associated with a particular theoretical paradigm, have been developed for gauging the teacher–student relationship. Research using these methodologies has flourished in the last decade and although there is no single-accepted definition and no single-accepted model of student–teacher relationships, there is considerable agreement that these relationships have a multidimensional structure. Empirical evidence obtained from children in preschool through high school, confirms that students conceptualize their relationships with teachers across multiple domains that center around aspects of caring (e.g., warmth, closeness, and emotional support), dependency/autonomy (e.g., clingy vs. autonomous behaviors), and negativity (e.g., conflict, hostility, and negative interactions). Without
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doubt, much work needs to be done to establish the similarity of relational constructs assessed by various instruments and to explore possible subdimensions within broad domains of relationship patterns (e.g., conflict, security). Once this is accomplished, questions about the extent to which children’s relational representations become increasingly differentiated with age can also be explored.
THE ROLE OF TEACHER–CHILD RELATIONSHIPS ON EARLY SCHOOL ADJUSTMENT In a key article summarizing data from the Minnesota Preschool Project on infant–caregiver attachment, Sroufe (1983) called attention to the possible pivotal and lasting influence of the teacher–child relationship on early school adjustment and emphasized the need for investigations that target this relationship in interventions intended for troubled children. Twenty years later, Davis (2003) pointed out a pervasive lack of focus on teacher– student relationships in school-based intervention efforts. As Hughes et al. (1999) note research with aggressive children has placed greater reemphasis on factors such as classroom disciplinary practices, child-specific contingency plans, or peer mediated interventions. Even models of teacher consultation tend to place little emphasis on the affective quality of the teacher student relationship (p. 182).
To be sure, since the 1980s, research on the topic has been steadily increasing. The work of motivation researchers for example, has confirmed that perceptions of supportive student–teacher relationships are linked to motivational, cognitive, and school adjustment outcomes (Blankemeyer et al., 2002; Demaray & Malecki, 2002; Dubow & Tisak, 1989; Goodnow, 1992; Ryan & Patrick, 2001; Wentzel, 1997). Extensively surveyed by Davis (2003), this body of work has made numerous and lasting contributions but is minimally informative on issues concerning the early development of teacher–student relationships and their long-term consequences. Despite hunches as to the causal connections between early relational patterns and school adaptation (e.g. Sroufe, 1983), it is in the last few years that empirical evidence has began to provide useful insights into the role of early relationships over time. Therefore, I chose to engage in a closer examination of studies with a developmental orientation that focus on the early correlates and when possible, on the antecedents and consequences of teacher–child relationships.
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My focus is on studies that include documentation of children’s social behaviors in the classroom for two reasons. First, these behaviors have been extensively used in research to gauge children’s school adjustment (Raver & Zigler, 1997). Second, it has been documented that problem behaviors interfere with the acquisition of academic skills as well as the development of adaptive behaviors in the school environment (Cavell & Hughes, 2000; Horn & Packard, 1985; Morrison, Mantzicopoulos, & Carte, 1989). It is of note for example, that in a 20-year-old meta-analytic review, Horn and Packard (1985) reported that the most significant predictive relationship with early school achievement were ratings of problem behaviors. Thus an understanding of the role of student–teacher relationships in early social and behavioral competence in school, is critically needed. With this in mind, I identified 21 studies (marked with an asterisk in the Reference section of this chapter) that addressed at least one of the following questions: (a) What relationships exist between early school adjustment outcomes and relational variables? (b) Does the quality of early relationships predict later school adjustment; and (c) What variables (individual and/or contextual) promote the development of adaptive teacher–student relationships?
Early Student–Teacher Relationships and School Adjustment There is converging information in the studies reviewed that teacher, child, and observer reports of the teacher–student relationship are significantly associated with a range of early school adjustment indicators. These include behavior problems, social skills/prosocial behaviors, emotional positivity, frustration tolerance, work habits, loneliness and isolation, school avoidance, and disciplinary actions. Of the studies reviewed, several have examined these outcomes longitudinally to answer whether relationships formed early in school between children and teachers (i.e., at preschool or kindergarten) are predictive of school adaptation in subsequent grades (e.g., Birch & Ladd, 1998; Hamre & Pianta, 2001; Howes, Phillipsen, & Peisner-Feinberg, 2000; Pianta, 1994; Pianta et al., 1995, 1997). Based on preschool and kindergarten teachers’ reports on the STRS, Howes et al. (2000) showed that as early as preschool, teacher ratings of problem behaviors are negatively associated with relational closeness and positively associated with dependency and conflict over two years of preschool. Teacher–preschooler relationships were predictive not only of
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classroom social adjustment but also of the quality of teacher–child relationships in subsequent grades (at kindergarten). This latter finding was robust even after controlling for the effects of preschool social adjustment, childcare quality, and maternal education. Moreover, this trend characterized the prediction of all three relationship qualities examined in that study (e.g., closeness, conflict, and dependency). It is of note that the model used to predict conflict at kindergarten accounted for a substantial amount of explained variance (37%) when compared to the models for closeness (19%) and dependency (15%). Thus, when considered jointly with preschool teacher conflict, early behavioral orientations are important predictors of relational conflict in kindergarten with preschool behavior problems, making the biggest contribution to the model, followed by maternal education, and child–teacher conflict at preschool. Birch and Ladd (1997), who examined school adjustment through assessments of school liking, school avoidance, cooperative participation, and self-directedness, also reported similar associations with a kindergarten sample. In a subsequent study, Birch and Ladd (1998) found a considerable degree of stability in conflictual teacher–child interactions between kindergarten and first grade. The inclusion of behavior problems in their model suggested that young children with aggressive and hyperactive patterns may experience significant difficulty with the formation and maintenance of positive relationships with teachers. The association between relational negativity with early school adaptation has thus emerged as an important finding in several investigations that have used a variety adjustment indicators including: (a) behavior problems (particularly externalizing behaviors) (e.g., Birch & Ladd, 1998; Howes et al., 2000; Mantzicopoulos & Neuharth-Pritchett, 2003; Pianta, 1994; Pianta et al., 1995); and (b) school liking, school avoidance, work habits, and frustration tolerance (e.g., Birch & Ladd, 1997; Pianta et al., 1997). Relational negativity and poor school adjustment seem to form a pattern that remains robust regardless of variations in the operational definition of relational negativity and/or the method for assessing teacher–child relational patterns. This pattern has been identified when information on the student–teacher relationship has been reported by (a) teachers (e.g., Birch & Ladd, 1997, 1998; Pianta, 1994; Pianta et al., 1997; Stuhlman & Pianta, 2001), (b) independent observers (e.g., Howes et al., 1994; Ladd et al., 1999), or (c) the children themselves (e.g., Mantzicopoulos & Neuharth-Pritchett, 2003). There is evidence that early behavioral difficulties coupled with teacher conflict forecast negative future outcomes for children’s later adaptation to school. Longitudinal work makes the case that it is early
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teacher-reported conflict rather than closeness that has lasting effects on children’s school trajectories (Hamre & Pianta, 2001). Specifically, Pianta et al. (1995) found that children who experienced the most conflict with their teachers at kindergarten were the ones who were rated by their second grade teachers as more behaviorally troubled. In a later study, Hamre and Pianta (2001) further supported this conclusion with a sample of children who were followed from kindergarten to middle school (eighth grade). In the same study, it was also shown that the risk for longterm behavioral maladjustment was higher for boys with early behavior problems and early (kindergarten) teacher-reported relational conflict. Others (Ladd et al., 1999) have provided further support for the notion that children’s behavioral orientations are antecedents of teacher–child relationships and that troubling behavioral orientations problem behaviors exhibited by children early in school, promote negativity in teacher–student relationships. In turn, relational negativity is thought of as an ongoing stressor that interferes with the child’s classroom participation and overall adjustment in school. Thus, in response to the first two questions posed earlier, it can be concluded that attention is needed to issues that surround relational negativity in the first few years of school. Contrary to expectation, relational closeness is a consistent correlate of school adjustment in some studies (e.g., Birch & Ladd, 1997; Esposito, 1999; Howes et al., 2000; Mitchell-Copeland et al., 1997) but not in others (e.g., Hamre & Pianta, 2001; Mantzicopoulos & Neuharth-Pritchett, 2003). At the same time there are claims for the ameliorative effects of teacher–child supportive relationships for subgroups of older children with persistent patterns of aggressive behaviors (Hughes et al., 1999). For example, in a study of second- and third-grade children with extreme scores on teacher-rated aggression, Hughes et al. (1999) found that positive teacher student relationships were predictive of subsequent reductions in aggressive behaviors. However, because the study was based on assessments of teacher support (rather than support and conflict as separate dimensions) it is difficult to discern whether it is the absence of conflict or the presence of support in the relationship that is linked to better adjustment outcomes. While the evidence is far from conclusive on this issue, Hamre and Pianta’s (2001) findings support the inference that low negativity may buffer the effects of early risk factors that include challenging behavioral orientations for teachers and other school peers. It seems that, children with problem behaviors who form relationships ‘‘with kindergarten teachers marked by low levels of negativity,’’ are much more likely ‘‘to avoid future behavioral
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difficulties’’ than children with troubling behaviors and problem behaviors who experience high relational negativity early in school (p. 635).
Child and Teacher Characteristics and the Teacher–Student Relationship Although the nature of the association between school adjustment and the teacher–child relationship still awaits further investigation, certain child and teacher characteristics are predictive of early relational patterns. With respect to child characteristics, it has been consistently reported that teachers’ relationships with children differ by gender. Specifically, teachers as well as independent observers rate relationships with males as more conflict-ridden (e.g., Birch & Ladd, 1997, 1998; Hamre & Pianta, 2001; Kesner, 2000; Saft & Pianta, 2001; Stuhlman & Pianta, 2001). In addition, as early as preschool, boys compared to girls, report more relational negativity with teachers (Mantzicopoulos & Neuharth-Pritchett, 2003). In some studies, gender differences are also reported on warmth and/or dependency with girls receiving higher ratings on these patterns than boys (e.g., Howes et al., 2000; Kesner, 2000). Nonetheless, this result is not consistent across studies. For example, in our study (Mantzicopoulos & Neuharth-Pritchett, 2003) we found gender differences on conflict but not on children’s reports of relational warmth and autonomy. A body of literature on sex differences in peer relationships suggests that girls’ friendships are qualitatively different from boys’ friendships. For example, girls’ early peer relationships have been described as more harmonious, more emotionally intense, less concerned with issues of dominance, and more oriented toward facilitating group functioning (Maccoby, 1990). The extent to which these early sex differences represent orientations that are generalized to other relationship domains certainly merits attention in future work. Teachers’ relations with children also vary with ethnic group membership, although fewer studies have explored this association. Kesner (2000) in a study of preservice teachers, noted that Caucasian teachers perceived nonCaucasian children as having more relational dependency than Caucasian children. In another study, teachers were more likely to report higher levels of Conflict with African American than with Caucasian boys (Hamre & Pianta, 2001). Children’s reports also echo this finding. In our work, young African American males expressed higher levels of conflict in their relationships with their teachers than did Caucasian children. Conversely, African American girls reported lower levels of conflict compared with children in
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the other groups (Mantzicopoulos & Neuharth-Pritchett, 2003). Perhaps this reflects a tendency for teachers to show concern for ‘‘low status girls’’ and to respond with rejection/criticism to ‘‘low status boys’’ (Brophy & Good, 1974, p. 151). Whether this holds when teachers and children are ethnically similar is open to investigation in light of the fact that the majority of the teachers are Caucasian and only one study (Saft & Pianta, 2001) has provided evidence on this issue. That study showed a small but significant reduction in African American and Hispanic children’s dependency scores when they were taught by ethnically similar teachers. This finding suggests that shared cultural expectations and beliefs may also play a role in the quality of teacher–student relationships, and this issue certainly warrants attention in future research. In addition to cultural background, other characteristics and pedagogical skills may interact both with children’s characteristics and contextual factors in this process. For example, Pianta (1994) found some evidence that teachers ranked as poor by supervisors were more likely to report high levels of relational negativity in their classroom. However, under stressful classroom conditions, even good teachers may have difficulty forming adaptive relations with certain groups of students. In the same study, Pianta also found that teachers who were rated highly by supervisors, but who reported elevated levels of conflict with students, worked in schools with high numbers of children with troubling behaviors. This evidence suggests that teachers’ skills and knowledge in structuring early instructional environments may have significant implications for the quality of teacher–student relationships in the classroom. I found preliminary support for this hypothesis in a recent study of prior Head Start attendees who made the transition to kindergarten (Mantzicopoulos, 2004). Children in classrooms rated as more developmentally appropriate with respect to their learning environments teacher practices, reported less conflict in their relationship with their teacher than children in other classrooms. Thus, the hypothesis about the effects of early classroom practices on relational variables merits further attention in view of the literature that characteristics of early instructional practices have lasting consequences on children’s social and academic competence (Bronson, Tivnan, & Seppanen, 1995; Burts et al., 1992; Hirsh-Pasek, Hyson, & Rescorla, 1990; Kontos & Wilcox-Herzog, 1997; Marcon, 1999; Stipek, Feiler, Daniels, & Milburn, 1995). The research supports arguments made by the National Association for the Education of Young Children nearly two decades ago (Bredekamp, 1987) that children learn best when programs emphasize child-centered
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approaches to instruction that (a) build on each child’s interests and skills; (b) encourage active exploration and provide opportunities for discovery and cognitive challenge; (c) emphasize continuity of instructional practices across grade levels. Perhaps child-centered approaches promote a positive relational environment within which children feel secure to explore and participate in meaningful ways. In turn, within such an environment, meaningful and engaged participation forecasts positive adjustment outcomes (Ladd et al., 1999).
FUTURE DIRECTIONS IN THE STUDY OF TEACHER–STUDENT RELATIONSHIPS The last 20 years have marked substantial progress on the conceptualization and implications of teacher–student relationships for students’ school adaptation. With respect to the conceptualization of the construct, we have made great strides in identifying and validating important facets of the teacher–child relationships. Notably, in work guided by attachment as well as by socialization perspectives, teacher–child relationship dimensions parallel those reported in the parenting literature. Much like the parenting literature, research on student–teacher relationships has focused on specific features of the construct depending on the underlying theoretical orientation of the researcher. For example, Wentzel’s (1997, 2002) blend of socialization and motivational frameworks has led her to ask whether good teachers are like good parents. This is a promising approach that offers preliminary support for the notion that pedagogical caring comprises not only nurturance but also concern for the student as a learner, instructional competence, effective communication, and democratic interactions. Certainly, much work is needed to empirically establish the multidimensionality of the construct of pedagogical caring with diverse groups of students and to explore its developmental significance across the school years with a variety of outcomes. Attachment researchers, who have made contributions to both the measurement and role of the teacher–child relationship, could also profit from this information as they make adjustments to their current three-dimensional model. Derived from teachers’ reports, this model of teacher–child relationships (e.g., Pianta, 2001) has been used in studies that target the early school years. There is evidence that (a) children’s views are also structured along a comparable three-factor model, (b) children’s reports overlap
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to some extent with those of teachers on comparable dimensions (i.e., warmth/security), and (c) despite some overlap, children’s reports are not a substitute for relationship information provided by teachers (Mantzicopoulos & Neuharth-Pritchett, 2003). Research is needed to explore not only the circumstances under which children’s and teachers’ reports converge but also the consequences of teacher–child discordance. Although the contributions associated with the attachment perspective are substantial, it is not clear whether children’s views of their relationships with teachers become increasingly differentiated with development. Wentzel’s (1997, 2002) work supports the expectation that older children’s relationship perspectives should be more complex and more differentiated along subdimensions that may give rise to broad relational patterns such as nurturance or conflict. Thus researchers may find that a three-factor model, that provides a good ‘‘fit’’ to young children’s perspectives, may need to be expanded to adequately represent older children’s views. Greater domain differentiation would be expected as a result of cognitive-developmental differences between younger and older children. It is also possible that certain aspects of the teacher–child relationship do not remain salient throughout the school years and this is an additional issue that warrants further consideration in research. Evidence from a study of children in grades 2–8 suggests important differences in the quality of the teacher–child relationship between the elementary and middle-school years (Lynch & Cicchetti, 1997). The findings were based on children’s reports to a 17-item relatedness questionnaire (Wellborn & Connell, 1987) and supported the conclusion that elementary school children were more likely than middle school children to view their relationship patterns with teachers as being secure. Conversely, middle-school children characterized their relationships with teachers as being disengaged. That is, middle school children tended to hold negative feelings about their teachers and did not wish to be psychologically close to them. Along with Lynch and Cicchetti (1997), we also found grade-level differences in young children’s reports (Mantzicopoulos & Neuharth-Pritchett, 2003). Preschoolers who attended Head Start reported higher levels of autonomy support from their teachers than either their kindergarten or first grade peers. Consistent with these findings, Saft and Pianta (2001), explored age differences in teacher-reported relational patterns in cross-sections of young children in daycare, preschool, and kindergarten classrooms. In that study, dependency increased with age for groups of older Caucasian and African American children. A post-hoc interpretation is that changes in perceptions of autonomy/dependency reflect changing demands across
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grade levels. For example, Head Start children’s expressions of greater autonomy support could be attributed to differential teacher expectations at Head Start and public school. While public schools place increased weight on academics, the Head Start program’s philosophy is firmly grounded in child choice and in curricula that provide opportunities for the development of autonomous, self-reliant behaviors. Thus, this set of studies highlights the need to carefully examine gradelevel effects in our future efforts. Both measurement and contextual issues (e.g., the nature of schooling at different levels) may contribute to these results. For example, there are differential demands and expectations at preschool, kindergarten, and the elementary grades. Further, compared with their elementary school peers, middle school children are exposed to multiple teachers within the same grade level. In addition, the sensitivity of the teacher–child relationship measure in detecting older children’s differentiated views of their connections with others may be an additional area that merits attention. Particularly salient in this review is the recurrent finding that early relational conflict has lasting implications for children’s school adjustment (vis-a`-vis the somewhat inconsistent findings on the role of nurturance/support). Attention to the constructs that represent warmth, closeness, caring, and nurturance is needed for research to explore what aspects of these constructs might serve as buffers against adversity. For children who live under economic disadvantage, and who are exposed to multiple social and familial risk factors, it is important to investigate not only the additional risk contributions of conflicting relationships with teachers but also the protective role of support and low conflict to young children’s resilience. At this point there is sufficient evidence for the need to focus on the affective quality of the teacher–student relationship in interventions intended for children with troubling classroom behaviors. Currently, the most common intervention provided for school children with such behaviors is social skills training because it is assumed that social skills deficits account for children’s behavioral and interactional difficulties (Hughes, Cavell, & Willson, 2001). However, it is of concern that behavioral improvements following social skills training are not necessarily accompanied by improvements in teachers’ perceptions of these children. Hughes et al. thus suggest that attention to the quality of the teacher–student relationship, paired with social skills training has the potential for increasing our effectiveness with children who are at high risk. The development of interventions that provide teachers with tools for keeping conflict with challenging students at low levels while actively communicating interest and support for the individuality of each child, is a
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promising area of research. Embedding such interventions in a larger context within which the school functions as a relational environment (e.g., Baker Terry, Bridger, & Winsor, 1997) may be one way to effect lasting improvements in children’s school adjustment.
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EVALUATION OF INCLUSION OF STUDENTS WITH DISABILITIES: INTEGRATION OF DIFFERENT METHODS Giulia Balboni, Simona de Falco and Paola Venuti ABSTRACT School inclusion of students with disabilities in ordinary classes is a multidimensional phenomena that may be evaluated with respect to different dimensions: social acceptance, social interactions, and supports toward the student with disabilities, teachers’ and parents’ attitudes toward inclusion, and students’ mental representations of the peer with disabilities. The purpose of the present review is to present several methods for evaluating school inclusion: sociometric techniques, systematic observation, questionnaires, and student drawings. Additionally, an integrated use of these methods is presented to plan interventions to facilitate school integration.
Several investigations have verified that the physical inclusion of students with disabilities in ordinary classes is in itself not sufficient to support their school integration (e.g., Gresham, 1986). To promote complete acceptance of
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students with disabilities, specific interventions must to be implemented (e.g., Keller & Sterling Honing, 1993; Cole, Vandercook, & Rynders, 1988). For this purpose, valid methods for evaluating school inclusion must be used. School inclusion is a multidimensional and complex phenomenon and may be evaluated with respect to different dimensions: social acceptance of the student with disabilities as articulated by peers, social interactions and supports toward the student with disabilities, teachers’, parents’, and students’ attitudes toward inclusion, and students’ mental representations of the peer with disabilities. To plan interventions to facilitate school integration, valid methods for evaluating the different dimensions of inclusion must be available. To evaluate the degree of verbal reports of social acceptance (i.e., sociometric status of the student with disabilities in the regular class) sociometric techniques may be used (e.g., Larrivee & Horne, 1991). To measure social interactions and social support behaviors occurring among the student with disabilities and peers or/and teachers, systematic observation methods may be used (e.g., Place & Hodge, 2001). To measure teachers’ and parents’ attitudes toward school inclusion, several questionnaires are available (e.g., Antonak & Larrivee, 1995). To evaluate the students’ mental representation of the peer with disabilities it may be useful to compare student drawings of peers with and without disabilities (e.g., Venuti, Coppola, & de Falco, 2003). Some methods may be used to evaluate integration with peers as well as with teachers (e.g., systematic observation). Other methods may be used to evaluate integration only with peers but not with teachers (e.g., sociometric techniques and drawings of student with disabilities). Methods that involve the peers of students with disabilities differ by the age of the peer group. For example, drawings of the student with disabilities may be used with nursery and elementary school students, and questionnaires of attitude toward school inclusion may be used with junior and high school students. The purpose of the present review is to present principal methods for evaluating school inclusion of students with disabilities. In addition, we suggest an integrated use of the different methods useful to plan interventions to facilitate school integration (Balboni, de Falco, & Venuti, in press).
SOCIOMETRIC TECHNIQUES Sociometric measures assess the sociometric status of the student with disabilities included in regular classes. Sociometric status is the classification of
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the student (i.e., low, average, and high) regarding different indexes of social status, e.g., the Most-Liked Score, the Least-Liked Score, and the Social Distance Scale (Larrivee & Horne, 1991; Sale & Carey, 1995). Sociometric methods assess the structure of the group of students that is the acceptance and rejection relationships network among all the students and in particular toward the student with disabilities. Moreover, with a student with mild disabilities, perceived sociometric status may be measured, asking the student whether he or she supposes they have chosen him or her (Cornoldi & Soresi, 1980; Ridsdale & Thompson, 2002). Sociometric techniques may be used especially with elementary school students. Two techniques are available to assess the students’ choices: the rating scale technique (with the student rating all the peers, Horne, 1977) and the nomination technique (with the student naming his or her most favorite and least favorite classmates, Moreno, 1934). An example of a rating scale technique is the Perception of Social Closeness Scale (PSCS; Horne, 1977). The format for the PSCS calls for horizontal placement of student names and vertical listing of five statements, to form a student-by-item matrix for the class. Students choose the one statement that most clearly expresses their feelings about each peer. The five response options are: (1) would like to invite _____ to my home; (2) would like to spend time with _____ on the playground; (3) would like to spend some time with _____ once in a while; (4) would like _____ to be more like other students; and (5) would like _____ to leave me alone. With the rating scale technique, evaluations are obtained for all the students; in contrast, the nomination technique yields only information about how students feel toward those peers they nominate. Previous research literature clearly indicates that students with disabilities are not likely to be chosen on a positive nomination measure (e.g., Scranton & Ryckman, 1979); therefore, the rating scale technique is better than the nomination technique for the evaluation of school inclusion. The rating scale procedure assesses the acceptance dimension, while the nomination technique essentially assesses best friendships (Larrivee & Horne, 1991). Rather than expecting included students to have several friends in the regular classroom, a more reasonable goal might be that they attain a status of overall acceptance with their regular class peers (Asher & Taylor, 1982). Thus, the rating scale technique is preferred. Moreover, several investigations have determined that the rating scale technique is more reliable and valid than the nomination technique (e.g., Gresham & Stuart, 1992; Horne, 1977; Terry & Coie, 1991). However, the rating scale technique assumes that students have the cognitive skills to discriminate among all
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students, which are more advanced than the cognitive skills necessary to nominate the most and least favored peers. Thus, for students with disabilities, the rating scale technique may be too difficult to use, and the nomination technique should be used. Regarding negative nominations, despite the fact that it may appear inappropriate asking for negative nominations, it is important to note that they are useful for understanding the position of the student with disabilities in the relationships network (Terry & Coie, 1991). Moreover, several studies revealed no empirical evidence that negative nominations adversely affect students’ interactions (e.g., Bell-Dolan, Foster, & Sikora, 1989; Hayvren & Hymel, 1984). In the literature about school inclusion, sociometric measures have been used mostly with students with learning or sensory disabilities (e.g., Bruck & Herbert, 1982) and seldom with students with mental retardation. In the United States as well as in Europe (except Italy), the inclusion of students with mental retardation in regular classes is not as common, therefore, there has been few opportunities to use the sociometric measures. Moreover, both rating scales and nomination techniques presume cognitive skills that could be too complex for students with mental retardation. To facilitate the integration of students with disabilities, it is important to know their sociometric status in the regular class; the sociometric technique is easy to use and is not time consuming, thus it has been used in several investigations. However, it is not a direct measure of social behaviors occurring with students with disabilities; it is essentially the verbal social acceptance of the peer with disabilities. With regular students, the choice of the included peer may be subject to the possibility of deliberate misrepresentation, in order to provide a more socially desirable answer. Therefore, it is important to use other methods that are more objective, like systematic observation.
SYSTEMATIC BEHAVIORAL OBSERVATION The systematic observation method may be useful for the evaluation of social interactions among the students with disabilities included in regular classes and their peers and teachers. The observation method may be used with students from preschool to high school level. Several observational coding systems have been developed to measure social interactions and social support behaviors among the students with
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disabilities and their non-disabled peers (e.g., Kennedy, Shukla, & Fryxell, 1997; Kozleski & Jackson, 1993). Examples of coding systems for direct observation are the Social Interaction Checklist (SIC) and the Social Contact Assessment Form (SCAF) (Kennedy et al., 1997). The SIC is a pencil and paper event recording system; it assesses two dimensions of social interactions: first, the length (equal to the occurrence of the categories: 1–9 s; 10–59 s; 60–299 s; 300–899 s; and more than 899 s) and second, the occurrence of a specific social support behavior (greeting; information; access to other; material aid; emotional support; and companionship). The SCAF is an event-by-interval scatter plot matrix recording system. The SCAF is applied on the date obtained by the SIC. Any interaction lasting more than 899 s is considered a ‘‘social contact’’. For each social contact between the student with disabilities and peers, the SCAF records the following information: the school period of occurrence, the person/persons involved, the setting, the activity and the perceived quality of the interaction. A different observational coding system was developed by Kozleski and Jackson (1993). The coding system is for video-recorded interactions among the student with disabilities and peers and consists of 13 categories: (1) give/ show or offer; (2) assist; (3) rescue; (4) refuse peer initiation; (5) initiate; (6) share; (7) defend; (8) aggress physically; (9) compliment; (10) refuse; (11) imitate peer performance; (l2) agrees verbally; and (13) resolve conflict. Another example of direct observation coding system is the Physical Education-Form S (AIPE-S) and the associated observer report (Place & Hodge, 2001). AIPE-S is applicable on video-recorded data; it measures the frequency of nine specific interactive behaviors among students with and without disabilities during physical education classes: (1) initiates or engages in social talk with the peer; (2) models or demonstrates for peer and/or asks peer to model or demonstrate for him/her; (3) praises peer for effort and/or achievement; (4) uses peer’s first name; (5) gives appropriate feedback to peer; (6) gives or asks for ‘‘hands-on’’ help; (7) has peer interaction not covered by specific behaviors; and (8) makes no interaction. A temporal sampling observation procedure is employed, with 5-s intervals for the observation and 5-s intervals for recording. A non-participant observer takes notes during live observations focused on interactive behaviors with students with disabilities. An easy-to-use live observation coding system for evaluating social interactions with students with disabilities was proposed by Diamond (2001). Social interaction is defined as ‘‘verbal or physical exchange or sustained visual regard which indicates that participants were aware of, and
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responsive to, each other (Ramsey, 1995).’’ A temporal sampling observation with 10 min intervals and a pencil and paper recording procedure must be used. The observations take place at school during free playtime. The observer is in the room with the students. After every 10 min of observation, the observer records the behavior of the student with disabilities. The measure of social interaction is equal to the sum of intervals during which the student with disabilities was in an interactive group with peers divided by the total number of intervals. Also computerized coding systems are available, that allow a ‘‘live’’ recording and coding of specific behavioral aspects. These coding systems provide immediate information about duration, frequency, and coders reliability (e.g., Ecobehavioral Assessment System Software; Greenwood, Carta, Kamps, Terry, & Delquadri, 1994). Few coding systems have been developed to measure social interaction among students with disabilities and teachers; an example is the Interaction and Engagement Scale (IES; Hunt, Soto, Maier, & Doering, 2003). The IES utilizes a partial interval recording procedure. Each observational time lasts 10 min and is divided into 30 s intervals. Within each interval there are 15 s for the observation of the student with disabilities and 15 s for recording. During every interval, the observer notes the first interaction occurring and specifies: the identity of the partner (e.g., general teacher, special teacher, peer), who initiated the interaction (i.e., the focus student or the partner), the communicative function of interaction (i.e., request, protest, comment, assistance), the quality of the interaction (i.e., positive, negative, neutral). The observer also rates the level of engagement (i.e., passive, active, not engaged) and the grouping pattern (i.e., student alone or with a group). Systematic observation coding systems have been developed because several investigations verified that social interactions between the student with disabilities and non-disabled peers are important for successful inclusion (e.g., Gottlieb, Alter, & Gottlieb, 1996). Self-report questionnaires about social interactions can be used only when the student has reached an adequate level of language development; that is, up to 8 years old for students without disabilities, depending on the language competence for students with disabilities. Therefore, systematic observation can be used when other methods are not applicable. Moreover, the observation method can be an objective supplement to subjective evaluation derived from self-report methods and sociometric techniques (Venuti, 2001). However, observation methods have some important limitations. One limitation is the possible effect of observer presence on the observed behavior. Furthermore, this method requires substantial resources compared
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with sociometric techniques and questionnaires because training, recording, and coding procedures may require a very long time (Lis & Venuti, 1996). Other methods may be used which do not require as much time, such as for example, questionnaires about teachers’ attitude toward school inclusion and drawings of student with disabilities.
QUESTIONNAIRES OF ATTITUDES TOWARD SCHOOL INCLUSION Several questionnaires have been developed to measure teachers’ attitude toward school inclusion of students with disabilities (e.g., Larrivee & Cook, 1979; Sideridis & Chandler, 1997). Among all the questionnaires, the Opinions Relative to Integration of Students with Disabilities (ORI; Antonak & Larrivee, 1995) seems to have the best psychometric properties of reliability and validity. The ORI is made up of 25 items. The interviewee must agree or disagree to each item on a six-point Likert-type scale. Thirteen items are statements in favor of inclusion, e.g., ‘‘Students with disabilities will not monopolize the general-classroom teacher’s time,’’ the other 12 items are against, e.g., ‘‘Integration of the student with disability will not promote his or her social independence.’’ All the items are developed from the Opinions Relative to Mainstreaming Scale (Larrivee & Cook, 1979; Larrivee, 1982), a scale of attitudes toward inclusion with good reliability and validity (Larrivee, 1981, 1982; Larrivee & Cook, 1979). All the items were rewritten to use more contemporary terminology and to improve their psychometric properties (Antonak & Livneh, 1988). The ORI is intended to measure teachers’ attitude toward four different components of the construct of school inclusion: (1) benefits of inclusion for the academic and social development of students with and without disabilities; (2) behavior of students with disabilities and classroom management procedures that inclusion may require; (3) perceived ability of general education teachers to teach students with disabilities; and (4) ideas about regular versus special classes. The organization of the items in the four dimensions was obtained via an exploratory factor analysis in a large group of students taking special education courses (Antonak & Larrivee, 1995). Convergent validity of ORI was investigated; a relation was observed between the ORI and the Scale of Attitudes Toward Disabled Persons, a questionnaire with good psychometric properties (Antonak, 1982).
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One of the first questionnaires developed to assess attitudes toward school inclusion with good validity was the Attitudes Toward Mainstreaming Scale (ATMS; Berryman & Neal, 1980). The ATMS is made up of 18 six-point Likert type items. All the items are statements in favor of inclusion, e.g., ‘‘Students should have the right to be in the regular classroom.’’ Exploratory factor analyses in different groups of students in education courses suggest that the items are structured in three dimensions: (1) attitudes toward school inclusion of students with disabilities which do not necessarily impede academic progress, e.g., speech and motor disabilities; (2) attitudes toward school inclusion of students with disabilities, in particular those with behavioral problems; (3) attitudes toward school inclusion of students with severe disabilities, e.g., blindness and deafness, who historically have not been included in regular classes. A recent questionnaire that measures the dimensions of school inclusion most often evaluated by questionnaires about inclusion is the Teacher Integration Attitudes Questionnaire (TIAQ; Sideridis & Chandler, 1997). The TIAQ is intended to measure teachers’ ideas regard the skills of general education teachers, the benefits of inclusion, the social acceptance of the student with disabilities, and the teacher support toward teaching, e.g., materials and funds. Excellent statistical methods were used to construct TIAQ and to verify its factorial structure. However, it has been used only with music education and physical education teachers. Future research is needed to support its generality with other groups of teachers (Sideridis & Chandler, 1997). Other questionnaires were constructed to measure more specific dimensions of the construct of school inclusion. For example, the Impact of Inclusion Questionnaire (Hastings & Oakford, 2003) measures teachers’ ideas regarding the impact of inclusion upon their stress and workload, parent and community perceptions of the school. The Mainstreaming Social Skills Questionnaires (Salend & Salend, 1986) rates the students with disabilities’ social and learning skills needed for success in inclusive classes. A few questionnaires have been developed to measure parents’ attitude toward school inclusion. For example, the questionnaire ‘‘Mental Retardation and Inclusion’’ (MRI; Balboni & Pedrabissi, 2000) is available in two versions: one for teachers and another one for parents of students without disabilities. MRI was developed to evaluate attitudes toward school inclusion of students with mental retardation. MRI is made up of 26 four-point Likert-type items. Half the items are statements in favor of inclusion, e.g., ‘‘Students with mental retardation have the right to be included in ordinary classes regardless of the type and severity of their disability,’’ the other half
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opposed to inclusion, e.g., ‘‘Special schools are necessary for students with severe mental retardation.’’ Exploratory factorial analyses in large groups of teachers and parents found that the items are organized in five dimensions: (1) evaluation of benefits and problems ensuing from inclusion; (2) evaluation of special classes; (3) innovation in the organization of the didactical activities; (4) tasks of special and general teachers; and (5) limitations of traditional teachers’ training. A questionnaire for the evaluation of the attitude toward inclusion of parents’ of students with disabilities is Parent Attitudes Toward Inclusion scale (PATI; Palmer, Borthwick-Duffy, & Widaman, 1998). PATI was designed to delineate parents’ perceptions regarding the impact of inclusive practice upon the quality of educational services the student with disabilities receives; the developmental opportunities of students with and without disabilities; and the acceptance of the included student. A very few questionnaires have been constructed for the evaluation of attitudes toward inclusion of students’ without disabilities. Examples are available in Italy and they are used to measure high school and college students’ attitude (e.g., Vianello & Moalli, 2001). Questionnaires toward school inclusion have been developed because it was verified that teachers and parents’ positive attitude is necessary for the success of inclusion of students with disabilities in regular classes (e.g., Bliken, 1985; Cornoldi, Terreni, Scruggs, & Mastropieri, 1998; Scruggs & Mastropieri, 1996). However, answers on a questionnaire are especially subject to the possibility of deliberate misrepresentation. Items have answers that are recognizable as socially more desirable or acceptable than the others. Systematic observation methods measure those behaviors that are in practice in the classroom, therefore, they may be more valid than questionnaires. However, systematic observational methods are more time consuming, difficult to implement and more expensive than questionnaires. Thus, before using a school inclusion questionnaire, it is important to verify that its scores are not related to social desirability scale scores (Reynolds & Greco, 1980).
STUDENT DRAWINGS The analysis of drawings of the student with disabilities may be a method for the evaluation of the mental representation of the included student. It may be useful to investigate how nursery and elementary school students without disabilities represent the peer with disabilities. In spite of that, there
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are very few investigations in the literature about school inclusion that use this method (e.g., Venuti et al., 2003; Tamm & Prellwitz, 2001). Venuti et al. (2003) asked elementary school students to draw a picture of themselves with a peer with disabilities. Then, to analyze the drawings, a scoring system was developed based on Bombi and colleagues’ drawing rating system for children’s friendships (Bombi & Pinto, 1993; Bombi, Cannoni, & Pinto, 2003). Two scales that address features about value imbalance and difference between two partners were used. First, the Value Imbalance Scale rates the extent to which the student represents a difference of importance between himself/herself and the peer with disabilities. The score is based on four different subscales: Dimension, Gaze line, Accuracy, and Number of attributes. The Dimension subscale refers to the height difference between the two pictures; the Gaze line subscale expresses if one of the two drawings is drawn in a higher area of the paper; the Accuracy subscale rates the difference in the number of body elements drawn for the two pictures; the Number of attributes subscale refers to the difference in the number of clothes and accessories drawn in the two pictures. Second, the Difference scale rates the degree to which the student draws the peer with disabilities differently from himself/herself. The score is based on three subscales: Dimension, Position, and Body. The Size subscale refers to the height difference between the two pictures; the Position subscale rates the disparity in the two figures global position (i.e., seated, standing) or limbs position. The Body subscale refers to the presence of differences in the body elements drawn for the two figures. Students’ social behaviors toward their peer with disabilities are influenced by their ideas and mental representation of disability (e.g., Beauvois, Joule´, & Monteil, 1991). Therefore, drawing may be appropriate for evaluating the school inclusion of students with disabilities. The act of drawing supposes knowledge production without sophisticated linguistic skills (Marilys, 2004). Thus, drawing analysis evaluates students’ ideas in a simpler way than colloquies and interviews (Bombi et al., 2003). However, it is important to develop drawing rating systems, which are valid and allow both qualitative and quantitative analyses of the drawing of the students with disabilities.
CONCLUSION The development of the physical inclusion of students with disabilities in regular classes is influenced by different factors. Some involve observable
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behaviors such as the social interactions of the included student with peers and teachers; other factors involve mental phenomena such as the teachers’ and parents’ attitude toward school inclusion, and the students’ mental representation of disability. For the evaluation of all these factors, different methods have been used, for example the sociometric technique, systematic observations, questionnaires, and drawings. Information obtained with these different methods must be integrated; in this way, it might be possible to plan interventions to facilitate school integration of students with disabilities.
REFERENCES Antonak, R. F. (1982). Development and psychometric analysis of the Scale of Attitudes Toward Disabled Persons. Journal of Applied Rehabilitation Counseling, 13, 22–29. Antonak, R. F., & Larrivee, B. (1995). Psychometric analysis and revision of the Opinions Relative to Mainstreaming scale. Exceptional Children, 62, 139–149. Antonak, R. F., & Livneh, H. (1988). The measurement of attitudes toward people with disabilities: Methods, psychometrics, and scales. Springfield, IL: Charles C. Thomas. Asher, S. R., & Taylor, A. R. (1982). Social outcome of mainstreaming: Sociometric assessment and beyond. In: P. S. Strain (Ed.), Social development of exceptional children (pp. 13–30). Rockville, MD: Aspen. Balboni, G., de Falco, S., & Venuti, P. (in press). Me´thodes de recherche utilise´es sur l’inclusion scolaire. In: C. Dionne & N. Rousseau (Eds), Trasformation des pratiques e´ducatives: La recherche sur l’inclusion scolaire. Que´bec: Presses de l’Universite´ du Quebec. Balboni, G., & Pedrabissi, L. (2000). Attitudes of Italian teachers and parents toward school inclusion of students with mental retardation: The role of experience. Education and Training in Mental Retardation and Developmental Disabilities, 35, 148–159. Beauvois, J. L., Joule´, R. V., & Monteil, J. M. (1991). Perspectives cognitives et conduites sociales, Vol. 3. Cousset, Switzerland: Delval. Bell-Dolan, D. J., Foster, S. L., & Sikora, D. M. (1989). Effects of sociometric testing on children’s behavior and loneliness in school. Developmental Psychology, 25, 306–311. Berryman, J. D., & Neal, W. R., Jr. (1980). The cross validation of the Attitudes Toward Mainstreaming Scale (ATMS). Educational and Psychological Measurement, 40, 469–474. Bliken, D. P. (1985). Mainstreaming: From compliance to quality. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 18, 58–61. Bombi, A. S., Cannoni, E., & Pinto, G. (2003). Silent interviews: Drawing as a tool to investigate children’s friendships. Eta` Evolutiva, 75, 97–103. Bombi, A. S., & Pinto, G. (1993). I colori dell’amicizia: Studi sulle rappresentazioni pittoriche dell’amicizia tra bambini. Bologna, Italy: Il Mulino. Bruck, M., & Herbert, M. (1982). Correlates of learning disabled students’ peer-interaction patterns. Learning Disability Quarterly, 5, 353–362. Cole, D. A., Vandercook, T., & Rynders, J. (1988). Comparison of two peer interaction program: Children with and without severe disabilities. American Educational Research Journal, 25, 415–439.
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Cornoldi, C., & Soresi, S. (1980). La diagnosi psicologica delle difficolta` di apprendimento. Pordenone, Italy: Erip. Cornoldi, C., Terreni, A., Scruggs, T. E., & Mastropieri, M. A. (1998). Teacher attitudes in Italy after twenty years of inclusion. Remedial and Special Education, 19, 350–356. Diamond, K. E. (2001). Relationships among young children’s ideas, emotional understanding, and social contact with classmates with disabilities. Topics in Early Childhood Special Education, 21, 104–113. Gottlieb, J., Alter, M., & Gottlieb, B. W. (1996). General education placement for special education students in urban schools. In: M. J. Coutinho & A. C. Repp (Eds), Inclusion: Integration of students with disabilities (pp. 91–111). Belmont, CA: Wadsworth. Greenwood, C. R., Carta, J. J., Kamps, D., Terry, B., & Delquadri, J. (1994). Development and validation of standard classroom observation systems for school practitioners: Ecobehavioral Assessment System Software (EBASS). Exceptional Children, 61, 197–210. Gresham, F. M. (1986). Strategies for enhancing the social outcomes of mainstreaming: A necessary ingredient of success. In: C. J. Meisel (Ed.), Mainstreaming handicapped children: Outcomes, controversies, and new direction (pp. 193–218). Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum. Gresham, F. M., & Stuart, D. (1992). Stability of sociometric assessment: Implications for uses as selection and outcome measures in social skills training. Journal of School Psychology, 30, 223–231. Hastings, P. R., & Oakford, S. (2003). Student teachers’ attitudes towards the inclusion of children with special needs. Educational Psychology, 23, 87–94. Hayvren, M., & Hymel, S. (1984). Ethical issues in sociometric testing: Impact of sociometric measures on interactive behavior. Developmental Psychology, 20, 844–849. Horne, M. D. (August 1977). Assessment of classroom status: Using the Perception of Social Closeness Scale. Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Psychological Association, San Francisco. Hunt, P., Soto, G., Maier, J., & Doering, K. (2003). Collaborative teaming to support students at risk and students with severe disabilities in general education classrooms. Exceptional Children, 69, 315–332. Keller, D. E., & Sterling Honing, A. (1993). Curriculum to promote positive interaction of preschoolers with a disabled peer introduced into the classroom. Early Child Development and Care, 96, 27–34. Kennedy, G. H., Shukla, S., & Fryxell, D. (1997). Comparing the effects of educational placement on the social relationships of intermediate school students with severe disabilities. Exceptional Children, 64, 31–47. Kozleski, E. B., & Jackson, L. (1993). Taylor’s story: Full inclusion in her neighborhood elementary school. Exceptionality, 4, 153–175. Larrivee, B. (1981). Effect of inservice training intensity on teachers’ attitudes to mainstreaming. Psychology in the Schools, 19, 374–379. Larrivee, B. (1982). Factors underlying regular classroom teachers’ attitude toward mainstreaming. Psychology in the Schools, 19, 374–379. Larrivee, B., & Cook, L. (1979). Mainstreaming: A study of the variables affecting teacher attitude. The Journal of Special Education, 13, 315–324. Larrivee, B., & Horne, D. M. (1991). Social status: A comparison of mainstreamed students with peers of different ability levels. The Journal of Special Education, 25, 90–101. Lis, A., & Venuti, P. (1996). L’osservazione nella psicologia dello sviluppo. Firenze, Italy: Giunti.
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Marilys, G. (2004). Understanding illness: Using drawings as a research method. Qualitative Health Research, 14, 272–289. Moreno, J. L. (1934). Who shall survive? New York: Beacon House. Palmer, D. S., Borthwick-Duffy, S. A., & Widaman, K. (1998). Parent perceptions of inclusive practices for their children with significant cognitive disabilities. Exceptional Children, 64, 271–282. Place, K., & Hodge, S. R. (2001). Social inclusion of students with physical disabilities in general physical education: A behavioral analysis. Adapted Physical Activity Quarterly, 18, 389–404. Ramsey, P. G. (1995). Changing social dynamics in early childhood classrooms. Child Development, 66, 764–773. Reynolds, W. M., & Greco, V. T. (1980). The reliability and factorial validity of a scale for measuring teachers’ attitudes towards mainstreaming. Educational and Psychological Measurement, 40, 463–474. Ridsdale, J., & Thompson, D. (2002). Perceptions of social adjustment of hearing-impaired pupils in an integrated secondary school unit. Educational Psychology in Practice, 18, 21–34. Sale, P., & Carey, D. M. (1995). The sociometric status of students with disabilities in a fullinclusion school. Exceptional Children, 62, 6–19. Salend, S. J., & Salend, S. M. (1986). Competencies for mainstreaming secondary level learning disabled students. Journal of learning Disabilities, 19, 91–94. Scranton, T. R., & Ryckman, D. B. (1979). Sociometric status of learning disabled children in an integrative program. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 12, 402–407. Scruggs, T. E., & Mastropieri, M. A. (1996). Teachers’ perception of mainstreaming/inclusion, 1958–1995: A research synthesis. Exceptional Children, 63, 59–74. Sideridis, G. D., & Chandler, J. P. (1997). Assessment of teacher attitudes toward inclusion of students with disabilities: A confirmatory factor analysis. Adapted Activity Quarterly, 14, 51–64. Tamm, M., & Prellwitz, M. (2001). ‘‘If I had a friend in a wheelchair’’: Children’s thoughts on disabilities. Child: Care, Health & Development, 27, 223–240. Terry, R., & Coie, J. D. (1991). A comparison of methods for defining sociometric status among children. Developmental Psychology, 27, 867–880. Venuti, P. (2001). L’osservazione del comportamento. Roma: Carocci. Venuti, P., Coppola, A., & de Falco, S. (September 2003). La rappresentazione mentale del disabile nei bambini. Poster session presented at the annual meeting of the Italian Psychological Association, Bari, Italy. Vianello, R., & Moalli, E. (2001). Integrazione a scuola: Le opinioni degli insegnanti, dei genitori e dei compagni di classe. Giornale Italiano delle Disabilita`, 2, 29–43.
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ESTABLISHING AND MAINTAINING COLLABORATIVE RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN REGULAR AND SPECIAL EDUCATION TEACHERS IN MIDDLE SCHOOL SOCIAL STUDIES INCLUSIVE CLASSROOMS Cynthia Young Buckley ABSTRACT This qualitative research study focused upon collaboration between regular and special education teachers in middle school inclusive social studies classrooms. Data sources included interviews, observations and a review of Individualized Education Plans (IEPs). Two pairs of regular and special education teachers (high and low collaborators) were selected from three schools in different counties. Major findings included a description of the ways teachers formed and maintained their relationships, the role of administrators, and obstacles that needed to be overcome. Lack of time was identified as the greatest obstacle. IEPs were not found to be useful. Teacher use of accommodations and strategies tended to be Cognition and Learning in Diverse Settings Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 18, 153–198 Copyright r 2005 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(05)18008-2
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global, rather than individualized. Perceptions of role were examined by teacher type.
INTRODUCTION Currently, there is a trend for students with mild learning disabilities (LD) to receive instruction in the regular education setting. More than 70% of students with mild disabilities are included in the regular education setting (United States Department of Education, 2000; Ysseldyke & Algozzine, 1990). Having students with LD in an inclusive setting raises several theoretical and logistical issues for both regular and special education teachers and the students themselves. One of these issues is the necessity of balancing the principles of individualized and standardized instruction. Also important is the necessity of collaboration between regular education and special education teachers to provide strategies and create modifications to the standard curriculum. Primarily, special education teachers write Individualized Education Plans (IEPs). Regular education teachers, parents and the students with LD themselves provide some input. The task for the teachers is to provide an educational plan that is both special and individualized, and general and standardized. When teachers are writing IEPs they must find a way to provide students with as much access to the regular curriculum as possible while still focusing on each student’s individual strengths and weaknesses. The Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) and IEPs allow the student with LD to have access to the general education curriculum with modifications, or accommodations. In order for this type of service delivery to be successful it is necessary for special education teachers and regular education teachers to collaborate on more than just IEP writing. Although special education teachers are primarily responsible for drafting and planning the IEPs, regular education teachers must provide instruction for students with LD on a daily basis. This is especially significant in middle school and high school. Students with LD generally have several different teachers for content area subjects. The majority of these teachers do not attend IEP meetings. Special education teachers and regular education teachers must find a way to collaborate and share strategies for students with LD. As students progress through the school system they are expected to be more independent. When they have reached middle school, students have several teachers throughout the day and many more responsibilities than they do in elementary school. Curriculum content in subject areas often
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becomes more difficult as the reading level increases, textbooks become longer, and teachers expect students to be independent, self-directed learners. This potentially creates a significant problem for a student with LD. Often students with LD read several years below grade level and have poor organizational and memory skills. Students in inclusive middle school classes, such as social studies, often struggle to keep up with the reading assignments and may have difficulty remembering factual information (Lerner, 2002). The problem, therefore, is that students with LD are being included in regular education classrooms in middle school for subjects that are potentially difficult for them, such as social studies. This allows them access to the general curriculum, but also creates pressure for them to be successful in class even though they have difficulties with memory and organization and are often reading several years below grade level. It is necessary for teachers to work together in order to provide support to these students if they are going to be successful. The purpose of the present research is to determine how special education and general education teachers collaborate and use IEPs to individualize instruction for students with LD in inclusive social studies classes in middle school. The ways in which the teachers build and maintain relationships will be examined. By understanding collaborative relationship it can be better described, and potentially help other teachers better understand their own relationships. Collaboration between regular and special education teachers may be the best chance students with LD have for success. The research questions were: 1. How do regular education and special education teachers share information about students with LD, including the use of the IEP? 2. How are collaborative relationships built and maintained? 3. How do regular and special education teachers differ in the ways they conceptualize their roles in the process of educating students with LD?
RELEVANT LITERATURE This section discusses relevant research in several different areas. The reading ability and test taking ability of students with LD, and the difficulty level of texts is examined. Research on collaboration and its effectiveness is addressed as well as the role of the IEP in planning modifications and accommodations.
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Reading Ability The majority of students with LD are reading significantly below grade level (Heward, 2002; Lerner, 2002; Olson & Platt, 2003). Furthermore, students with LD are often inefficient, passive learners who are often unable to organize new information into a conceptual framework or monitor their comprehension (August, Flavell, & Clift, 1984; Ciborowski, 1992; Davey & McBride, 1986; Kinder & Bursuck, 1991; Palincsar & Brown, 1984; Wong & Jones, 1982). These deficits negatively affect their ability to comprehend information from textbooks. This is caused, in part, because students have an inability to use text structures efficiently (Englert & Thomas, 1987; Lewis & Doorlag, 2003; Mastropieri & Scruggs, 2004; Richgels, McGee, Lomax, & Sheard, 1987). Students may also have limited background knowledge to build upon (Holley, 1989; Lenz & Alley, 1983; Stahl, Jacobson, Davis, & Davis, 1989). This problem tends to become worse as the student progresses through school (Ciborowski, 1992). This is especially significant when learning social studies because social studies textbooks are often very complex.
Text Factors Social studies is a complex content area subject. Not only must social studies instruction encompass a variety of disciplines such as geography, history, sociology, anthropology, psychology, government, archaeology, economics, philosophy, and religion, but it also must take into account multiple perspectives. Religious groups, feminists, environmentalists, Native Americans, African Americans, and virtually every ethnic or cultural group must at least be considered by text authors for inclusion in books. These multiple disciplines and multiple perspectives create an enormous amount of material which must be included in the social studies curriculum. Classroom instruction in most schools is dominated by the use of textbooks, particularly the higher grades (Bean, Zigmond, Rogers, Hartman, & Gozdik, 1991; Cox & Kazarian, 1985; Ravitch & Finn, 1987; Turner, 1976; Tyson-Bernstein & Woodward, 1986). However, textbooks can be extremely difficult. Harniss, Hollenbeck, Crawford, and Carnine (1994) note, ‘‘Social studies textbooks appear to be among the most difficult reading material students encounter’’ (p. 236). Several of the studies presented here are more than 10 years old. It is possible that, in the time since these studies were conducted, improvements to textbooks have been made. The teachers in this
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study, (see Methods) however, tended to agree with the findings of these previous studies. Social studies textbooks can be difficult for a number of reasons, among them inappropriate reading levels, flaws in design, presentation and content, and a lack of text considerateness. Reading levels of social studies text books have been found to be too high for the intended grade level, and to have too much variability within the text or chapter (Ames & Bradley, 1981; Brittain, 1981; Manning, Manning, & Cody, 1986). Textbooks are often poorly written and do not provide the reader with a method to gather and organize new material. This is what Kantor, Anderson, and Armbruster (1983) have described as a lack of ‘‘text considerateness.’’ In many of the textbooks studied, no framework was provided to help the students manage and make sense of new information (Anderson, Armbruster, & Kantor, 1980; Armbruster & Anderson, 1985; Kantor et al., 1983; Kinder, Bursuck, & Epstein, 1992). The content, design and presentation of textbooks are also concerns. Many texts are poorly written, with too many useless comparisons, too many concepts, unclear main ideas, poorly chosen examples, and too many digressions (Beck, McKeown, & Gromoll, 1989; Hafner & Stakenas, 1990; McKeown & Beck, 1990). Texts are often written without any authorial style or voice and are boring to the student (Crismore, 1983; Larkins & Hawkins, 1990; Sewell, 1988; Tyson-Bernstein & Woodward, 1986; Warren & Rosebery, 1989). All of these factors make it difficult for all students to learn from a social studies textbook. In addition, teachers are often not able to judge the level of text difficulty accurately because readability scales designed to measure difficulty are often inaccurate when judging social studies textbooks.
Students with Learning Difficulties and Social Studies Social studies is a complex subject and, as noted earlier, the textbooks are often not helpful. It is estimated that over half of all students are reading at a frustration level in their high school social studies textbooks (Wait, 1987). This can be a problem for any student, but especially for the student who has learning difficulties (Ciborowski, 1992; Donahoe & Zigmond, 1990). Students with LD often read below grade level and have difficulty with vocabulary. Weaknesses in reading and memory skills and a lack of prior (or background) knowledge in the content area make learning from a textbook
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a challenge (Jittendra, Nolet, Gomez, & Xin, 1999; Lenz & Alley, 1983, Stahl et al., 1989). Students with LD need strategies and assistance from teachers, but what type of assistance can and do teachers in the regular classroom setting provide? How do regular education teachers and special education teacher work together to meet the needs of students with LD in their social studies classrooms?
Collaboration Regular education social studies teachers must find a way to meet the needs of students with LD. The collaborative model has been suggested as one solution. The collaborative model, in theory, is a means by which special education teachers can share their expertise with regular education teachers to the benefit of all involved (Haight & Molitor, 1983; Huefner, 1988). Although this sounds like a promising idea, it is difficult to assess the effectiveness of collaboration (Fuchs, Fuchs, Dulan, Roberts, & Fernstorm, 1992; Tindal, Parker, & Germann, 1990). There are also many barriers to effective collaboration, such as a lack of a clear job description and insufficient planning time (Glomb & Morgan, 1991; Haight & Molitor, 1983; Johnson & Pugach, 1990; McIntosh, Vaughn, Schumm, Haager, & Lee, 1993; Passe & Beattie, 1994; Trump & Hange, 1996; Whinnery, Fuchs, & Fuchs, 1991). Another key factor to the success of the consultation model is the will and ability level of teachers to accept students with LD into their classrooms, provide accommodations, and work with special educators. It is possible that regular education social studies teachers may be untrained or unable (or perceive themselves to be unable) to meet the demands of the student with LD (Baker & Zigmond, 1990; Nevin & Melvyn, 1981; Phillips, 1990; Schultz, 1982; Semmel, Abernathy, Butera, & Lesar, 1991). They may also be unwilling to spare the time necessary to plan individualized instruction (Phillips, 1990), especially as the needs of the students increase (Scruggs & Mastropieri, 1996).
The Role of the IEP The Education for All Handicapped Children Act of 1975 attempted to provide all students with disabilities an individualized and appropriate
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education through an IEP that was created by a team of interested stakeholders. As of the 1997 reauthorization of this act, commonly known as the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA), a regular education teacher has been a required member of the team. The IEP is intended to be the driving force of the student’s education. Smith and Brownell (1995) concluded: ‘‘ythe importance of the IEP in directing, documenting, and facilitating collaboration of a student’s education cannot be minimized or ignored’’ (p. 1). However, research indicates that the IEP is often not adequate. Problems exist in the accuracy and validity of the IEP process and the document itself (Alper, 1978; Bureau of Education for the Handicapped, 1979; Comptroller General of the United States, 1981; Dickson & Costa, 1981; Pyecha, 1980; Smith, 1990; Schenk & Levy, 1979). Also of concern are the teachers’ perceptions of effectiveness and role as IEP team members (Alper, 1978; Ammer, 1984; Blaschke, 1979; Comptroller General of the United States, 1981; Gilliam & Coleman, 1981; Goldstein, Strickland, Turnbull, & Currey, 1980; Menlove, Hudson, & Suter, 2001; Pugach, 1982; Smith, 1990; Ysseldyke, Algozzine, & Allen, 1982). There is also evidence that suggests that regular education teachers may not be using the IEP at all to plan instruction (Ammer, 1984; Nevin & Melvyn, 1981; Pugach, 1982). Regular education teachers may also feel that the IEP is too long, and places too many demands upon their time (DudleyMarling, 1985; Joseph, Lindgren, Creamer & Lane, 1983; National Association of State Directors of Special Education, 1998; Nevin & Melvyn, 1981; Pugach, 1982). Likewise, special education teachers may also be dissatisfied with IEPs and the IEP process as well. Some special education teachers may feel that the IEP is not a necessary part of the student’s school program (Morgan & Rhode, 1983). There is a need to perform studies that will help to understand how IEPs function in the school environment (Smith & Brownell, 1995).
METHODOLOGY The purpose of this study is to examine the ways in which general and special education teachers collaborate to share information about students with LD, how the IEP is used by the regular education teachers to provide strategies and accommodations, and how regular and special education teachers perceive their roles in the process. In order to gain information from participants to address these issues, I conducted in-depth interviews followed by observations and document reviews.
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Research Questions The following research questions were designed to achieve the broad goal of this study, helping students with LD succeed in middle school social studies classrooms: 1. How do regular education and special education teachers share information about students with LD, including the use of the IEP? 2. How are collaborative relationships built and maintained? 3. How do regular and special education teachers differ in the ways they conceptualize their roles in the process of educating students with LD? Setting The schools used within this study came from three counties located within 60 miles of one another. Although this was not intended to be a representative sample, I made an effort to choose schools with differing characteristics to try to obtain a range of responses. School Number 1 was located in a rural area. This school district consisted of five schools, with a total student enrollment of 2,034. The median family household income was $51,601 with 6.6% of the population living below the poverty level. Eighty-two percent of the population had at least a high school degree. There were 71 persons per square mile (United States Department of Commerce, 2000). School Number 2 was located in a rural area. There was a wide range within the socio-economic status of families who attend this school, with a median family income of $61,999, with 3.7% living below the poverty level. This school district consisted of 18 schools, with a total student enrollment of 9,675. Eighty-four percent of the population had at least a high school degree. The number of persons per square mile was 84 (United States Department of Commerce, 2000). School Number 3 was within a community described as being urban/ suburban. This school district consisted of 198 schools, with a total student enrollment of 160,584. The median family household income in this area was $85,300, with 4.5% of the population living below the poverty level. Ninety-one percent of the population had at least a high school degree. The number of persons per square mile was 2,454 (United States Department of Commerce, 2000). Table 1 describes the demographic characteristics of each school and county.
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Table 1. Demographic Characteristics of Focus Schools. School 1 1. 2. 3. 5.
Total enrollment Grade levels Students per teacher Percent eligible for free/reduced lunch (%) 6. Per pupil expenditure
7. Racial/ethnic background White (%) Black (%) Hispanic (%) 8. Accreditation status
School 2
School 3
State Average
455 6–8 12.0 18.2
482 6–8 13.8 12.4
4,112 7–12 14.2 6.1
1,163,091 (total)
$6,620 (district)
$7,839 (district)
$9,387 (district)
$7,281
92.1 5.5 1.5 Full
90.5 6.6 2.1 Full
73.1 4.5 6.6 Full
62.8 27.1 5.5
13.0 29.3
Selecting the Participants I contacted by e-mail, and then met with, specific teachers. After obtaining their written agreement to participate I then asked them who they primarily collaborated with and how they would rate themselves: as low or high or high collaborators. Two teacher pairs, one from school one and one from school two were eliminated because of a mismatch in their responses to this line of questioning. Table 2 describes the participants in this study. In addition to the differences between the counties these three schools were located in, these teachers also varied in gender, age, type of working relationship, and years teaching. Years of teaching experience ranged from 1 to 37 years. There was one male participant and 11 females. Working Relationships Among these participants, four working relationships involved co-teaching, and three of the relationships used a consultation model. For the purpose of this study, co-teaching is defined as a social studies classroom that has two teachers, a regular education teacher certified in social studies, and a special education teacher. Both of these teachers are present during the instructional period. Consultation refers to a service delivery method in which the special education teacher is not in the classroom on a daily basis, but is available to the regular education teacher for help as needed.
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Table 2. County/ School
School Size
1
Small
2
Medium
3
Large
Characteristics of Teachers.
Teachers (by pair) Allen Nicole Traci Sheila Dawn Valerie Elizabeth Kathy Michele Lenore Hana
Teacher Type
Years Teaching
reg ed reg ed sped reg ed sped reg ed sped reg ed sped reg ed sped
5 6 13 37 15 30 25 31 4 6 1
Delivery Model
Collaboration Amount
Co-teach Consult
High Low
Co-teach
High
Consult
Low
Co-teach
High
Co-teach
Low
Note: reg ed ¼ regular education, sped ¼ special education.
Data Sources Interviews Interviews were conducted in an open-ended manner so that participants would feel comfortable as possible describing their feelings and opinions. This is based upon Bogdan and Biklen (1982), ‘‘The openended nature of the approach allows the subjects to answer from their own frame of reference rather than from one structured by prearranged questions’’ (p. 2). I interviewed special education and regular education teachers separately. There was no time limit for interviews. I developed a preliminary draft of interview questions that changed and developed after each interview. Questions were designed to elicit both factual type information and to delve into the perceptions and beliefs of the teachers. The list of interview questions served primarily as a guide, rather than a set schedule. Questions were abandoned or changed as the interview took its course, however, most questions were addressed in all the interviews to provide common data (Bogdan & Biklen, 1982). Follow-up interviews were conducted to ask participants in earlier interviews questions that were added at a later time. This entire series of interviews was conducted in the months of March, April and May of 2003. Interviews ranged in length from 1 h (Allen) to 2 h (Hana), with most interviews lasting approximately 1 1/2 h.
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Follow-Up Interviews After initial interviews were completed I conducted follow-up interviews in order to clarify any questions that I had and to have participants check to see if I had captured their responses correctly. I contacted nine teachers, by e-mail, phone interview and in person to address questions I had about particular responses. This included the first five teachers interviewed. Since my interview questions changed as I went through the process, it was necessary to revisit some of the participants who had not been asked some of the newly emerging questions. Document Review In addition to interviews, I asked each special education teacher to provide three to five copies of IEPs. The guidelines for selection were that the IEPs be written for students who received social studies in the regular education setting, and that the IEPs also include examples of accommodations or modifications to the general curriculum which either the regular education or special education teacher used while working with the student within the social studies classroom. The purpose of examining the IEPs was to attempt a comparison to the results of the teachers’ self-reports during the interview as one means of an accuracy check. I also planned to compare interviews between teacher pairs to check for inconsistencies. Observation The purpose for doing field observations was to try to examine the ways teachers were collaborating in the classroom and to get an idea of what strategies, accommodations and modifications were in use. I observed each regular education teacher twice for approximately 3 h each time during times chosen by the teacher. The first observation of each social studies teacher was completed 1–2 weeks after the interview. The second observation was completed 1–2 weeks following the first. Thus, observations were completed during the months of March, April, May, and June, during the school day.
ANALYSIS I decided the best way to explore this topic would be inductively, through qualitative research. My intent was to examine how and why teachers worked collaboratively. Of particular interest to me were their perceptions of role. I wanted to discover themes that were common to all or many of the participants.
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I used the software program NVivo as a tool in this process. After conducting and transcribing the first interview I looked for aspects of the data that seemed to be important and considered these aspects as preliminary coding categories. Some initial coding categories were also based upon interview questions. As more interviews were conducted and coding progressed I began to formulate what I considered to be emic categories (Maxwell, 1996). An emic category is the respondents’ method of classification. Categories that I considered emic stemmed from respondents’ use of classification, rather than classification I had created myself. Emic categories are identified by quotation marks in the results section. During this process I also continued to examine the data that had been previously collected in light of my emerging analyses. As I conducted more interviews, I was able to refine and expand my preliminary analyses. The interviews that were conducted early on in the data collection process had an impact upon not only the interview questions of the later interviews but also on my own understanding of the topics involved.
Grouping the Data for Analysis While analyzing the data, I thought that it would be important to look for similarities and differences among the responses of the different teacher types. I began the process of comparison by dividing responses into obvious groupings, to try to determine whether or not teacher characteristics had any influence upon responses. The categories I assumed would be most significant for comparison were special education teachers versus regular education teachers, and high collaborators versus low collaborators. I also divided teachers into categories based upon gender, school size, type of working relationship, and years teaching. I used the coding categories I had developed as a basis for comparison. I also compared responses between the regular and special education teacher in each dyad. This was done in order to more fully examine differences or similarities between teacher types, and to try to ensure the accuracy of the teachers’ self-reporting.
Analysis of Field Observations The data regarding general characteristics provided a description of the setting in which the students were learning. This included the physical layout of the classroom and the use of materials and accommodations or
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modifications in these areas the teachers were using. The data describing interactions provided an idea of what instruction was being delivered by the teachers to the students, and what types of strategies the teachers used to promote student comprehension. To make sense of the information gained from observations I coded observations I using the same codes I used with my interview questions. After separating observational data into these categories I looked for themes to emerge, or for data, which would specifically answer research questions.
Analysis of IEPs To analyze the IEPs I separated data into categories based on (1) types of modifications and strategies mentioned and (2) goals and objectives which could be incorporated into social studies instruction, or mention of social studies in the present level of performance. I was then able to compare this list to interview and observational data to see if there was a match between what the special education teacher believed to be happening in the classroom (based upon the IEP) and what I saw happening in the classroom during the observation.
Triangulation In an effort to check for accuracy of information, I compared the interviews, observations, and IEPs. Specifically, I compared teachers’ reported use of strategies, accommodations and modifications (during interviews) to my observations during class time. I also compared the list of modifications and accommodations drawn from IEPs to observed and self-reported (during interview) accommodations and modifications.
Limitations Since this is a qualitative study with a relatively small number of informants, who all came from the same state, it will limit the amount of generalizability. A further limitation of this study was my own preconceived ideas and biases. I had to be careful to limit my interpretations to what the participants were revealing rather than my own experiences to the extent that this was possible. In an attempt to do this, I periodically wrote research memos
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(Maxwell, 1996) describing my thoughts and reflections as I collected and analyzed data. Other limitations of this study are common to much qualitative research in general. One is that the bulk of the information for this study came from teacher self-report. Teachers for this study needed to be fairly introspective and reflective. It may have been difficult for them to answer some of the questions due to a lack of previous reflection. Also, there may be a tendency for some interview respondents to answer questions in a way in which they assume the interviewer wants them to. I was very careful to be neutral in expressing my purposes for the interviews. During initial interviews I did not state what my personal opinions on the subject were, nor did I discuss any emerging analyses. While conducting the interviews I did not have a sense that either of these possible concerns was negatively affecting the responses of the participants.
RESULTS The purpose of this research was to study, in-depth, the ways that special education and regular education teachers work together in order to meet the needs of students with LD who are mainstreamed for social studies in middle school. The findings for research questions one and two will be summarized here. The results for question four will be described in detail. The next section includes a discussion of the limitations of the study and a description of implications for teachers, teacher educators and future researchers. Following that are references. Research Question 1. How do Regular Education and Special Education Teachers Share Information about Students with LD, including the Use of the IEP? Students with LD generally read below grade level, have limited background knowledge and poor organizational and test taking skills. Due to this, students with LD need specialized strategies in social studies, a class which involves many higher level thinking skills and uses a textbook often written above grade level. The amount and method of sharing information between special and regular education teachers in middle school are critical issues. It seems necessary for students to succeed that teachers share information. Teachers in this study indicated that they do value sharing information both professionally and personally. Professionally, teachers are benefited by having a
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resource who is an expert in something they are not. Personally, teachers are benefited by having someone to share and to commiserate with. IEPs were created with the intention of providing teachers with a means of sharing important information by legal paperwork. However, the teachers in this study indicated that they did not find the IEP a useful tool because it was too long, and the language too complicated. Most of the regular education teachers indicated that they only looked at the accommodations page of the IEP, rather than the entire document. Furthermore, most of the regular education teachers mentioned that they only looked at the IEP in the beginning of the year, in order to set up ‘‘global’’ plans, rather than individualized instruction. The IEP, therefore, for the teachers in this study, could not be relied upon to be the means of ensuring the students with LD received an appropriate, individualized education within the regular education setting. Thus, if the IEP cannot be relied upon to share information then teachers must get this information by working with one another. However, among the teachers in this study, there appeared to be little time to share information. None of the teachers had a regular, scheduled time to meet and plan instruction, modifications or strategies with one another. Some of the teachers used team time to occasionally coordinate accommodations. All of the teachers used informal, face-to-face meetings to do the bulk of their collaboration. These meetings, described as being ‘‘on-the-fly’’ occurred as needed, and could be held in the hallway, in the lunchroom, or in the classroom before and after school. Teachers seemed, in general, pleased with this form of collaboration, however, all of the teachers said that they did not ever do lesson plans together, with the exception of one teacher pair, who took turns being responsible for lesson planning, and would share these plans with one another for feedback occasionally. So, it would appear, that ‘‘on-the-fly’’ meetings do not allow for lesson planning, even for teachers in a co-teaching relationship. This lack of planning time could potentially make it very difficult for teachers to be able to provide for students with LD adequately. It seems that the teachers in this study needed scheduled time to sit down and plan lessons together and share their ideas about accommodations and strategies for their students. By doing this they would help not only the students with LD, but also the whole classrooms, and themselves. Research Question 2. How are Collaborative Relationships Built and Maintained? How teachers forge working relationships and keep them working is very important. In order for the student with LD to be successful in the regular
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education setting the teachers must first be successful. Therefore, much of this study centered around the ways teachers are able to build and maintain relationships. Many interview questions focused specifically upon how teachers established a new relationship, how they divided responsibilities, and how they resolved conflicts. Building and maintaining collaborative relationships is a complex process. I divided the information provided by the teachers for this research question into seven categories. These categories were: establishing a relationship, effect of proximity, clicking, division of responsibilities, problems that arise, resolving problems, and the role of the administration. Many of these categories seemed interrelated. Several of these categories also seemed to relate back to the results for research question one. Most noticeably is the recurrence of the issue of time. Lack of planning time was a significant factor for all of the teachers in this study. Issues regarding time were found in the categories of administrative support, proximity, content knowledge and the effect of the length of the relationship, for research question two. In general, it seemed that teachers felt persistently constrained by time limits. Since teachers do not have the means to increase planning time they have sought methods to reduce their need for planning time. Anything which they perceive as causing them to increase their need for planning time is a source of frustration. Examples of this would be a teacher who does not know the content area material, or a collaborating teacher who is located too far away. Several issues also came up within this research question pertaining to the concept of role, which will be addressed within the results for research question 3. In order to establish a relationship, teachers indicated that it was necessary to first get to know the person with whom they were going to work. Special education teachers focused on a need to make personal connections and establish a friendly working atmosphere. The regular education teachers in this study tended to focus more on developing a professional relationship which included dividing the responsibilities, and establishing common goals. The teachers also spoke about the necessity of being flexible and open minded in a collaborative relationship, as well as the need for consistency. Proximity was mentioned by some teachers as being key to the collaborative relationship. Teachers wanted to be close to one another so that they could share things in an on-going way on an as needed basis. This may be because the teachers in this study were forced to do much of their collaborating in hallways between classes. Establishing a common philosophy was also seen to be a key element within building a relationship. Many teachers indicated that they felt, it was
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necessary to have similar overall beliefs about education and goals for the students as well as beliefs concerning the nature of disabilities. Fundamental differences in these areas could cause serious rifts in the relationship. Responsibilities within the collaborative relationship included planning and delivering instruction, grading, drafting IEP and charting goal progress. For the most part, the regular education teachers were responsible for planning and delivering instruction. The special education teachers were responsible for drafting IEPs and charting goal progress, with input from the regular education teachers. Grading was a task that was usually shared in some way between the regular and special education teachers, but could also be done solely by one teacher or the other. When asked who was responsible for educating students with LD, most of the teachers indicated it was the special education staff. Many of the teachers went on to say that regular education teachers also had a secondary responsibility. Problems were identified that could arise within a collaborative relationship. These included a mismatch of teaching style or philosophy, a lack of content knowledge, disagreement in personalities, control issues and negative past experiences. The teachers in this study believed that these problems could potentially ruin a collaborative relationship. They suggested that allowing teachers to choose collaborative partners could minimize these problems. When I asked the teachers how they approached conflict resolution most of them told me that their first step was to try to openly discuss it with the other teacher. Some teachers indicated that they would approach the administration if these attempts failed and they believed that the students were being harmed by the conflict. Some teachers mentioned that their attempts at conflict resolution in the past had failed. This was due in one case to poor communication skills, and in another to an inflexible co-teacher. Administrators seemed to play a large role within the collaborative relationship. Some of the teachers in this study believed that the administration must verbally support collaboration and provide a vision or framework in order for it to be successful. Also, teachers indicated that administrators could help the overall effort by allowing them to choose their partners, and giving them time during the day to plan. Teachers appreciated having professional freedom, and suggested that the administration could monitor some classes and provide training in order to further support the effort. Teachers also described what they believed hurt collaboration. One of these, having too many special needs students included, was apparent during my classroom observations. Some of the content area classes were overloaded with students with special needs. Teachers believed that
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because there were two teachers in the room that their classrooms had become a dumping ground for students with special needs, both identified and not. The process of building and maintaining a collaborative relationship is an important topic that should be studied in depth. As the literature review indicates, more schools are putting students with LD in the regular classroom for social studies. Students with LD are very needy in social studies due to the difficulty of the content material and the high reading level of the textbook. These students require accommodations and special teaching strategies. It is possible that the success of the student with LD included in the regular classroom for social studies will depend primarily on the collaborative relationship between his or her teachers. Thus, it seems imperative that we understand how to make collaboration work in our schools. Research Question 3. How do Regular and Special Education Teachers Differ in the Ways they Conceptualize their Roles in the Process of Educating Students with LD? This research question has a different focus from the first three, and will be described in greater detail here. For the other questions, I worked mainly with the literal answers of the participants to interview questions, or with observations I had made. This research question involved using a more subjective analysis. It consisted of two parts, each intended to provide information to the research question. My goal for the question was to get an overall idea of how teachers understood their and their partner teachers’ role as an educator in the situations they were in. I used a broad definition of the concept of role, borrowing from two of Webster’s (2001) definitions: ‘‘the proper or customary function of a person or thing’’ and ‘‘the rights, obligations, and expected behavior patterns associated with a particular status’’ (p. 681). To do this, I developed four coding categories. Two of them pertained to interview data of the regular education teachers: regular educators’ perception of the regular education teacher, and the regular educators’ perception of the special educator. Likewise I created the same categories for the special education teachers’ interview data: special educators’ perception of the special educator, and special educators’ perception of the regular educator. I hoped, that with these coding categories, I could get an idea of what the role descriptions were for both the special and the regular educator. Although many textbooks describe these roles and how they exist ideally, I wanted to know how they exist in practice. The results described below or organized into two categories: perceptions of special educators (of their own role, and their
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counterparts’), and perceptions of regular educators (of their own role and their counterparts’). Initially, I had planned to present findings by teacher role type. I thought I would present both the special educators’ and the regular educators’ perceptions of the role of the special educator, then, I would do the same for the role of the regular educator. However, as I began to analyze the findings I realized that the teachers’ perceptions of their own role were so closely linked with their perception of their counterparts’ role that it would more accurately be portrayed by reporting results by teacher type. Therefore, in the sections that follow I present a description of how special educators perceive both their role and the role of their counterparts, and then a description of how regular educators perceive both their role and the role of the special education counterparts.
Perceptions of the Special Education Teachers The special education teachers in this study were Leslie, Traci, Elizabeth, Dawn, Michele and Hana. When coding their interviews I looked specifically for any statements which might give insight into the way they perceived themselves as a special education teacher, or the role of the special education teacher in general. Special Education Teachers’ Perceptions of their Own Role Although they were not specifically asked to define their role, instances of these perceptions could be found scattered through the interviews in response to various other questions. After examining the data, it appeared that the special education teachers in this study defined their role as a special educator in the inclusive classroom almost entirely by their personal relationships to the regular education teachers, and the students. This is similar to earlier findings in this study that when forging a new relationship, special education teachers tended to focus more on personal aspects, rather than professional. What follows is a description of how the teachers expressed their ideas regarding their role. The special education teachers frequently mentioned their relationships with the students and the other teachers they worked with. Of the two relationships, the relationship with the regular education teachers seemed to be the area that caused the most tension and anxiety, which will be discussed later. The special education teachers seemed to feel that they were a benefit
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to both the students with LD and the other students within the inclusive classroom because of their knowledge of strategies. Dawn commented, ‘‘Everybody can benefit, even the general ed kids.’’ And Hana said, ‘‘Having a special education teacher in, I think, that also benefits the rest of the students, because you can present materials differently that might not have been presented that way.’’ Furthermore, special education teachers seemed to feel that a successful collaborative relationship involved two experts in differing areas, one in curriculum, and one in strategies. They did not seem to feel that their level of knowledge in social studies affected their ability to be an asset to the class. Leslie stated, ‘‘Allen already has the curriculum set up and he lets me know what is going on. This is what we’re going to do, and then he relies on me to make accommodations.’’ And Elizabeth said, ‘‘I support her lessons. Knowing what she’s about, her plans and how they work. Then I go in and try to support the students and the curriculum and make suggestions, how can we modify, ideas for helping the kids.’’ Traci made a similar comment, In that particular class, she knows so much more about it, I don’t jump in as much I might say in spelling or some other subject. But um, especially right now – they’re doing economics. I am not good in that at all. I am just learning like the children are.
Dawn described her relationship with Sheila this way: Of course, I adapt tests. In fact I pretty much do all – I design all the tests. Um, they’re pretty much all teacher made, you know, based on whatever unit of study. Um, I, Sheila has more content knowledge as far as geography.
And finally, Michele said, ‘‘I look to my content teachers to set the pace. And I think they look to me to provide accommodations.’’ The special education teachers in this study also seemed to perceive themselves as a protector of the students with LD. They often referred to these students as ‘‘my students.’’ They felt they served as a protector of their students by knowing the laws, doing paperwork, serving as advocates who defended students when they felt they were being treated unfairly by regular education teachers. Leslie described an example of a time when she felt that she had to explain special education policy law to a teacher she was collaborating with: Sometimes it comes down to, well you know, you might not like it. But the law says you have to do it – and the courts have been rendering decisions on cases like this. And it’s your choice. But I warned ya.
In this instance, it seems Leslie is trying to make sure her students’ needs are being met by encouraging the teacher to adhere to the law. Michele expressed similar feelings related to the responsibility of completing paperwork: ‘‘I’m responsible for their needs. I mean primarily, I’m the
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guy with the paperwork. I am the guy who needs to see that the deadlines are met.’’ All six of the special education teachers in this study seemed to feel the need to be an advocate for their students. This implies that they must believe that there was, or was the potential for, unfairness on the part of the regular education teachers. Many of the special education teachers mentioned feeling unwanted by the regular education teachers, which will be discussed later. Many teachers also mentioned a lack of understanding of disabilities on the part of the regular education teacher. Traci said: With special ed- special ed teachers we feel sort of protective toward our students. And sometimes you might have a teacher who we think, comes on too strong for that particular student, isn’t very sensitive to their disabilities, or whatever. And so I’ve had some situations like that before. Where I’m always, kind of always protecting my student. And that gets a little tiring.
Traci also described a specific example: He’d always leave his materials in his locker, every day. And the teacher would nail him, every day. We’d get his materials for him and we’d sneak them into the classroom for him. The teacher didn’t know (chuckles). You just do what you have to do.
Other special education teachers shared similar feelings. Elizabeth said: Um, but I still need to be able to say to that teacher – these – I need to still advocate for the students. These students have to have assistance in these ways. They have to have these accommodations. So, I have to be able to be firm at the same time. The general ed teacher is not always the boss.
Michele and Leslie also made comments, respectively, about being an advocate: ‘‘And if it becomes something that I think is a problem, I’m the advocate. I, in fact, I did it this morning.’’ ‘‘I worked with one teacher who really fought it. I had to really do a lot of planning with him. I had to really watch it carefully because he was not as apt to follow accommodations.’’ Dawn and Hana mentioned protecting students with LD by helping regular education teachers be more aware of the characteristics of LD. Dawn said, ‘‘And I think that’s where it falls back on the special education teacher to be versed in that child and what their needs are and what the background is. To share with the regular ed teacher.’’ And Hana said, It’s also good to have someone who understands these things who can kind of tap them [the regular education teacher] on the shoulder, or who can explain to the general education teacher that this is just part of their disabilityyLots of times I am someone who is an advocate for them. You know, you learn their abilities and what works for them and what doesn’t. You learn what their strengths are, and their weaknesses.
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The special education teachers also focused upon their relationship with the regular education teacher. It seemed the area that concerned them the most was ‘‘fitting in.’’ Although it has been suggested that collaboration be an egalitarian relationship (Lewis & Doorlag, 2003), all of the special education teachers indicated that they believed it was their responsibility to become a part of the regular education teacher’s classroom philosophy, rather than creating a joint classroom philosophy. Thus, the regular education teacher served not only as a curriculum leader, but also as the overall classroom leader. Traci said, ‘‘I just follow him. Whether its concerning discipline, or whatever the subject matter is.’’ Elizabeth alluded to fitting in this way: And how do you tell somebody what to do in their classroom without being the pain in the butt? So how do I overcome that and still tell another teacher what to do? And that is the key to success. It’s who the special education teacher is.
Dawn said, ‘‘I’m a really big person on compromise. And meeting half way.’’ However, Michele’s description of her beliefs seemed to indicate that she was willing to go more than half way to make things work with her counterpart: I try to fit into her plan, rather than making her fit too much into mineyI do defer to her, whether I should or not, I doy It might be too pushyy You can disagree without being disagreeabley I want to respect her as a teacher with her way of doing things.
Similarly, Hana said, ‘‘I think as special education teachers we do that a lot. We come in gently. Because it is their classroom.’’ She went on to say, It’s very hard for them to relinquish any – sometimes you can be just a glorified IA [Instructional Assistant]. Where you’re not allowed to teach or to reallyy other than maybe you run around and work with the students, but you’re not given the responsibility to teach.
Michele also described a situation where she could not fit into a regular education teacher’s classroom: I mean, if you’re talking, I try to let you finish whatever you’re doing. And then I’ll contribute. I try not to bump in. Well she told me I was barging in on her. So it was like, ‘you will please not talk in my classroom’. And I was like, well, maybe – I’ve got to be able to say something. It got to the point that I was raising my hand to talk. I thought ‘if this isn’t stupid.’ But yeah. She really had trouble with somebody else in there.
Having to adapt themselves to the regular education teachers’ classroom philosophies caused some of the special education teachers’ frustration. It seemed the special education teachers felt that it was necessary for them to attempt to please the regular education teacher. Given the overall lack of planning time within all three of these school locations it may be difficult for regular education teachers to meet often enough with the special education teachers to explain their expectations. I saw evidence of their frustrations in these statements. Traci said: ‘‘But yet, when you do, she gets mad. It’s a lot
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of walking on eggshells.’’ Elizabeth gave an example of how she felt when her counterpart was unhappy with something she’d done: ‘‘What can I do to fix that? What can I do to help? Do you want me to stand back a little bit more? Stay out of the way?’’ Michele described her frustration this way: So, but some people are threatened, if you try to correct them, or change them. Or something like that. So, I try to be sensitive to that to. So that’s where we are. Sometimes you know stuff that they don’t know and they do it wrong. Do you correct it, or don’t you? When do I pick my battles? Do I try to correct the content teacher on content? That’s where I have trouble. Sometimes I let it go. Which battle is bigger, which one is worse. Do I want to solve and really, would we get into some kind of an argument about it? I don’t know.
She went on to say: ‘‘You never do it the way the teacher wants it. And they have to teach you what it is they want you to do. And to me, that’s kind of messy.’’ Hana also described dealing with conflicts: It’s like a marriage. Well it is. You have to work out things. If your personalities click and you can work together well and the teacher isn’t the type who owns her classroom, it’s easier to come in and help with the responsibilities and help with the teaching. But not all teachers are like that. Like coming into someone’s home, in a respect, actually. You know, how comfortable would you be if someone came into your home who you don’t know. You know, it takes you time to trust, and to see what they know and their way of doing things.
A few of the special education teachers felt that they and/or their students might not be wanted by the regular classroom teacher. Traci said, ‘‘But yeah, there’s always some teachers who make snide remarks about the special ed teachers. That kind of stuff. And some teachers still think that all those special ed kids are our kids, our responsibility, and not their responsibility.’’ She also explained that some regular education teachers were uncomfortable having students with LD in their room because of standardized testing: And that is one reason why some teachers don’t like having special ed kids in their classroom. They’ll come right out and say it. Because they’re responsible for those kids passing the SOL tests. And it looks bad on them if they have a certain number of kids that don’t pass. Even though it’s not a reflection on them, it’s just the way it is.
Elizabeth also felt that special education teachers may not be wanted in the regular education classrooms, but for a different reason. She said: I can talk to every teacher, general ed teacher, who has had a special education teacher, or assistant, that they said leave me alone. I’m better without that human being in my class. I don’t need that human’s suggestions. I don’t need them correcting me in front of
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the class. I don’t need them interrupting my class. I don’t need them disciplining in a different way than I discipline.
Dawn shared a similar thought: ‘‘I’ve known of teachers that didn’t have a good experience with a special ed teacher coming in their classroom, so they’re like, ‘no way’, to somebody else.’’ Leslie suggested that this lack of willingness to collaborate could possibly stem from teachers who were not willing to follow current educational trends. She said, ‘‘Because some of the teachers aren’t as familiar with the trends, or the changes and they are still practicing old methods. Within today’s classrooms.’’ She suggested inservices as a way to improve this situation. Michele said: Um, some people feel I’m, especially with special ed, I don’t want you kids in here, and I don’t want you in here and you don’t have anything to contributeyAnd like I said, a lot of people do not want your kids, they do not want you. Not anything about you personally, but you slow down their class, the kids slow down their class. So.
Summary of the Special Education Teachers’ Perceptions of their Own Role The special education teachers in this study perceived their role in terms of their relationships to the regular education teachers and the students with whom they worked. The special education teachers seemed to believe that they were a benefit to both students with LD and students without disabilities because of their knowledge of strategies and accommodations. As discussed earlier in this study, regular education teachers tend to plan globally, rather than focusing on individuals. Therefore, a strategy suggested by a special education teacher may possibly be provided for the whole class. Special education teachers also felt that an important part of their role was to serve as an advocate, or a protector, for their students. Advocates, in their opinion, were people who not only knew special education policy law and understood and enforced legal paperwork, but also who had a deep understanding of the needs of students with LD and were willing to ensure that regular education teachers did not ignore those needs. The special education teachers in this study seemed to perceive themselves as the lesser partner in the collaborative relationship. They expressed a perceived need to determine what the regular education teachers wanted them to do and to try to accomplish this, which caused a degree of stress for some of the special education teachers. Some of the special education teachers described feeling as though they and/or their students were not wanted in the regular education classroom.
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Special Education Teachers’ Perceptions of the Regular Educator’s Role While analyzing how the special education teachers perceived their own role I began to simultaneously find descriptions of how they perceived the role of their counterparts. It seemed as though the special education teachers were, to an extent, defining one role in converse to the way they defined the other. For example, if part of the role of special educator is to be an advocate, then part of the role of the regular educator is to be, at times, unable or unwilling to recognize the needs of students with LD. Due to the similarity of these topics I will present fewer participant observations in this section, to avoid redundancy. Special educators seemed to see their regular education counterparts as being responsible for the content area instruction in the classroom, and setting the pace of instruction, as well as the overall classroom philosophy. It was unclear whether the regular education teachers demanded this responsibility, or if it was freely ceded by the special education teachers. Michele said, ‘‘And sometimes when you’re collaborating the teacher will let you take the lead in the class. But she wants you to do it exactly how she would do it. ‘I’ve already taught the same lesson four times now. Now you come in and do what I would do.’’’ Special education teachers felt that regular education teachers could sometimes be inflexible and unwilling or unable to accept students with LD. Many times they referred to regular educators calling the students with LD ‘‘your kids’’, suggesting that they were not responsible for these students. Traci said, ‘‘But um, we have, you know teachers who are just scared to death to have special ed kids in there.’’ Similarly, Leslie said: ‘‘there was one teacher who I worked with last year, who I am not working with this year, who really fought it.’’ From Michele: ‘‘She didn’t want my kids. She didn’t want me, she didn’t want anybody’’ and ‘‘With Kathy, for a long time it was, ‘They’re your kids, you grade them.’’’ Elizabeth described her feelings this way: Teachers have to be open to allowing suggestions from the special education teacher. I’ve worked with some teachers that um, were from the older school, this is the way I do things, by golly. And we still have teachers like that. This is the way it’s done. And I’m not budging.
Many special education teachers did, however, acknowledge that the regular education teachers had a lot of responsibilities and may not fully understand the IEP process or special education policy laws. This may explain their seeming reluctance or inability to fully accept students with LD into their classrooms. Traci said, ‘‘But the teachers, you know, they have so many
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students that, you know ours are a small percentage of what they have. Sometimes, we just kind of take it on ourselves. So some teachers are better than others.’’ Elizabeth recognized the necessity for the regular education teacher to be flexible: ‘‘So the general ed teacher has to adjust quite a bit.’’ Similarly Michele said, ‘‘She kind of knows what she wants to do, but she’s open to my ideas. And sometimes I’ll say I have something and she says, ‘oh good, do it.’’’ Hana indicated that she felt teachers had too much responsibility: Teachers are already so, overcome with – I mean they’ve got extra curricular activities, they’ve got school to do. I mean, and then they’ve got their own things they need to get done. Families, all those things. Stay after school, late buses. You know. It’s an awful lot of responsibility.
However, she also said: ‘‘I think a lot of times they don’t totally understand.’’ Summary of Special Educators’ Perceptions of the Regular Educator’s Role Special education teachers seemed to perceive the regular educator as sometimes being inflexible and unwilling to accept students with LD in their classrooms. Some suggested that this could be caused by the need to for in-service training in current methods and in the specific needs of students with LD. Others felt that this could be caused by overwhelming responsibilities that the regular education teachers faced. The special educators generally saw the regular educator as the classroom leader, both instructionally and philosophically. As the classroom leader, regular education teachers may or may not allow the special education teachers to assume an active role in the classroom instruction.
Perceptions of the Regular Education Teachers The regular education teachers in this study were Allen, Nicole, Sheila, Valerie, Kathy and Lenore. I used the same process to code data within their interviews to examine what their perceptions were of both their own role and the role of the special educator. Findings are reported below similarly to the previous section. Two subcategories are used: regular educators’ perceptions of their own role, and their perceptions of the special educators’ role.
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Regular Education Teachers’ Perceptions of their Own Role The regular education teachers seemed to define their role through the lens of accountability. This accountability consisted of responsibilities relating to both the classroom, such as curriculum planning and overall philosophy, and the students, such as providing accommodations, participating in IEP meetings and serving as a preparer. The regular education teachers saw themselves as the leader of their classrooms, responsible for content area instruction. For example, Allen said, ‘‘My job is content. Here’s the content. I tend to do all the planning for the class.’’ This classroom leadership varied in degree. Although most of the teachers said that they valued working with the special education teachers and wanted to respect their opinions, all of them also said that they wanted things done their way, and wanted to maintain control. Sheila described herself and Dawn (special education) as equals in the classroom, yet also described herself as the classroom leader. Sheila told me, ‘‘Now Dawn (special education) has collaborated with other teachers in the past, but she was not allowed to do much input into the classroom curriculum. Okay. She was given a backseat. But here, I call us equals.’’ However, she also described herself as being in control of the classroom. This quote, describing how she established her relationship with Dawn is an example: Okay, well first I would be in charge. (Laughs) And I would let her first observe me. And then I would invite her to perhaps try a couple of lessons and see how she does. And then I, perhaps, now we’re establishing a better rapport with each other and now I am beginning to trust her, to trust her to teach in the way I am expecting the children to be taught, allow her to gradually take over some lessons.
Although Sheila considers Dawn to be her equal, she also wanted to be sure that she could trust Dawn to teach the students in the way she believed was best. Sheila maintained control of the classroom, and ‘‘allowed’’ Dawn to take part when she was satisfied that Dawn would meet her expectations. Allen made similar comments. He mentions several times the need for a shared philosophy: ‘‘You have to share a philosophy of what you want to see happen.’’ But also repeatedly says: ‘‘Like I said before, I tend to like to be in control of what goes on in the classroom.’’ Nicole was more specific about her feelings: ‘‘I think as the classroom teacher you have to state how you feel about the class. How you want the class to be run. What is the responsibility of the special education teacher.’’ This seems to indicate that Nicole felt that she, as the regular education teacher, not only determined how the classroom would be run, but also what the special education
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teacher’s role would be. Lenore also described having difficulty sharing control in her collaborative, co-teaching classroom: I personally would rather just do it myself. Because I can see things, and I have ideas and I can switch things up in the middle of the lesson. I don’t write anything down. I hate writing. I don’t write down lesson plans, I don’t write down activities. I don’t do any kind of curriculum writing. It’s all in my head. And I do a lot of things spur of the moment, as I see them arise. So it’s very difficult for me to share that with somebody. I can see the pieces coming together as I pick and choose activities, but I don’t write anything down. So it’s very difficult when I’m teaming with someone. In a general ideal situation, I would just prefer to teach it myself.
She went on to say, ‘‘Every year I team teach with somebody else. I always do all the planning. I do all the grading and then they jump in where they can or they’ll teach a certain topic that they’re familiar with.’’ She talked about wanting to respect special education teachers for their individuality: It doesn’t have to be exactly the same. I think teachers can have different philosophies on different issues and still work really well together. You don’t want somebody who is exactly like you cause then there’s no point in having that person in the classroom.
However, she also admitted that she wanted things to be done the same way she would do them, particularly in respect to grading: I do all the grading so that I know what all the grades are. And so I know how that student is doing and I can see the student progressy I have not had a successful situation where I can give over that kind of stuff. Now I have given some of over to Hana, because she’s absolutely fabulous and I wish that we would have some more time together because I think that we could create an ideal situation. And she grades in the same way that I do. But that’s rare. And I haven’t given up that kind of grading power before because it hasn’t been handled appropriately as far as I am concerned. So, keeping control over some aspects of the classroom.
She ‘‘allowed’’ Hana to grade occasionally because she ‘‘grades in the same way I do.’’ Of all of the special education teachers interviewed, Hana, Lenore’s counterpart, most frequently mentioned the need to do things exactly the same way as the regular education teacher. She described her relationship with Lenore as a situation in which she had to earn Lenore’s trust that she would do things the way Lenore wanted them to be done. For example, Hana (special education) said, ‘‘Once you start working together and you know each other and you can trust each other and she knows that you – when she leaves the room that the person will carry on in the same manner that she’s done.’’ Ultimately, it appeared that the classroom teachers, in varying degrees, wanted to be in control of all of the decision making for their classrooms.
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The regular education teachers also felt accountable to the students with LD. Many of them said that they did go to IEP meetings. Three teachers, Allen, Lenore and Kathy, said that they went to IEP meetings, and seemed satisfied with the process. Allen said. ‘‘I like to be involved in those. Some teachers frown on it because it is one more thing that you have to do that takes up more of your time. But I generally like to be involved in those.’’ And Lenore, ‘‘I sit in on several of them every year. I am fairly knowledgeable of the process. I don’t go to them all. But I sit in on several.’’ Similarly, Kathy said ‘‘But yeah, I know the IEPs. The special ed teacher provides them. I sit in on the IEP meetings. I sit in on the referrals. I sit in on the re-evals [reevaluations].’’ Other teachers expressed less satisfaction with the IEP process. Sheila, a veteran teacher of 37 years, told me that she had never provided input into an IEP: ‘‘I have not, but I am available if anybody wants to ask me I’d be available.’’ Nicole and Valerie felt that they had minimal input in the IEP process. Nicole described herself as being unclear on the procedure and language in general. Valerie felt a lack of confidence in her ability to be a part of the IEP team: No. Never. Only because of my own lack of confidence with um, my understanding, my, my, um, my um, what’s the word, my mastery of special ed needs. I try things, I experiment myself and I tell Elizabeth [special education counterpart]. And get her feedback and get her ideas. We’ve done a lot of experimenting this year but as far as in a formal IEP meeting, my suggesting something, I’m not comfortable with that. Maybe in the future I will be, but at this point, no.
Among the teachers in this study half felt comfortable with the IEP process and like they were a part of the team. The other half felt some disenfranchisement from the process for reasons of exclusion, ignorance or uncertainty. All of the teachers said that they used strategies in their classrooms and provided accommodations, but at times had difficulty. They also said that they were aware of regular education teachers who did not, or would not collaborate with special education teachers. Valerie said, ‘‘I couldn’t go to the special ed department and say, I don’t want this help. To be perfectly honest I would have liked to.’’ Sheila described some of her regular education colleagues this way: If you’ve got somebody that is very, very structured in their outlook on life which there are some teachers in this building that are. They don’t like other people coming in and telling them what to do. They don’t want to share their stuff. They don’t want to share their ideas.
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Similarly, Nicole said: I think it’s just, you have to take a different approach to the student. I think they’re capable of learning on a high level. Its just you have to figure out what works. And some teachers are willing to go the extra mile and figure out what that takes but there’s some who are not willing to go the extra mile. Some people would never read a test to the child. You know. Unless there’s a special education teacher in the room.
Lenore said, ‘‘Because many people will say – present it one way and move on. And that’s not going to work.’’ She went on to say: ‘‘I think I do a really good job with presenting things in multiple ways and making sure they understand. Not every general ed teacher is like that.’’ Although none of the teachers in this study described themselves as unwilling to provide accommodations and strategies for students with LD in their classrooms they did describe some regular education teachers in this way. Three of the teachers described themselves as feeling as though they needed to prepare their students with LD for ‘‘the real world’’. They seemed to believe that the special education system did not make them responsible for their own success, and that when they left school they would not have the necessary skills to succeed. These teachers, Allen, Lenore and Kathy, wanted to protect the students from failure by preparing them for ‘‘life after school.’’ Allen described his feelings this way: Hey, you’re going to be held accountable. I’m sorry if you have one leg shorter than the other, you’re still going to run the mile. And nobody is going to care. (Laughs). You know, if you quit thinking of special education kids as special they’re just kids.
Kathy said: You’ve got to help that kid learn to be an advocate for himself, or herself. Because they’ve got to be able to manage in the world. Employers don’t give a whit about IEPs and special ed and LD. They are going to hire you – can you do the job or not? If you can’t do the job they’ll fire you, you’re gone. So accommodations, yeah, to make the kid successful. Not just here at school, not just here in 7th grade. I look at the kid for a lifetime. What can we do to accommodate this kid? I want him to be successful in history. We want him to pass their SOL test next year, which is the minimum. But even more importantly, we want to help this kid for a lifetime.
Lenore expressed a similar concern: I feel – I’m pretty strong that these students need to be held to the same expectations and need to be held to the same level of rigor as everybody else. How they get there is a little bit different, but I still expect them to get there. When the student leaves this building and goes out into life the world is not going to be that kind to them. And I’m not saying you have to be brutal on them here. I mean, I’m not brutal. But I treat all my students the same and I expect them all to do the same. Because when they get out into the real world the real world is not going to, ‘oh you have a learning disability you know, we’ll
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give you a raise anyway.’ The world is not going to be that kind. So they need to know that they have to participate and do everything else.
These three teachers believed that they were protecting their students by making them accountable by treating them like everyone else. Summary of the Regular Educators’ Perceptions of their Own Role The regular education teachers in this study seemed to define their role in terms of accountability. They felt responsible for their classrooms and their students. These feelings of responsibility may explain the difficulty many of them encountered when trying to relinquish control to a co-teacher or collaborator. Some of the teachers felt that they were a part of the IEP process, while others did not. Regular education teachers, in general, were described as sometimes being unwilling to provide strategies and accommodations, or to collaborate. Three of the teachers believed that they were protecting students with LD by treating them the same way they treated all of their students. Regular Education Teachers’ Perceptions of the Special Educator’s Role The regular education teachers in this study seemed to define the role of the special education teacher in terms of their professional responsibilities. These professional responsibilities fell into the categories of classroom responsibilities and paperwork. Some teachers also expressed an opinion that special educators should be content experts in social studies. The regular education teachers indicated that they thought the special educator’s role in the classroom was to provide accommodations or modifications to test materials, and to serve as a manager of behavior. Allen said, ‘‘Leslie usually focuses in on the kids and their behavior. She really knows them.’’ Kathy mentioned modifications: ‘‘We spend most of our time, not talking about instruction, but talking about the kids, and adapting, and re-adapting and redoing.’’ Likewise, Valerie said: I’ve learned things just in dealing with Elizabeth – And it took probably a good quarter of the year, nine weeks to figure out to with Elizabeth’s help and, um, you know, just sitting down and working with a test together to notice what kinds of questions to the LD students were missing. And figure out why. And modify them. And I’ve become much better at that. It’s testing, her help, and showing me how to modify a test.
Nicole also mentioned behavior management: ‘‘Well, you’re having a personal conflict - maybe it’s a personality conflict with the student, maybe the special education teacher can step in and correct that child, instead of you correcting that child, if it is a personal conflict there.’’ Lenore said:
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I mean there are some students that I can work with up to a point and then I need to get up and walk away. And that’s where Hana slides in and takes over and addresses their behavior. So we do kind of play off each other on that. Working with different personalities and different kids.
Some of the teachers described undesirable characteristics of special education teachers, such as an unwillingness to take an active role in the classroom, or an inadequate knowledge of strategies or accommodations. Valerie described a negative situation this way: It seemed to be the general feeling, or attitude among teachers that the special ed teachers didn’t provide the kind of help that was really neededy it was pretty much at her insistence that she work with those students, even though it was also her job to help out with who ever needed it. But her take on her role in the classroom was to work with just those LD kids. And she didn’t offer modifications of the assignments and so forth in that situation. Which didn’t help.
Nicole expressed her concerns this way: I’ve had special education teachers who just want to sit in the back of the classroom and not do anything. And I’ve been told that that is what they want to do, and I don’t respect that at all. And I think they need to take more of an active approach in the classroom. Whether it’s teaching, whether it’s walking around monitoring. Whatever it may be. Whether it’s taking the students out to read a test, they need to have an active role in the classroom.
And Lenore said: Some teachers that team teach around here, they don’t want to teach. They just want to come in and help their students and kind of follow along and make sure they’ve got the stuff. They don’t want to teach, or be in front of the students, or prepare lessons, or grade stuff or anything. Um, if that person does not want to teach, and I see it time and time again, particularly in this building, if that person does not want to teach, or get up in front of 30 students, they’re not going to do it. And you can count on that right now, they are not going to get up and teach at any point in the year. And then you start to get the roles of teacher and assistant. So.
The special educator’s contribution to classroom instruction was described as ‘‘jumping in’’. Allen said, ‘‘But in class, what she does is, if she has a point to make, she’ll jump in.’’ Lenore used the same words, ‘‘I always do all the planning. I do all the grading and then they jump in where they can or they’ll teach a certain topic that they’re familiar with. It is not by any means your ideal teaming situation.’’ Some of the special education teachers also used this terminology. Traci (special education) described herself this way, ‘‘In that particular class, she knows so much more about it, I don’t jump in as much I might say in spelling or some other subject.’’ The description of the special educator as a person who jumps in here and there to make
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contributions seems to indicate that they are not a part of the instruction and add to it only minimally, and in a peripheral way. Potentially, this could result in the perception that the special education teacher is an outsider, rather than a teammate, one who interrupts the flow of the classroom by jumping into instruction. Another part of the special educator’s role, as defined by the regular educator, was to manage the IEP process. Some of the teachers indicated that they thought this was a burdensome task for the special educators. Kathy said: I’m sure not what 94-142 intended. But now instead of the focus really becoming the collaboration with the teacher, now the focus is getting all the paperwork done, all the forms signed, the date matched, everything filled out, blip, blip, blip.
And Lenore said, Hana has 12 on her caseload and she writes IEPs for all 12. And she sets up the IEP meeting with all her parents. And she holds these hour – I mean one IEP meeting that I went to this year was 4 hours long.
Lenore also said, from an outsider looking in it’s an incredible amount of paperwork and I think it’s an incredible amount of work to ask a classroom teacher who teaches five classes a day to then sit down and do 12 students’ IEPs and an IEP can be 20–25 pages. I think that’s absurd. I think those people ought to get paid more.
Two of the regular education teachers discussed their belief that special education teachers should be content area experts in social studies in order to co-teach. This was discussed earlier in this research in relation to the regular educators’ beliefs that if the special education teachers knew content area material planning time could be decreased. Lenore, one of the regular education teachers who mentioned this concern, said, ‘‘The consistency is essential to a good teaming situation, and you’ve got to have two people that are proficient in their curriculum.’’ As this example and the ones provided earlier show, some of the regular education teachers felt that special educators should be content area experts. Summary of the Regular Educators’ Perceptions of the Special Educator’s Role The regular education teachers seemed to perceive the special educator in terms of his or her professional responsibilities. In general, they believed that special educators should provide accommodations, modify testing materials, and manage behavior. They described the special educator as an
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outsider, jumping-in to classroom instruction when they had something to contribute. Through negative examples, the teachers expressed a concern that the special educators needed to take on an active role in the classroom. They saw the special educator as responsible for writing and managing IEPs. Some believed that the special education teacher should be a content area expert in social studies.
Differences Between Role Perceptions I thought that it would be important to compare the way each teacher type perceived their role to the way their counterpart perceived their role. When comparing the responses of the two teacher types I found both similarities and differences among their perceptions of each role. Understanding these differences in perception could be pivotal to building and maintaining successful relationship, or to understanding why some relationships fail. Both teacher types agreed that the regular education teachers control the classroom and the special education teachers provide modifications and accommodations and deal with behavior. However, the teacher groups differed in their beliefs as to why this occurred. Special education teachers saw themselves in the role of outsiders, forced to adopt the classroom teachers’ routines and philosophies, marginalized into the role of jumping in. The regular education teachers seemed to feel as though this was caused by either the passive nature of the special education teacher or their lack of content knowledge. The regular educators seemed to feel that special educators were unwilling to take an active role within the classroom. The special educators seemed to feel tension within their relationships with the regular educators which stemmed from their desire to be accepted into the classroom. This tension was not apparent among the regular educators. Both teacher groups also agreed that some regular education teachers do not want special education teachers and students in their classrooms and are unwilling to provide strategies and accommodations. Both teacher types described students with LD as being the responsibility of the special education teachers. Regular educators referred to the students as ‘‘their students.’’ Special educators referred to the students as ‘‘my students.’’ Both groups also mentioned that the IEP was not a viable tool for most regular educators because of their lack of input or understanding of the process. Each group mentioned that their counterparts had a burdensome amount of responsibilities related to their role. Regular education teachers mentioned the special educators’ paperwork as a concern, whereas special
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educators described the regular educators’ demanding responsibilities within the school, and with high stakes assessment. The way each teacher type seemed to define the collaborative relationship differed. Special educators seemed to regard the collaborative relationship as one that involved two different roles that worked together to form a better whole. They saw themselves as an expert on the needs to the students with LD. They saw the classroom teacher as the content area expert. However, the classroom teachers seemed to define the collaborative relationship as having two people working together who had equal knowledge in all areas. They described the ideal relationship as having two teachers who were both experts in content area instruction and accommodations and strategies. Both teacher types expressed a desire to help the students with LD, however, they differed in their beliefs as to how this was best accomplished. Special education teachers seemed to believe that they protected the students with LD by providing a nurturing environment for them by understanding their special needs. They mentioned advocacy as an important part of their role. They felt that regular educators could, potentially, treat students with LD unfairly due to their lack of understanding of their needs, or an unwillingness to provide accommodations. Regular educators believed they were best helping their students with LD by acting as a preparer and helping them to take responsibility for themselves. They felt that special educators did not help the students be accountable. They believed this would harm them when they left school because they would be unable to cope with ‘‘real life’’ situations.
Summary of Findings for Research Question 3 Special education teachers and regular education teachers differed in the way they perceived the role of each teacher type. Both teacher types did share some ideas regarding the definition of role. Both teacher types agreed that regular educators are content and classroom leaders and that special educators are experts in behavior and strategies. However, the teacher types disagreed about why the roles were this way. Teacher types also disagreed on the best way to meet the needs of their students with LD. In addition to this, both teacher types agreed that the regular educator was primarily responsible for classroom instruction and that the special educators jumped in when they could. However, the teacher types disagreed about why this happened. Most of the special education teachers felt that it was up to them to fit into the other teacher’s way of doing things, and to be very careful not
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to upset the routine. They also felt that, because they were not included in the planning process, it was very difficult for them to take an active role in the classroom. Two of the teachers mentioned the need to obtain permission from the teacher or to be ‘‘allowed’’ to take an active role. Conversely, some of the regular education teachers felt that it was not fair that the special educators did not share the burden of planning and instruction. The regular education teachers believed that the special educators didn’t take an active role because they did not know the content material well enough. The teacher types differed in their fundamental beliefs of how students with LD could be best served by teachers. Some of the regular educators stated that they felt that students with LD must be held accountable for their behavior and their grades, or they would not be able to survive in the real world. Some of the special educators felt that the regular education teachers did not understand the specific needs of the students with LD, and that it was up to them to nurture and protect the student. Both teacher types seemed to feel that their counterpart’s behavior toward the student with LD was not the best approach.
CONCLUSIONS In this study I investigated relationships between middle school social studies teachers and special education teachers. I was particularly interested in the ways that the teachers negotiated and maintained their working relationships. I also examined how the teachers seemed to perceive their roles, and the roles of their counterparts. These areas were focused upon because it is imperative for teachers to collaborate in order for students with LD in a mainstream social studies classroom to be successful. Results reported here focus only upon my fourth research question, pertaining to perceptions of role. My hope was to add to the research base in several areas, and to stimulate future research. My primary objective was to contribute information regarding the ways that teachers can and do collaborate, and to explore what can hinder collaboration. Fuchs et al. (1992) concluded that, although there is much support of collaboration in textbooks and teacher preparation programs, there has been very little research conducted which could provide guidance. Several of the findings within this study provide guidance, particularly those relating to how relationships are built and maintained. These findings do not describe a one-size-fits-all approach to collaboration, but provide general ideas and concepts that should be considered by
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teachers and administrators when establishing relationships, or by teacher educators when preparing pre-service teachers. The major findings were: that relationships between the teachers were based upon making personal or professional connections to one another; that personal characteristics and proximity greatly influenced the success or failure of relationships; that teachers felt that responsibilities must be clearly established; that past failures caused a lack of willingness to collaborate; that administrative support was necessary for successful relationships: and that it was helpful if teachers shared common goals and teaching philosophies. Additionally, the collaborative relationship was heavily burdened by stress. This stress most often was caused by lack of time to plan and communicate with one another and was further complicated by standardized testing. The IEP was generally not perceived to be a useful tool with which to share information about students’ needs. Special education teachers and social studies teachers showed agreement on several aspects when describing the role of each teacher type. However, both teacher types disagreed on some fundamental descriptions of the roles. In general, special educators saw themselves as protectors, and saw regular educators as being insensitive to the needs of students with disabilities. The regular educators saw themselves as the person responsible for preparing the students with LD for the real world. They described special educators as being over protective, easy graders, and causing the students harm by not holding them accountable.
Limitations This study has several limitations that should be noted. These limitations fall into the areas of threats to validity, generalizability, and researcher bias. There was a relatively small group of respondents used to inform this study. The 12 respondents, who participated in the study, although they do represent different types of schools and collaborative relationships, are not intended to be a representative sample. It cannot be construed that these results represent all teachers who share similarities with these respondents. Results are not generalizable, but are intended to provide insight into the ways teachers can and do maintain relationships in order to meet the needs of their students. Additionally, this study was largely based upon interview data. Teachers may have been unwilling or unable to be entirely honest about their feelings. It is possible that teachers thought that their responses may have been used
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to make changes within their own schools. I did often sense that teachers were reaching out to me in the hope that I could help to effect a change. Several teachers made comments like Elizabeth’s ‘‘If you could just mention this to the powers that be’’ and Michele’s ‘‘maybe they’ll [the administrators at her school] listen if they hear this coming from you.’’ I made sure that I stressed to them that I was in no way affiliated with their schools, and that the results would not be shared with the administrators. It is also possible that teachers answered the questions in a way they thought I wanted them to answer. In an attempt to limit this, I tried to be very non-committal as far as my own agenda. With the exception of Allen’s interview, I felt that the teachers were being candid, rather than simply giving me the answers they thought I wanted to hear. When I compared information between Allen’s interview, and his counterpart Leslie, one response stood out as being contradictory. The question I had asked was when IEPs were drafted. Allen told me that Leslie drafted all of her IEPs during the meeting, rather than bringing a prepared draft with her to review with the parents. Leslie, however, told me that she drafts all of her IEPs in advance and brings a working copy to meetings. My assumption is that Allen was either mistaken about the drafts, or that he felt that he should say that the drafts were completed during the meeting. This may perhaps be because, in the strictest sense of the law, IEPs are meant to be drafted during meetings, rather than in advance. This was the only response that stood out in any of the interviews. During the other interviews teachers spoke with passion and at length for most of their responses. This seemed to indicate to me that they were expressing their true feelings, rather than trying to guess what I wanted them to say. Furthermore, each teacher was observed two times and documentation was collected and examined to add a dimension of validity to the findings. Finally, the potentially most significant impediments to the accuracy of these results are my own biases and fallibility. Although I conducted this study attempting to collect and analyze all of the data as objectively as possible, I realize that I have my own biases. One of these biases comes from having been a special education teacher who was in a collaborative relationship and had to deal with high stakes, standardized assessment. I have very clear memories of my own feelings regarding these topics. In order to limit the ability of these memories to affect my analyses I made an attempt to recognize them, and understand them. Throughout the collection and analysis of data I wrote research memos (Maxwell, 1996) to myself. These memos helped me to separate my own personal feelings from the data. The potential also exists for human error. Although a careful recording and
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transcription was done of each interview, it is possible that mistakes in interpretation were made.
Implications Several of the findings in this study have important implications for social studies and special education teachers, for administrators, teacher educators and for future researchers. This research helps to describe how relationships are formed and maintained. These relationships are crucial to the success of students with LD, and administrators must understand this. The teachers’ personal perceptions of their roles are considered. Although there is research regarding teacher’s actual responsibilities, very little research conducted at this point considers how the teachers actually perceive themselves within their working relationships. I believe that the teachers’ perceptions of the roles may be the most significant factor in building and maintaining relationships. For Social Studies and Special Education Teachers Teachers within collaborative relationships must be aware of how important their relationship is to the success of the student with LD. Teachers might benefit from the results of this study by an increased understanding of the barriers they may face within their relationships: lack of time, stress, personality conflicts, lack of consistency or proximity, poor division of responsibility, under-use of IEPs, method mismatches, lack of knowledge, and control issues. If teachers are aware of these potential obstacles they can discuss them together and develop a plan to avoid or overcome them. Most importantly, teachers must be aware how they perceive their role and the role of their counterpart. If both teachers in the relationship do not have a clear understanding of their own role, as well as how the other teacher perceives them, serious difficulties could arise. For Administrators Teachers who responded to this survey made several suggestions as to how administrators could facilitate collaborative relationships. Administrators may benefit from this study by being aware that these teachers who collaborate needed much more time for planning than they were given, and that they preferred to be located near one another within the building. Most of these teachers indicated that they only go to an administrator when there is a serious problem. This could mean that a collaborative relationship may
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need significant improvement but administrators may not be aware of it, because the teachers have not come to them. As one teacher mentioned, routine checks of collaborative relationships could be beneficial. Administrators may also benefit from this study by being aware that most of teachers felt that there is a need for staff training. Another important finding was that teachers in this study seemed to want the administrators to consider their personal wants and needs when planning collaborative relationships. Teachers indicated that administrators should allow teachers to choose whether or not they wanted to collaborate and with whom. Furthermore, these relationships must be allowed time to grow, and should not be uprooted every school year. Most importantly, teachers felt strongly that the administrators must provide the school with a vision of how collaboration is to be carried out. If the school personnel perceive that the administration values and supports collaborative efforts they will too. It is up to the administrator to develop the vision of collaboration for the school and to ensure that everyone understand that collaboration of teachers plays an integral role in the success of students. Administrators should know that without their support, collaboration is likely to be unsuccessful. And if collaboration is unsuccessful, so may be the student with LD. For Teacher Educators Teacher educators will benefit from this study by understanding that collaborative relationships are a significant part of a teacher’s daily work. Teacher educators should be aware of the importance of valuing collaboration and teaching ways to build and maintain collaborative relationships so that teacher candidates will be better able to deal with them when in practice. Pre-service teachers must be made aware of potential obstacles they will face, and taught strategies to overcome them. Teacher educators should also be aware of the importance of encouraging reflective thinking regarding the perception of roles. If pre-service teachers are prepared to analyze their own role within a collaborative relationship there is a greater chance for success of that relationship. Also important, would be instruction in strategies to negotiate roles with the other teacher in such a way that the teachers will be equals in the classroom. Furthermore, the under-use of the IEP by the teachers in this study is a concern which could be addressed at the training level. Most of the social studies teachers in this study indicated that they felt the IEP had little to do with their daily instructional activities, were too complicated to understand and were of little value. Pre-service special education teachers could be
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taught to focus upon making the IEP easier to understand, to avoid jargon, and to include more descriptive information. Pre-service special education teachers could be made aware that regular education teachers will most likely not look at IEPs often, and not use them to plan instruction. Pre-service special education teachers could be taught ways in which to summarize and share important information which could inform classroom instruction in an easy to understand manner. For Researchers This is a limited study. There is still much that can be learned about collaboration. It is important to investigate this topic from the perspectives of the administrators, and the students themselves. The findings regarding the perception of role are perhaps the most exciting for future research. Are differences in these perceptions to blame when collaboration fails? How do these perceptions influence actions? Do parents and students themselves agree with the teachers’ perceptions of themselves? This research could also benefit from a larger sample size. A survey type experiment could be conducted to try to determine how many teachers share the same perspectives as the teachers in this study. This research could potentially lead to an informed attempt to create and test new collaborative models, with the success of the student with disabilities as a primary focus. In addition, this study could be extended to subject areas other than social studies, and grade levels other than middle school.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT This chapter is based in part by a dissertation conducted by the author at George Mason University. The research was supported in part by a grant from the U.S. Department of Education, Special Education Programs.
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Wong, B. Y. L., & Jones, W. (1982). Increasing metacomprehension in learning disabled and normally achieving students through self-questioning training. Learning Disability Quarterly, 5, 228–239. Ysseldyke, J. E., Algozzine, B., & Allen, D. (1982). Participation of regular education teachers in special education team decision making. Exceptional Children, 48, 365–366. Ysseldyke, J. E., & Algozzine, B. (1990). Introduction to special education. Boston: Houghton Mifflin.
EDUCATION AND TREATMENT OF CALCULATION ABILITIES OF LOW-ACHIEVING STUDENTS AND STUDENTS WITH DYSCALCULIA: WHOLE CLASS AND INDIVIDUAL IMPLEMENTATIONS Daniela Lucangeli, Patrizio Tressoldi and Chiara De Candia ABSTRACT Italian epidemiological data reveal a large discrepancy between the incidence of learning disabilities in mathematics and simple difficulties in mathematics. The incidence of dyscalculia (specific learning disability in mathematics) is about 2%, whereas the incidence of students with difficulties in arithmetic is surprisingly greater, estimated by teachers to be about five students out of 25 (that is, 20%). This unexpectedly high number of students with difficulties invites serious consideration of its cause and remedy. In this chapter, we try to answer to these questions in the light of two educational studies aimed at improving calculation
Cognition and Learning in Diverse Settings Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 18, 199–223 Copyright r 2005 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(05)18009-4
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abilities and the outcome of an intervention with three single cases with dyscalculia using the model and the materials of an innovative arithmetical curriculum. The results suggest that for most children, their arithmetic difficulties are simple consequences of their math instruction, which may be remediated by integrating traditional math curricula with information derived from the research on the cognitive arithmetical architecture and its development. There are also implications that even the arithmetical difficulties of dyscalculic children may be improved with special training focused on their specific impairments revealed after a detailed assessment.
Developmental dyscalculia is a learning disability. The International Classification of Diseases (ICD–10, 1992) and the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM-IV, 1996) describe this disability with the following the symptoms:
difficulty understanding base concepts of arithmetical operation; difficulty processing operational symbols; difficulties in manipulating standard arithmetic concepts; difficulties in recording data in mathematical problem solving; spatial difficulties in calculation; and difficulties in learning basic arithmetic facts.
It is evident that this disability represents a constellation of very different characteristics: from knowledge of arithmetic signs to the knowledge of quantity related to Arabic numbers; from the capacity to choose the relevant data for problem solution, to the ability to correctly align numbers, to the simple rote memory of number facts to the knowledge of the different algorithms to execute calculations. Do these different symptoms derive from a single or multiple dysfunctions? The answer to this question is at the base of the comprehension of the nature of this learning disability and of the implementation of efficient educational and treatment curricula. The literature on the arithmetical ability has its roots in numerical knowledge (see Butterworth, 1999), and tends to emphasize automatized specific competencies that can be affected by specific difficulties in children (e.g., Temple, 1991), and specific impairments in adults (e.g., McCloskey, 1992). Temple’s model (1989, 1991, 1997) of developmental dyscalculia has received positive consensus in the literature (Butterworth, 1999). This model is in accord with McCloskey, Caramazza,
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General Architecture of McCloskey et al. (1985) Model of Numerical and Calculation Abilities.
and Basili’s (1985) neuropsychological model, which differentiates the numeral processing system and the calculation system, as shown in Fig. 1. These authors consider number comprehension and number production to be distinct mechanisms. The number comprehension mechanism is used to convert numerical inputs into central semantic representations to use in subsequent processing, such as calculation. The numeral production mechanism translates central semantic representation of numbers into specific forms for output. Within these subsystems (comprehension and production), the processing of Arabic numbers is distinct from the processing of oral numbers. Thus, for example, reading a price tag involves the Arabic comprehension mechanisms, whereas writing a check involves both Arabic and verbal production mechanisms. Within each of the numeral comprehension and numeral production components, the model includes different lexical and syntactic processing. Lexical processing refers to the comprehension or production of individual elements in a number (e.g., the digit 2 or the word two), whereas syntactic processing involves the processing of
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spatial relations among elements in order to comprehend or produce a number as a whole (e.g., 2 in the number 12). A final distinction in lexical processing is made between verbal numeral comprehension and production. There is a distinction between the phonological processing mechanisms (i.e., spoken numbers) and the graphemic processing mechanisms (i.e., written numbers). For example, the comprehension of the spoken number word ‘‘five’’ is distinct from the process of writing the word ‘‘five’’. The model comprises three components for calculation: the processing of operation symbols (e.g., +, –, ) and words (e.g., plus, minus, times), the retrieval of arithmetic facts (e.g., 3 7 ¼ 21) and the execution of calculation procedures (e.g., in multi-digit addition, start at the right column, retrieve the sum of the digits in the column, write the ones digit of the sum at the bottom of the column, carry the tens digit, if any, etc.). Studying the errors made by dyscalculic children, Temple (1997) described three types of developmental dyscalculia. The first, digit dyslexia derives from a lexical processing impairment in both comprehension and production systems. The second type, procedural dyscalculia regards the execution of calculation procedures. Temple described a 17-year-old boy without impairments in numeral processing or in retrieval of arithmetic base facts, but with impairment in the execution of the calculation procedure. The third type is the arithmetic facts dyscalculia characterized by a difficulty in the acquisition of arithmetic facts within the calculation system. Temple described a 19-year-old girl with an impairment in this area, and intact processing of number and of calculation procedures. Analyzing the arithmetical performances of Italian students in primary school (from first to fifth grade), epidemiological data demonstrate a large discrepancy between the incidence of mathematical learning disabilities and simple mathematical difficulties. Cornoldi and Lucangeli (2004) reported that the incidence of dyscalculia as a specific learning disability is about 2%, a very small number of children. However, the incidence of students with mathematical difficulties was much greater, although this was no surprise to the teachers. Lucangeli (2003, in press) reported that five students out of 25 (that is, 20%) have some mathematical difficulties since the first years of elementary school. Why is there such a high number of students with difficulties, if only 2% are expected to be dyscalculic? And furthermore, what should be done in school and clinical practice? Our hypothesis for explaining this discrepancy could be that most arithmetical instruction in the current mathematical curricula, at least in Italy, ignores methods for supporting specific domain processes of numerical knowledge. In the last 3 years, our research group has developed an
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arithmetical program to improve numerical intelligence, intended to support normal activities at school with cognitive strategies based on recent scientific models of mathematical cognition.
DESCRIPTION OF THE MATHEMATICAL PROGRAM ‘‘NUMERICAL INTELLIGENCE’’ The program is prepared as a didactic curriculum, but with some specific characteristics. Its focus is not the acquisition of concepts at the base of each mathematical curriculum, but it is intended as a program intended to foster the numerical abilities from the preschool to the fifth-grade level according to the models of numerical intelligence as derived from cognitive developmental science. The entire curriculum, entitled ‘‘Numerical Intelligence’’, consists of four levels. Level 1 includes the cognitive and metacognitive abilities needed for construction of numerical knowledge at the preschool level (3–6-yearsold; Lucangeli, Poli, & Molin, 2003a); level 2 develops cognitive and metacognitive abilities needed for construction of the numerical knowledge from the first to the second grade (6–8-years-old; Lucangeli, Poli, & Molin, 2003b); level 3 develops cognitive and metacognitive abilities implied in the construction of the numerical knowledge from the third to the fifth grade (9–11-years-old; Lucangeli, De Candia, & Poli, 2003). Furthermore, the program contains materials for the analysis and the treatment of developmental dyscalculia. The aim of the program is to give teachers specific educational strategies, which are useful for improving specific cognitive processes, on which numeric knowledge is based. The volumes are articulated in didactic operational modules, referring to the following six areas:
counting; lexical processes; semantic processes; syntactic processes; oral calculation; written calculation.
The Counting area refers to the counting capacity and is guided by the knowledge of principles based on non-verbal numerical expertise: biunivocal correspondence, stable order/sequence and cardinality (Gelman &
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Gallistel, 1978, Gallistel & Gelman, 1992; Gelman & Meck, 1983; Fuson, 1988; Wynn, 1990). Exercises are inspired by everyday life experiences; forward and backward numerations +1 and +n are introduced. The Lexical Processes area refers to the ability to assign names to numbers. According to its position, each digit assumes a different name (McCloskey et al., 1985; Grewel, 1952, 1969; Deloche & Seron, 1982a, 1982b; Seron & Deloche, 1983, 1984). These processes are practised through transcoding exercises, where both number reading and number writing are involved. At a more complex level (i.e., level 3) reconstructive strategies are involved, as well as metacognitive processes. The Semantic Processes area refers to the capacity to comprehend the meaning of numbers as a measurable mental representation, and has number–quantity correspondence as a final objective (McCloskey, 1992). The quantity representation is practised by analogic means using quantity comparison and counting. At a more complex level, reconstructive strategies are involved, as well as decompositions and composition strategies. The Syntax Processes area refers the particular spatial relationship among digits representing numbers: the position of digits defines their value within a number (units, tens, hundreds, etc.) according to an ordered organized system (Grewel, 1952, 1969; Deloche & Seron, 1982a, 1982b; Seron & Deloche, 1983, 1984). The general objective in the Oral Calculation area is to learn different strategies to practice oral calculations to reach a stable automaticity (Baroody, 1983, 1987; Siegler & Mitchell, 1982; Geary, 1990, 1993; Geary, Brown, & Samaranayake, 1991; Beishuizen, 1993; Ashcraft, 1994). Different strategies are suggested, such as n+1, reconstructive strategies, decompositions/roundings to ten and recovering of arithmetic facts. The Written Calculation area is presented as a necessary means to perform very complex calculations that require paper to facilitate memory. Verbal and visual routines and algorithms are introduced, and the metacognitive components involved by strategic control. Each of the above six areas is composed of different didactic units developed to clarify for the teacher the learning process, which is the focus of the lesson. Every part of the program includes a sequence of specific goals, intended to translate the general process under consideration into didactic practices. Every goal is made explicit presenting/demonstrating the activity by written instructions to help the teacher teach pupils the exercises with metacognitive mediators. Within each unit, there are also some ‘‘guiding icons’’ aimed at helping children recognize different proposed activities: to carry out an issue, to learn strategies, to think from a metacognitive point
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of view and self-evaluation. Each unit is interdependent with the other, following a principle of synergy and integration among the different processes under instruction.
APPLICATION STUDIES In this part of the chapter, we present the results obtained in three different studies using our program. The first two studies were intended to verify the efficacy of the application of the program in normal educational activities at school. We expected that children in the experimental groups would perform better in calculation and arithmetical competencies, compared with the control groups educated with traditional curricula. The third application is a multiple single-case study aimed at verifying the efficacy of our program with children diagnosed as developmental dyscalculics.
Study 1: Effects of the Numerical Intelligence Program with Preschool Children The main objective of this study was to determine if it is possible to train cognitive processes involved in the arithmetical competencies in the early phases of education. Participants Forty-two children attending kindergarten participated in this experiment. Twenty-two children (15 females and 7 males) were included in the experimental group, and 20 children (12 females and 8 males) were included in the control group. Mean age was, respectively, 5.5 (SD ¼ 0:9) and 5.7 (SD ¼ 0:7) years. All children had normal intelligence, medium socioeconomic status (SES), and no known sensory or neurological deficits. Materials and Procedures All children were pre- and post-tested using the Italian original test PRCR Number (Criterial Tasks related to Numerical Knowledge; Lucangeli, Molin, Poli, & Cortesi, in press). The test is composed of nine subtests, including: Writing Arabic numbers. Children were asked to write five numbers in random order, 2, 1, 4, 3, and 5 (score 0–5).
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Counting forward from 1 to 20 and backward from 10 to 1 (score 1–30). Reading Arabic numbers. Children were asked to tell the names of nine numbers presented in random order, 3, 9, 2, 4, 7, 1, 5, 8, and 6 (score 1–9). Name–Arabic number correspondence. Children were asked to indicate among three numbers presented in a paper the one named by the examiner, e.g., ‘‘Which of these is the number 2?’’ (score 1–9). Arabic numbers comparison. Children are asked to indicate the larger of two Arabic numbers presented simultaneously on paper (score 1–10). Dot quantities identification. Children were asked to indicate the quantity of dots corresponding to the Arabic number presented, among three presented in a paper, e.g., ‘‘Show me where there are as many dots as this number’’ (score 1–10). Pre-syntax knowledge. Children were asked to complete part-whole sentences such as: ‘‘A hand is formed by many y .’’ (score 1–11). Arabic number seriation. Children were asked to order in ascending value the following Arabic numbers, 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5, and to insert the correct numbers in an interrupted series such as, 1,y,3, 4 (score 1–10). Training Phase. Children of the experimental group were trained in four main domains, lexical knowledge, quantity (semantic) knowledge, syntactic knowledge and counting, following a special dedicated curriculum for preschoolers. For each area, different materials and objectives were prepared and trained during the normal school time instead of the traditional premathematical curriculum taught to the control group. The details of each training components are given in the Appendix. The training was applied from January to April, 2004, and consisted of 17 weekly sessions lasting approximately 90 min. An example unit is provided in the Appendix. Results Total, pre–post treatment differences of both the experimental and the control group are presented in Fig. 2a, whereas differences related to the nine subtests are presented in Fig. 2b. The differences were statistically significant, tð40Þ ¼ 2:1; p ¼ 0:04; with a moderate effect size: d ¼ 0:67; demonstrating the overall positive effect of the training on learning of the cognitive strategies of arithmetical abilities. Analyzing the effects of the training on the nine subtests, we observed statistically significant difference in Reading, tð40Þ ¼ 2:2; p ¼ 0:032; d ¼ 0:67; Number comparison, tð40Þ ¼ 1:92; p ¼ 0:06; d ¼ 0:59; and Syntax subtests tð40Þ ¼ 3:01; p ¼ 0:004; d ¼ 0:95:
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Discussion Based on the observed results, we can draw three interpretative hypotheses. First, it is possible to improve early arithmetical abilities using appropriate and scientifically based instruction. Second, these abilities derive from multi-dimensional processes involving, e.g., writing, reading, counting, and comparison, all of which are necessary for numerical knowledge. Third, the fact that program efficacy was observed only on the processes less emphasized in the traditional educational curricula (such as reading, number comparison, and numerical syntax), may be interpreted as evidence of the role of cognitive instruction on specific domains of learning, such as numerical knowledge.
Study 2: Effects of the Numerical Intelligence Program with Elementary Children The main objective of this study was to verify the efficacy of the application of the program in normal educational activities at school. We expected that children in the experimental groups would obtain better performances in calculation and arithmetical competencies with respect to the control groups educated with traditional curricula. Participants Thirty-nine students took part in the experiment, 18 in the experimental group and 21 in the control group. Their mean chronological age was similar, with means of 7.8 (SD ¼ 1:3) and 7.6 (SD ¼ 1:6), respectively. All children had normal intelligence, medium SES, and no known sensory or neurological deficits. Materials and Procedures All students were pre- and post-tested with the Italian AC-MT test (Cornoldi, Lucangeli, & Bellina, 2002). This standardized test includes four parts: written calculation, numerical knowledge, general accuracy, and general speed.1 Training focused on five areas: counting, lexical knowledge, semantic knowledge, mental calculation, and written calculation. Each area includes different components (see Appendix), trained in sequence from the simple to the complex. The training in the experimental group was carried out from January to March in ten weekly sessions lasting one hour, during their normal mathematics period. During the same sessions, the control group students were
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trained by teachers in the routine arithmetical activities planned according to their curriculum.
Results The pre- and post-treatment score differences of both the experimental and the control group are presented in Fig. 3. Only the pre–post difference in arithmetic calculation reached a statistically significant level, tð37Þ ¼ 2:37; p ¼ 0:023; with a moderate effect size, d ¼ 0:77:
Discussion Considering our hypotheses, with only ten sessions it was possible to obtain a statistically significant difference in calculation. With respect to the other measures on numerical competencies, we emphasize that the lack of statistically significant differences may be due to the fact that students receiving the traditional curriculum were also taught numerical knowledge and accuracy. Regarding speed, we think that the time spent with our program (ten hours in total) was probably not sufficient to automatize the competencies taught, more so than the control curriculum.
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Study 3: Effects of the Numerical Intelligence Program with Discalculic Children This investigation was a multiple single-case study aimed to verify the efficacy of our program with children diagnosed as dyscalculics. Participants Three students, two girls (S.M., 10.5-years-old, and D.V., 11-years-old) and a boy (L.B. 11-years-old), all attending the fifth grade, were trained with the Numerical Intelligence Program. S.M. was diagnosed as dyscalculic according to the DSM-IV criteria, that is, normal IQ, normal educational and socio-cultural opportunities, no neurological or sensorial deficits; D.V. has a chromosomal syndrome (CATCH22) due to an interstitial deletion of the long arm of chromosome 22 (region 22q11.2), this syndrome is associated with delayed developments in cognitive and motor areas, learning disabilities and attentional deficits; L.B. was affected by a ventricular haemorrhage at birth with subsequent small ventricular enlargement. His calculation abilities met a clinical level of deficit, with marked difficulties in carrying out school requirements. Apart from their school marks, all participants were tested with the ABCA2 test, a standardized Italian test for assessment of calculation abilities (Lucangeli, Tressoldi, Fiore, 1998). Subject S.M. S.M. was a ten-year-old girl with normal IQ and reading difficulties. As can be seen from Fig. 4a and 4b, she manifests difficulties in mental and written calculation (in both accuracy and speed), in comparison of quantities, and in number dictation and tables production (in both accuracy and speed). In mental calculation, S.M. used primitive and slow strategies such as counting on fingers. In written calculation, there were procedural errors. Comprehension mechanisms were preserved in both accuracy and speed, but there was a drop in auditory judgement quantities. In the production system, there were difficulties in the dictation of numbers (probably correlated to the deficit in lexical retrieval), and in recovering tables. The training program. For S.M. the training was focused on improving:
the lexical production mechanism; mental calculation strategies; basic arithmetical facts; written calculation procedures.
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Fig. 4. (a) Pre ( ) and Post ( ) Treatment Percentile Scores of Subject S.M. Related to the Calculation and Comprehension Systems on the Standardized Test ABCA. (b). Pre ( ) and Post ( ) Treatment Percentile Scores of Subject S.M. Related to the Production System on the Standardized Test ABCA.
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The rehabilitation program is based upon the book ‘‘Numerical Intelligence’’ (vol. 3) (Lucangeli, De Candia, & Poli, 2003), characterized by a metacognitive approach. For the automatization of tables a dedicated comTM mercial software program (‘‘Tabelline ’’) was also employed. The comparison between pre-test and post-test after 6 months of training, 40 min twice a week, is presented in Fig. 4a and 4b. The post-test assessment evidences great improvement in both accuracy and speed in written calculation. Oral calculation was improved in accuracy, but speed was still slow. These results in the calculation system evidence great improvement in the use of procedures that now are automatizated. In oral calculation, S.M. now uses efficacious strategies, even if they are not yet automatized. In the production system, we observed great improvement in tables. Minor improvement was observed in numeral dictation, because this performance may be aggravated by the difficulty in lexical retrieval associated with her reading deficit.
Subject D.V. D.V. is an 11-year-old girl. She has a borderline IQ, Full Scale ¼ 75, good reading and writing abilities, but poor text comprehension. D.V. has widespread arithmetic difficulties: oral and written calculation (in both accuracy and speed), ordering by quantity, and in dictation and recovery of numerical facts in the production systems (see Fig. 5a and 5b). In mental calculation D.V. use inefficacious and slow strategies like counting on fingers and mental algorithm (she images the calculations using the written calculation procedures). In written calculation there are procedurals and arithmetical fact errors. The comprehension mechanisms show semantic and syntactic errors: in the ordering from minor to major and from major to minor. In the production system, D.V. fails in dictation of numbers and in the recovery of numerical combinations, she is slow but accurate in recovering table combinations. In summary, her difficulties involve: mental calculation strategies, written calculation procedures, recall of arithmetical facts, lexical, and semantics mechanisms. For D.V. the training was directed toward improving:
lexical mechanisms; syntactic mechanisms; semantic mechanisms; mental calculation strategies; arithmetical base facts; written calculation procedures.
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Fig. 5. (a) Pre ( ) and Post ( ) Treatment Percentile Scores of Subject D.V. Related to the Calculation and Comprehension Systems on the Standardized Test ABCA. (b) Pre ( ) and Post ( ) Treatment Percentile Scores of Subject D. V. Related to the Production System at the Standardized Test ABCA.
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Also in this case, the rehabilitation program was based upon the book ‘‘Numerical Intelligence’’ (vol. 3) (Lucangeli et al. 2003), plus the use of the TM commercial software program ‘‘Tabelline ’’ to automatize tables retrieval. The comparison between pre-test and post-test after eight months of instruction, for 40 min twice a week, is presented in Fig. 5a and 5b. Post-test scoring reveals great improvement in accuracy in oral calculation. Now D.V. uses more elevated strategies such as composing, decomposing, and rounding to multiples of ten. The training is not yet completed, and we are still working to improve written calculation. Regarding arithmetical facts, great improvement can be seen in accuracy; now D.V. is able to use efficacious mental strategies to retrieve results. These abilities are still not automatized. In recall of tables, speed has increased because the process is now automatized. In lexical, syntactic, and semantic mechanisms, we see improvement in accuracy (see ordering, quantity comparison, and dictation). Subject L.B. The third participant is an 11-year-old boy (L.B.), with a normal IQ. His difficulties involved calculation, comprehension (quantity comparison), and production (dictation and numerical facts) systems (see Fig. 6a and 6b), with a general deficit in the automatization of both systems. In written calculations, L.B. used incorrect procedures (he confused procedures, e.g., addition instead of multiplication) and his rate of production is slow. In oral calculations, the strategies are very elementary such as the mental algorithm (he images the calculations using the written calculation procedures) and not automatized as in written calculation. Comprehension mechanisms are correct except for difficulty with quantity comparison, but with a slow rate overall. In production, there were difficulties in lexical processes (the dictation of numbers), and in retrieving numerical facts. As for the comprehension system the rate of production system is also very slow. For L.B., the training was focused upon improving:
semantic mechanisms; syntactic mechanisms; lexical mechanisms; oral calculation; written calculation.
In this case also, the rehabilitation program was based upon the same book and the same commercial software as the previous cases. Comparison between pre-test and post-test after 8 mon, during which time the student received instruction for 40 min, twice a week, is presented in Fig. 6a and 6b.
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Fig. 6. (a) Pre ( ) and Post ( ) Treatment Percentile Scores of Subject L.B. Related to the Calculation and Comprehension Systems at the Standardized Test ABCA. (b) Pre ( ) and Post ( ) Treatment Percentile Scores of Subject L.B. Related to the Production System at the Standardized Test ABCA.
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In the post-test, L.B. demonstrated improvement in accuracy in oral calculation. Like D.V., L.B. now uses more elevated strategies such as composing, decomposing, and rounding to multiples of ten. The training is not yet completed, and we are still working to improve written calculation. We can see great improvement in accuracy and less in speed in areas of lexical, semantic, and syntactic difficulty. The results in the area of arithmetical facts demonstrate improvement in accuracy, but this ability is still not automatized. The next objective in our training regards procedures in written calculation.
GENERAL DISCUSSION This chapter provides a synthesis of three arithmetical intervention training procedures on cognitive components of numerical intelligence; two intended to improve the development of numerical knowledge in normally functioning children, and one intended to improve functioning in three single cases of developmental dyscalculia. In the last few years, our research group has developed a program to improve numerical intelligence. This program is intended to support normal activities at school with cognitive strategies based on recent scientific models of mathematical cognition aimed at fostering numerical abilities from the preschool to the fifth-grade level, according to the models of numerical intelligence as derived from cognitive developmental science. Furthermore, the program contains materials for the analysis and the treatment of developmental dyscalculia. The results obtained using the Numerical Intelligence Program are discussed in the chapter analyzing three different experimental investigations. In the first experimental investigation, preschool children were trained in four main domains – lexical knowledge, quantity (semantic) knowledge, syntactical knowledge, and counting. Analyzing the effects of the training, we observed statistically significant effects in Reading, Number Comparison, and Syntax. In light of the observed results, we suggest the following hypotheses: it is possible to improve precocious arithmetical abilities using appropriate and scientifically based instruction; these abilities depend on multi-dimensional processes necessary for numerical knowledge; the role of cognitive instruction on specific domains, such as numerical knowledge, can determine not only good performance but also good cognitive competencies in numerical abilities.
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In the second experimental investigation, second-grade children were trained in four areas: counting, lexical knowledge, semantic knowledge, mental calculation, and written calculation. The main objective of this study was to verify the efficacy of the application of the program in normal educational activities at school. The results suggest that for arithmetical written calculation only, ten sessions were sufficient to obtain statistically significant improvement in accuracy. Regarding speed, we think that the time spent with our program (10 h in total) was probably not sufficient to automatize the trained competencies, beyond that of the control curriculum. The results reinforce the evidence obtained in the first study that it is possible to improve arithmetical abilities and reduce the number of children showing arithmetical difficulties using a teaching program focused on the cognitive processes involved on numerical knowledge. The third experimental application was a multiple single-case study aimed at verifying the efficacy of our program with children with dyscalculia. The method we used is based on an accurate assessment of their numerical and calculation abilities according to a precise cognitive model that permits us to obtain an individual profile where strengths and deficit in the components of calculation, comprehension, and number production are presented. For each of the difficulty areas, we applied instructional units based on the numerical competencies needed. In light of the results we can suggest quantitative and qualitative observation. Our primary conclusion is that for developmental dyscalculia, the use of specific training focused on observed cognitive difficulties should reduce the deficit. This reduction could be interpreted not as a normalization of the deficit but as a concrete reduction of the impairment. Among the characteristics of our curriculum that seem important to its efficacy are not only its contents (the six core areas) and its structure in hierarchical modules, but also the emphasis on promoting active learning of students, fostering metacognitive knowledge of what is being taught, in particular when it is necessary to change inefficient calculation strategies with more efficient ones. This metacognitive emphasis does not exclude the necessity to automatize factual recall. However, in light of our evidence, we find it necessary to integrate the drill and practice approach with a metacognitive approach that offers more opportunities to help the student become more active and autonomous. In conclusion, the present results suggest that for most children, their math difficulties are consequences of inadequate instruction. We believe that the traditional math curriculum should be integrated, placing more
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emphasis on the cognitive architecture implied in numerical knowledge with both perspectives: to foster the development of these competencies; to focus the intervention on the specific impairments. Even for children with dyscalculia, there are promising suggestions that it is possible to reduce their symptoms and to promote a more active and strategic approach to mathematics learning.
NOTES 1. The AC-MT test is a standardized Italian original test for individual and collective assessment of calculation abilities from the first to the eighth grade. At each grade, different tasks are proposed. As part of total score, it is possible to derive a written calculation score, an accuracy and a speed score summing up the data obtained from the following subtests: ordering by magnitude, recover of automatic numbers combination and number dictation. 2. The ABCA test is inspired by McCloskey’s model (1985), to evaluate the different components of the numeral and calculation systems. The test is addressed to children from 8 to 10-years-old (3, 4, 5, elementary), and it is divided in two parts. In the first competencies in written and oral calculation, in all four arithmetical calculations are assessed. If the results are below the 10th percentile with respect to the norms, we proceed to the second part. In this part numbers comprehension and production is assessed with different subtests. Comprehension: Denomination and use of calculation symbols; ordering digit in increasing or decreasing value; insertion of calculation symbols; judgment of numerousness; positional value. Production: Backward enumeration; numbers dictation; tables knowledge; counting of dots; aligning digits; recover of numerical combinations. For each subtest we record errors and speed, the first measure give information about the accuracy of the process and the second about its automatization.
REFERENCES Ashcraft, M. H. (1994). Model of mental calculation. Workshop: Concepts of number and simple arithmetic. Trieste, Italy: Sissa-Isas. Baroody, A. J. (1983). The development of procedural knowledge: An alternative explanation for chronometric trends of mental arithmetic. Developmental Review, 3, 225–230. Baroody, A. J. (1987). The development of counting strategies for single-digit addition. Journal for Research in Mathematics Education, 18, 141–157.
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Beishuizen, M. (1993). Mental strategies and materials or models for addition and subtraction up to 100 in Dutch second grades. Journal for Research in Mathematics Education, 24, 294–323. Butterworth, B. (1999). L’intelligenza matematica. Milano: Rizzoli. Cornoldi, C., Lucangeli, D., & Bellina, M. (2002). AC-MT test di valutazione delle abilita` di calcolo, Trento: Erickson. Cornoldi, C., & Lucangeli, D. (2004). Arithmetic education and learning disabilities in Italy. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 34, 42–49. Deloche, G., & Seron, X. (1982a). From one to 1: An analysis of a transcoding process by means of neuropsychological data. Cognition, 12, 119–149. Deloche, G., & Seron, X. (1982b). From three to 3: A differential analysis of skills in transcoding quantities between patients with Broca’s and Wernicke’s aphasia. Brain, 105, 719–733. DSM-IV. (1996). Manuale diagnostico e statistico dei disturbi mentali. Milano: Masson. Fuson, K. C. (1988). Counting and concepts of number. New York: Springer-Verlag. Gallistel, C. R., & Gelman, R. (1992). Preverbal and verbal counting and computation. Cognition, 44, 43–74. Geary, D. C. (1990). A componential analysis of an early learning deficit in mathematics. Journal of Experimental Child Psychology, 49, 363–383. Geary, D. C. (1993). Mathematical disabilities: Cognitive, neuropsychological and genetic components. Psychological Bulletin, 114, 345–362. Geary, D. C., Brown, S. C., & Samaranayake, V. A. (1991). Cognitive addition: A short longitudinal study of strategy choice and speed of processing differences in normal and mathematically disabled children. Developmental Psychology, 27, 787–797. Gelman, G., & Gallistel, C. R. (1978). The child’s understanding of number. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Gelman, G., & Meck, E. (1983). Preschoolers counting: principles before skills. Cognition, 13, 343–359. Grewel, F. (1952). Acalculia. Brain, 75, 397–407. Grewel, F. (1969). The acalculias. In: P. J. Vinken & G. W. Bruyn (Eds), Handbook of clinical neurology. Amsterdam: North Holland. ICD-10. (1992). Classificazione internazionale delle sindromi e dei disturbi psichici e comportamentali. Milano: Masson. Lucangeli, D., Molin, A., Poli, S., & Cortesi, O. (in press). PRCR number. Criterial tasks related to numerical knowledge. Trento: Erickson. Lucangeli, D., Poli, S., & Molin, A. (2003a). L’intelligenza numerica. Primo volume. Abilita` cognitive e metacognitive nella costruzione della conoscenza numerica dai 3 ai 6 anni. Trento: Erickson. Lucangeli, D., Poli, S., & Molin, A. (2003b). L’intelligenza numerica. Secondo volume. Abilita` cognitive e metacognitive nella costruzione della conoscenza numerica dai 6 agli 8 anni. Trento: Erickson. Lucangeli, D., De Candia, C., & Poli, S. (2003). L’intelligenza numerica. Terzo volume Abilita` cognitive e metacognitive nella costruzione della conoscenza numerica dagli 8 agli 11 anni. Trento: Erickson. Lucangeli, D. (in press). National survey on learning disabilities. Rome: Italian Institute of Research on Infancy. Lucangeli, D., Tressoldi, P., Fiore, C. (1998). ABCA, batteria di valutazione delle abilita` di calcolo aritmetico, Trento: Erickson.
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McCloskey, M. (1992). Cognitive mechanisms in numerical processing: Evidence from acquired dyscalculia. Cognition, 44, 107–157. McCloskey, M., Caramazza, A., & Basili, A. (1985). Cognitive mechanism in number processing and calculation. Evidence from dyscalculia. Brain and Cognition, 4, 171–196. Seron, X., & Deloche, G. (1983). From 2 to two: An analysis of a transcoding process by means of neuropsychological evidence. Journal of Psycholinguistic Research, 13, 215–236. Seron, X., & Deloche, G. (1984). From 4 to four: A supplement to From three to 3. Brain, 106, 735–744. Siegler, R. S., & Mitchell, R. (1982). The development of numerical understanding. Advances in Child Development and Behavior, 16, 241–312. Temple, C. M. (1997). Cognitive neuropsychology and its application to children. Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, 38, 27–52. Temple, M. C. (1991). Procedural dyscalculia and number fact dyscalculia. Double dissociation in developmental dyscalculia. Cognitive Neuropsychology, 8, 155–176. Temple, M. C. (1989). Digit dyslexia: A category specific disorder in developmental dyscalculia. Cognitive Neuropsychology, 6, 93–116. Wynn, K. (1990). Children’s understanding of counting. Cognition, 36, 155–193.
APPENDIX Details of the curriculum for preschoolers. Components of Lexical Processes Objectives 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.
To To To To To To To
use a linguistic sequence to learn the base of counting. use a linguistic sequence to enhance the auditory memory. learn the names of numbers. automatize the number sequence. start to learn the rule +1. write the Arabic numbers. read the Arabic numbers. Components of Semantic Processes Objectives
1. To estimate the weight of objects in direct relationship and independently of their volume. 2. To estimate the space dimension in relation to objects. 3. To estimate numerosity independently from the objects dimension. 4. To formulate an hypothesis on the results of an increment +1. 5. To recover quantitative experiences. 6. To estimate space in relationship to quantity. 7. To recover the quantity ‘‘one’’ and introduce the concept of ‘‘zero.’’
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8. To define the quantity ‘‘one’’ and apply it by subtracting and adding units. 9. To demonstrate the quantity ‘‘two’’ by increment. 10. To know the quantities 3, 4, and 5 by the procedure +1. 11. To help in representing quantity using a visuo-spatial code. 12. To start to reflect on the concept ‘‘equivalent.’’ 13. To represent quantity using an analogical code. 14. To reflect on grouping. 15. To use subitizing. 16. To use the quantities 6, 7, 8, and 9 by increment +1. 17. To learn the quantity representation according to the personal cognitive style. 18. To reflect in metacognitive terms. Components of Syntactic Processes Objectives 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.
To select objects according to different characteristics. To select objects according to different functions. To select objects according to different dimensions. To differentiate a quantity from the whole of elements of which it is part. To introduce the concept of ‘‘ordinality.’’ To differentiate the dimensions, ‘‘big,’’ ‘‘little,’’ ‘‘medium.’’ Counting
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.
To acquire and master one to one correspondence. To build a progressive and ordered sequence. To retrieve the name of numbers and their semantic correspondence. To start to count using Arabic numbers. To subitize recognizing the quantity ‘‘five.’’ To increase a given quantity by 1. To count and introduce the concept of ‘‘no one’’ as precursor of the concept of ‘‘zero.’’
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Details of the curriculum for second graders. The curriculum is made up of six different components: 1. 2. 3. 4.
Counting forward and backward. Lexical processes: to recognize, read, and write the Arabic numbers. Semantic processes: to understand the quantity underlying the numbers. Syntactical processes: to consider different classes of quantity and their position in number representation. 5. Mental and written calculation. See an example:
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INCLUSIVE PRACTICES IN CONTENT AREA INSTRUCTION: ADDRESSING THE CHALLENGES OF CO-TEACHING Margo A. Mastropieri, Thomas E. Scruggs, Janet Graetz and Nicole Conners ABSTRACT This chapter reports on the results from several extended qualitative investigations of co-teaching in science and social studies content area classes, on both elementary and secondary levels. In these investigations, co-teaching partners were studied and interviewed over several years, with the view of uncovering attitudes and procedures closely associated with successful collaborative partnerships. In some cases, these investigations took place in the context of implementation of research-based instructional strategies. Analysis of data from these investigations revealed that there was considerable variability in the way co-teaching practices were implemented, the attitudes toward co-teaching expressed by teachers, and the success of the co-teaching partnerships. It was thought that several variables, including content expertise, concerns for high-stakes testing, and the personal compatibility of co-teachers played an important role in the success of the co-teaching relationship. Cognition and Learning in Diverse Settings Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 18, 225–260 Copyright r 2005 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(05)18010-0
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More than at any previous time, classrooms in American public schools represent diverse student populations, especially with respect to increasing numbers of students with disabilities served largely within general education classrooms (U.S. Department of Education, 2002). This increase in the number of inclusive classrooms has led to more urgent efforts to identify practices to effectively accommodate this diversity (Mastropieri & Scruggs, 2004b). One widely promoted strategy for facilitating learning in inclusive classrooms is co-teaching (Friend, 2000). In many of today’s classrooms, it is not at all unusual to identify classrooms led by two teachers, one from a general education and one from a special education background. Within co-teaching has emerged a number of different models for accommodating diversity, including team-teaching, where teachers share instructional responsibilities equally. The models include (but are not limited to): one teach, one drift, where either teacher may lead the lesson while the other provides individual assistance; station teaching, where the teachers provide half the content each, and the students move between stations; and parallel teaching, where teachers present the same content in different ways to appropriate groups of students (Friend & Bursuck, 2002). Typically, implementation of these models presumes sharing of responsibilities, including shared instruction, shared classroom responsibilities, and shared planning (see Friend, 2000). Although specific goals for co-teaching may vary with the specific application, three major overall goals of co-teaching and collaboration include: (a) presenting students with disabilities with a wider range of instructional possibilities; (b) increasing class participation of students with disabilities in the general education classes; and (c) improving the academic achievement of all students, including particularly students with disabilities (Zigmond & Magiera, 2001). As described previously, there are a substantial number of different models for co-teaching models that have been applied in a number of different settings. However, there is little consensus on the most important and necessary features of co-teaching. For example, what are the optimal roles and responsibilities of both the general and special education teachers. Further, agreement is lacking regarding the best way to evaluate the effectiveness of co-teaching. For these and other reasons, The Division for Learning Disabilities and Division for Research of the Council for Exceptional Children recently assigned a ‘‘Use with Caution’’ recommendation for co-teaching in the ALERTs series published by those two organizations. This caution was recommended particularly because of the present limited amount of efficacy data (Zigmond & Magiera, 2001).
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In spite of these cautions, co-teaching models have become very commonly implemented, and can presently be observed being undertaken in elementary and secondary schools throughout the country. In part the widespread implementation of co-teaching reflects the growing accommodation of students with disabilities in general education classes (Scruggs & Mastropieri, 1995), combined with the relative absence of positive alternatives to co-teaching in accommodating students with disabilities in general education classes in substantial numbers. However, information regarding optimal models and implementations of co-teaching would be very helpful to educational practice. This chapter first reviews recent research in collaboration and coteaching, and presents some case study information on the practices of teachers at different grade levels as they implement co-teaching (see also Mastropieri, Scruggs, McDuffie, Nordland, & Vesay, in press). This review of literature and presentation of cases are intended to provide important information that may be useful in determine how, or whether, to implement co-teaching, and how to evaluate procedures associated with co-teaching success.
REVIEW OF PREVIOUS RESEARCH Some reviews of the co-teaching literature have recently been conducted. These reviews have generally concluded that existing efficacy data are limited, and provide only tentative support for co-teaching. In an integrative research, an exhaustive literature search was undertaken by Murawski and Swanson (2001), who identified only six studies that contained sufficient information (e.g., means and standard deviations of experimental and control conditions) for computing effect sizes (standardized quantitative indices of treatment effects). Furthermore, Murawski and Swanson reported that the results of the effects contained so much variability that little could be concluded. Evaluating the six studies, they were able to code 22 different effect sizes, involving such independent variables as academic achievement, grades, social and attitudinal measures, and attendance. The aggregated overall effect size was 0.40, representing an average treatment effect in the low to moderate range. Murawski and Swanson (2001) concluded that the data that exist provide a measure of support for co-teaching; however, additional research was needed to firmly establish the efficacy of co-teaching practices.
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Weiss and Brigham (2000), after an extensive literature search, identified 23 research reports that included evaluative or interpretative data relevant to co-teaching between special education teachers and general education teachers. Some researchers (e.g., Harris et al., 1987; Walther-Thomas & Carter, 1993) surveyed students, parents, or teachers, and concluded that most participants generally reported that they were satisfied with co-teaching and felt that it led to positive outcomes. However, some studies of teacher perceptions (e.g., Nowacek, 1992; Trent, 1998) revealed that co-teaching is not a unitary construct in the minds of teachers, meaning different things to different teachers. It was also found that more positive attitudes and perceptions were reported when teachers voluntarily chose to participate in coteaching, than when teachers were assigned by administrators to co-teaching. However, voluntary participants tended to report more positive perceptions than teachers who were assigned to co-teaching. Teachers were also more likely to be positive about co-teaching when there was administrative support, additional planning time, co-teachers with similar beliefs about teaching, and co-teachers with mutual respect of one another. On the other hand, co-teaching classrooms may lose some of the specific features associated with special education. Some observational studies (e.g., Baker, 1995; Zigmond, 1995) noted that students received instruction of generally high quality in coteaching classrooms; however, they have often lacked instruction characterized by intensity and distinctiveness associated with special education (see Mastropieri & Scruggs, 2004b). Nevertheless, some research (e.g., Boudah, Schumaker, & Deshler, 1997) has provided evidence that co-teaching partners can be trained to increase their efficiency for general and special education students, at least with respect to better exchange of roles and increased interaction with individual students. Weiss and Brigham (2000) reported that the literature on co-teaching suffered from several significant flaws, including: (a) lack of clear description of important variables; (b) focusing primarily on successful co-teaching arrangements, rather than determining causes of less successful relationships; (c) focusing on the ‘‘non-alterable variable’’ of teacher personality as the most important variable in co-teaching success; (d) broad and diverse definitions of co-teaching; and (e) subjectively stated outcomes not always clearly based on empirical data. Weiss and Brigham (2000) also reported on the relative lack of descriptive reports of teachers actually did in the coteaching classroom. This issue seems particularly significant, because careful evaluation of present co-teaching practices and how they are associated with student success can lead to better understanding of co-teaching practices and how they might be improved.
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Since the Weiss and Brigham review, some additional descriptive accounts of co-teaching have emerged. Hardy (2001) observed in secondary biology classrooms in which co-teaching was taking place, over a nine-week instructional grading period. Hardy collected data from interviews, observations, and classroom observation scales. Based on these data, Hardy concluded that the co-teaching program helped lead to (a) some instructional changes on the part of a general educator; (b) some specialized instruction (albeit limited) for students with disabilities; (c) a generally successful partnership between the general education and special education teacher; and (d) some degree of success for at some students with disabilities. However, it appeared unlikely that any new instructional practices undertaken in the co-taught classroom would continue in the absence of the special education teacher. In a similar investigation Magiera (2002) observed the behaviors of students with disabilities in 11 middle school co-taught classes. Magiera concluded that presence of the special education co-teacher led to higher levels of targeted students interacted more with the general education teacher, more individual instruction, and more individual management on the part of the general education teacher. Weiss and Lloyd (2002) observed examples of co-teaching in middle and high school classrooms and identified several significant challenges associated with co-teaching. General and special education students frequently exhibited substantial gaps in academic and behavioral functioning. Due to this classes were often split into two halves; however, even under these circumstances, students with disabilities were not provide with high levels of direct skill instruction and interaction with teachers often found in special education classrooms. The special education teacher had little time to deliver or modify instruction. In many cases, the general education teachers served as the content specialists, while the special education teachers assisted with individual students; at some point all special education teachers took on the role of instructional aide. Weiss and Lloyd concluded that, perhaps due to the more extensive demands on content knowledge and a ‘‘content’’ rather than ‘‘student’’ orientation, co-teaching at the secondary level presents significant challenges that need to be addressed. Weichel (2001) designed an experimental study to examine various configurations of teaching, including co-teaching in ninth grade English classes. She observed in and compared student academic performance and student self-concepts different classroom configurations: (a) co-taught classes; (b) mainstreamed classes (in which there was no co-teaching, but included students with disabilities); (c) general education only classes; and (d) special
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education only classes. Weichel reported that there were no statistical differences among classes; however, when co-teaching pairs rarely employed all the features of effective co-teaching, such as using of a variety of instructional models and co-planning. These results suggest that, effective co-teaching is more than two teachers being together in a classroom simultaneously, but rather requires the use of optimal co-teaching methods. Absence of effective methods may negatively impact student success. Buckley (2005) conducted observations and interviews with six coteaching or collaborating pairs of social studies teachers. All pairs had been identified as ‘‘high collaborators’’ or ‘‘low collaborators.’’ Buckley reported that the Individual Educational Programs (IEPs) provided for each special education student were largely ignored by general education teachers. She also observed that the ‘‘one teach, one assist’’ model of co-teaching was predominately implemented, with the special education teacher often adopting the role of teaching assistant. Regardless of level of collaboration, general education teachers felt that special education teachers took too little initiative, often doing little or nothing to assist in the classroom. Special education teachers, on the other hand, typically felt that they were not accepted as true partners in the general education classrooms, and had difficulty establishing an independent role for themselves. In addition, general education teachers were more likely to feel that students should learn to become more independent, and that providing additional individualization and assistance was not in their long-term interests. Special education teachers, on the other hand, were more likely to assume the role of advocate for individual students with special needs. Generally, individual accommodations were simple and often infrequently employed. One accommodation more frequently reported was preferential seating, where the student with special needs was seated closer to the front of the classroom or away from distractions. Such accommodations fall far short of more effective, available strategies (e.g., Mastropieri & Scruggs, 2004b), and reinforce previous positions of, e.g., Zigmond (1995) who argued that students with special needs may not be receiving a ‘‘special’’ education in inclusive classrooms. When asked individually, both general education and special education teachers indicated that the students with disabilities were the primary responsibility of the special education teacher. This finding provided a strong contrast with the intended purpose of inclusion, where both general and special education teachers take mutual responsibility for students with disabilities.
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SUMMARY Recent research has presented important information on the behaviors of co-teachers in inclusive settings. In this chapter, we provide information from several recent investigations regarding the implementation of coteaching in a variety of different settings and content areas. It is by examining co-teaching practice, in a number of different contexts, that we hoped to be able to draw some general conclusions about the experience of coteaching, for general and special education students and teachers, in elementary and secondary classrooms. For such research questions, qualitative research can be appropriately employed (Scruggs & Mastropieri, 1995). This chapter represents a restatement and expansion of a briefer description of this research reported by Mastropieri et al. (in press). In the present chapter, we also supply additional case information, as well as additional detail, commentary, analysis, and discussion not presented in the earlier work.
SUCCESS AND CHALLENGES OF CO-TEACHING The authors and their colleagues recently undertook several extensive case studies examining effective teaching practices for including students with disabilities within upper elementary, middle, and secondary content area classes. In all cases, researchers worked very closely with both general and special education teachers. In most of these cases, researchers worked collaboratively with both general and special education teachers to identify and implement appropriate research-based instructional methods and materials to increase the performance of general education students, and particularly students with disabilities. After discussion, evidence-based materials were frequently developed by researchers and for teachers to use in those classes. In these case studies of co-teaching practices, data sources included extensive observations of class activities, field notes, videotapes of classes, interviews with teachers and students, and artifacts including samples of class activities, homework assignments, tests, and exams. Data analyses in these cases were qualitative and inductive. Analytic induction ‘‘involves scanning the data for categories of phenomena and for relationships among such categories, developing working typologies and hypotheses upon an examination of initial cases, then modifying and refining them on the basis of subsequent cases’’ (LeCompte & Preissle, 1993, p. 254). Case studies representing each curriculum area are described separately next by content area and grade level.
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Participants, Settings, and Content Areas Observations and interviews for these investigations have taken place over the past seven years. Studies range from semester-long observations in fourth grade classes to two-year observations with the same team of teachers at the tenth grade level. All cases are in public schools located in the Midwest and the East coast. Content areas included science and social studies, with units on ecosystems and chemistry in science, and world history, civics and government in social studies. Teams of teachers ranged in age and in years of experience from beginning teachers to teachers with more than 15 years of experience. Some of the co-teachers were assigned to work together and others requested to work together. Some teams of teachers had mutual planning time built into their schedules while other teams did not. Each case is briefly described next followed by more detailed case descriptions. Case 1: Upper elementary and middle school earth science. Case 1 consisted two inclusive classes taught by two separate teams of teachers, one at the fourth grade level and one at the seventh grade level, who were combined into one case study because the content was so similar. The fourth grade team of teachers was part of a larger study that has been published (Mastropieri et al., 1998); however, data on the co-teachers and their collaboration were not analyzed nor reported as part of that paper. Both teams collaborated with university researchers in the design and development of some of the activities used during instruction. Both teams were observed, videotaped and interviewed over a semester long period. Case 2: Middle school social studies. Case 2 consisted of one inclusive class taught by a team of teachers at the middle school level, observed throughout an entire academic year, beginning with multiple meetings with a university research team. The teachers taught civics and government. In addition, this team worked collaboratively with university researchers to design and implement extensive research-based strategies within their inclusive class. Throughout the process, the team was observed, videotaped and interviewed. Case 3: High school world history. Case 3 consisted of five inclusive classes of three teams of teachers teaching world history at the 10th grade level. One team was observed and interviewed throughout an academic year. The other two teams also worked collaboratively with a university research team to design and implement research-based strategies to help facilitate the performance of students with disabilities. These teachers were observed, videotaped and interviewed over most of an academic year. Case 4: High school chemistry. Case 4 consisted of four inclusive classes taught by the same team of two teachers over a 2-year period. During this
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time period, teachers worked collaboratively with a university research team to design and implement research-based strategies within their classes. (Quantitative data on academic performance from one of year that project was reported previously by Scruggs, Mastropieri, & Graetz, 2003.) This team was observed, videotaped, and interviewed at length throughout the 2-year process. In the sections that follow, each case is described separately, in detail.
Upper Elementary and Middle School Earth Science Two different co-teaching teams were observed during their respective units on ecosystems, each consisting of a general and special education teacher. In both cases, all teachers had teaching experience and teaching credentials from their respective general and special education fields. One team was coteaching in a fourth grade classroom (see Mastropieri et al., 1998, for additional details), while the other team was co-teaching in a seventh grade science class. Both classes contained substantial student diversity – the fourth grade class consisted of 25 students, of which five were characterized as having disabilities, including learning disabilities, emotional disturbance, mental retardation and physical disabilities. The seventh grade class consisted of 25 students of whom seven were classified as having learning or emotional difficulties, while one individual had an identified hearing impairment. While one seventh grade teacher was a beginning teacher, the others were veteran teachers. The content was a unit on ecosystems and was highly similar at both grade levels; however, the seventh grade class presented information at an advanced level with greater depth and breadth of coverage including more vocabulary. Both classes emphasized an activities-based approach to instruction for this unit. At each grade level, students were engaged in building ecocolumns out of empty two liter soda bottles. The bottom part of the column became an aquarium housing fish, water plants, and snails; while the upper part became a terrarium and home to crickets, isopods, and plants. The ecocolumns were self-sustaining, where sunlight fed the terrarium and aquatic plants, the evaporation from the aquarium provided water for the terrarium plants, and crickets, isopods, guppies, and snails received nourishment from the plants and other products of the ecocolumns. Students worked in small cooperative groups of two to three students per group during the activities and two teachers, consisting of a general and a special
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educator were present. No more than one student with disabilities was in a single group, but many groups contained all students without disabilities. Throughout the experience, students manipulated the objects involved (e.g., empty bottles, plants, and animals, and measuring and observing tools), observed and recorded changes, and made predictions both orally in class discussion and in small groups. Individual responses were also recorded within lab booklets that contained PORC (Predict, Observe, Record, and Compare) recording sheets on which daily predictions and observations were recorded in writing and in pictorial formats. Content on plant and animal growth and development, water and gas cycles, and food chains were covered throughout the unit, and worksheets on those activities were also included within the lab booklets. Once the ecocolumns were completed and became self-sustaining, students conducted experiments on them using experimental and control ecocolumns. Experiments involved examining the effects of acid rain, fertilizer, and road salt on the environment. In conducting these experiments, two small groups of students were combined to form one larger group who had responsibilities for experimental and control ecocolumns. All predictions and observations were recorded in student lab booklets and discussed with the entire class. Student materials also included all of the above-mentioned manipulatives, reading materials from accompanying textbooks and trade books, worksheets, and lab booklets. Teacher materials included manuals describing how to present the materials to the students, in addition to the assigned textbook materials and accompanying teacher resource guide. In both cases, the activities unit was based in the Science and Technology for Children (1992) Ecosystem Unit, but teachers also relied on the adopted school district level textbooks for content enhancements. High stakes testing in science was not required of students in either case. Collaboration Throughout the ecosystems unit, teachers were observed to document types of teaching behaviors and ways teachers interacted during instruction and planning for instruction. Striking similarities in the ways in which collaboration and co-teaching occurred were observed across both settings. Each team was observed to have: (a) very positive interpersonal relationships; (b) time to co-plan instruction; (c) skills in motivating students; (d) curriculum materials that interacted positively with a diverse student population; (e) effective general teaching skills; (f) effective disability-specific teaching skills; and (g) content area expertise. All of these factors are known to be associated with effective instruction in inclusive classes (Mastropieri &
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Scruggs, 2004a, 2004b; Scruggs & Mastropieri, 1994). Evidence supporting each area is described separately next. Positive Interpersonal Relationships. Observations suggested teams of teachers had outstanding working relationships. The pair of fourth grade coteachers had asked to collaborate; however, the seventh grade teachers had been required to work together. Nevertheless, during observations, when both teams of teachers conversed, they frequently joked together, and appeared to be genuinely at ease and seemed to enjoy each other’s company. These observations were noted during interviews with the teachers as a team, during planning sessions and during class observations. The personalities of these pairs of teachers were positive and engaging, and they appeared to respect for one another’s perspectives. Frequently, either co-teacher was observed presenting to the class as a whole while the other co-teacher would interject elaborations or other comments into the presentation. Such interactions were undertaken in a relaxed and non-threatening manner, and appeared to positively augmented class presentations. In interviews, both pairs of teachers indicated mutual respect for their partners. This mutual respect appeared to facilitate their ability to work together systematically and efficiently. Allocating Time to Co-plan Instruction. Both pairs of co-teachers devoted considerable time working together to plan for science classes. The team of elementary teachers were not provided with time for co-planning; however, they did arrange to meet either before or after school or at lunch to discuss the development of upcoming science lessons, and how the teachers would share roles and responsibilities. The lack of formal planning time presented some difficulties, as described by the teachers in interviews. However, since the teachers got along well together, and teachers enjoyed one another’s company, in this case the lack of scheduled co-planning time did not represent a barrier to effective instruction. Nevertheless, it was clear that teachers placed in a position of finding their own planning time on their own clearly was not an optimal situation. Seventh grade teachers found it convenient to meet during a common free period to discuss planning for science. During this period, the teachers discussed ideas for planning the upcoming units. The two teachers met in the science teacher’s classroom, which was the lab class where they taught. They reviewed their place in the curriculum, what needed to be covered in upcoming lessons, and effective methods for presenting information and completing classroom activities. They frequently retrieved materials and decided
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how they would use them in subsequent classes. During planning sessions of both teams a true sense of collaboration and sharing of ideas and expertise was apparent. Skills in Motivating Students. Both teams of teachers appeared to be able to motivate their students to work productively and achieve academic goals. Interestingly, and unlike the findings of Buckley (2005), both teams also claimed responsibility for all students enrolled in their respective classes. One elementary teacher reported that one of her roles was a motivator of students. In interviews, this team emphasized the importance of displaying enthusiasm and a high level of energy with the students, while at the same time managing classroom behaviors. One teacher reported that she loved science and that she wanted to instill that love of science in all of her students. She reported attempting a number of routines to elevate the level of students’ enthusiasm. On one occasion, the co-teachers constructed small paddles that students could raise to respond to teacher questioning about whether specific animals were warm-blooded or cold-blooded. The teachers expressed considerable enthusiasm in preparing these materials, and expressed their positive anticipation in putting the paddles to use. One co-teacher from the seventh grade team also maintained an especially high energy level, devoted considerable effort to motivating all students. She reported that she saw her role as a motivator of students. She was consistently encouraging to students while holding them to high academic standards. For example, it was seen that this teacher consistently walked around the room and encouraged students to stay on task while praising them for what they had completed to date. Appropriate and Effective Curriculum Materials. Each of these two teams of teachers employed a hands-on, activity-based curriculum approach to instruction that lent itself to co-teaching and to adapting instruction for students with disabilities. Hands-on materials served to make the content more concrete and immediate for students. Further, learning from doing exposes students more directly to the content of science and places less of a demand of language and literacy skills, necessary when learning from textbook and lecture presentation. Since most students with disabilities experience difficulties with reading and comprehending from text, and from quickly assimilating new technical vocabulary from verbal presentations, the curriculum itself provided a useful starting place for making specific teaching adaptations for students with disabilities. Previous research has revealed that students with disabilities benefit from hands-on, activities-based
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approaches over textbook approaches (e.g., Mastropieri & Scruggs, 1994; Mastropieri, Scruggs, & Magnusen, 1999; Scruggs, Mastropieri, Bakken, & Brigham, 1993). It may also be that hands-on approaches to science education are more accommodating to co-teaching situations in that by its very nature, teachers are more likely to become more physically involved in instruction, and to share instructional responsibilities. Our own observations have suggested that the classroom environment created by science activities require teachers to share responsibilities to ensure all small groups are functioning efficiently and that all students are learning. This same group structure also encourages peers to play a more active role in ensuring all students are meeting academic objectives. In contrast, the lecture–discussion format seems often to evolve into the ‘‘one teach, one assist’’ model of co-teaching, where the role of ‘‘assistant’’ is less clearly defined. Effective Instruction Skills. In both cases, teams of teachers were observed to use effective instruction skills (e.g., Mastropieri & Scruggs, 2004a,b), including effective classroom management skills, for students with disabilities as well as for the entire class. For example, teachers provided structure and organization to their lessons, including: daily review of previous content, teacher presentation of new content, guided and independent practice activities to reinforce learning, and formative review to determine that lesson objectives had been met. Observations revealed that, during the activities, students generally remained on task and completed assignments effectively within small groups. One elementary teacher emphasized the importance of positive student behavior, particularly when students are undertaking group with a variety of manipulative materials. She employed highly structured and organized lessons, with good behavior as a requisite for student participation in science activities. All teachers occasionally used social reinforcers such as positive comments, and tangible reinforcers, such as stickers or ‘‘goldfish’’, to reward students for good behavior and positive performance in class. Disability Specific Teaching Skills. In addition to general effective instruction skills, both teams of teachers discussed how they provided specific adaptations necessary for students with disabilities to be successful in science class. These adaptations varied by student and lesson, and were based on the interaction of student characteristic and curriculum features. For example, adaptations were required for students who demonstrated difficulty with physical mobility in hands-on activities, and for students who
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had difficulty producing written products. Teachers addressed individual student performance within the unit and discussed how to handle individual differences in upcoming lessons. For example, the fourth grade team adapted gas and water cycle worksheets by completing all writing that did not reflect student learning. In this way, students with learning disabilities and other disabilities would be able to participate in the activity, meet the major task requirements, but would have less emphasis on language and literacy requirements. The adapted worksheets required less writing, but nevertheless address major class objectives, to complete the construction of gas and water cycles. The special education teacher worked directly with the students with disabilities on this activity, while the general education teacher worked with all other students in the class. Disability specific adaptations were also implemented by the seventh grade teachers. These teachers developed PowerPoint presentations on ecosystems that could be used for supplemental review for the students with disabilities. These PowerPoint presentations provided review of the critical concepts of the lessons in pictorial formats, and provided questions with opportunities for students to answer the questions orally. The special education teacher also reduced the amount of written language in test questions and by changing the format of various items. Both of these adaptations maintained focus on the instructional objectives, but served to reduce the language and literacy demands of the tasks. Content Area Expertise. In both cases, the general educator was the expert in science content expert, while the special educator was the expert in individualizing and adaptations. However, both teachers in the fourth grade classroom frequently deferred to one another during instruction in presenting lessons so that all students would benefit. Both teachers demonstrated sufficient content knowledge for the implementation of the ecosystems unit. Although the amount of content knowledge probably did differ for teachers within each team; however, if so, this was not obvious during classes with the students. At the fourth grade level, the teachers frequently exchanged roles both as presenters and as co-presenters. The seventh grade co-teachers presented more differentiation of roles, specifically between the roles of content expert and adaptation expert. The general educator appeared to more content knowledge relevant to the unit, and assumed more of a lead role during most of the lessons. However, this was viewed as an advantage rather than a disadvantage by the special educator. She related to researchers on several occasions that the exposure to content knowledge she was receiving was going to be a great help for her
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own teaching. During teacher presentations and seat work, the special educator commonly assumed the role of assisting individuals and small groups. However, she did on occasion present to the entire class. She also then used the same types of lessons with her self-contained special education science classes. Conclusions In these two co-teaching situations involving a hands-on approach to teaching science, two teams of teachers shared many teaching roles and easily exchanged roles during individual lessons. Teachers freely discussed ideas for planning upcoming lessons during regularly scheduled planning sessions, which were built into the schedule at the middle school level, but not at the elementary level. Teachers genuinely enjoyed working together, even though only one team had requested to be teaching partners. All teachers viewed the task as challenging, but rewarding. Both teams motivated their students to try hard and learn during science. Although both teams appeared to have content expertise in the unit, the middle school science teacher was more of a content expert than the special education team member. Both teams relied on proven effective teaching practices for the entire class and practical adaptations and specific teaching strategies for students with disabilities. More importantly, however, teachers appeared to have a genuine collaborative spirit, which together enabled them to interact together in relaxed comfortable styles that appeared conducive to facilitating learning for all students.
Middle School Social Studies In this investigation, a co-teaching team consisting of a general and special educator was observed throughout an entire academic year teaching government and civics to eighth graders. Both teachers were highly experienced and held teaching credentials in their respective areas. This pair had been assigned to co-teach, and include one male and one female teacher. The special education teacher was also experienced in social studies teaching, and taught the same content to several self-contained classes of students with learning and emotional disabilities. The inclusive classroom was made up of 30 students, including eight with learning or emotional disabilities. Civics is required for all eighth graders, and an understanding of government and politics is emphasized, but at the time of this project,
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students were not required to take an annual high stakes test at the end of the year. The curriculum covers a survey of U.S. Government and politics. The analysis of important roles of ideas, politics, laws, people and events are emphasized throughout the year. The adopted textbook contained a number of chapters within seven major parts. Chapters or sections were subdivided into lessons that were typically taught in single class periods. Several meetings were held with this team of teachers and researchers from a local university to discuss optimal instructional strategies for students with disabilities within general education history classes. Teachers identified important information from the required curriculum that students frequently had difficulty remembering. Based upon that content, researchers developed comprehensive strategies, including mnemonic strategies, to help facilitate learning. It was decided to have students practice using these strategies during a peer-tutoring format within the inclusive class. Students with disabilities would be paired with their typically achieving peers during tutoring sessions, in order to provide supplemental practice on important facts and concepts. In addition, it was decided to place copies of these strategies on BlackBoard, a web based instructional tool allowing student access of materials outside of the classroom. During the development phase of these materials, there was a continuing cycle of feedback and revisions made to materials, based on teachers’ comments and suggestions during meetings. Observation of the co-teaching occurred frequently throughout the academic year. Described next is the typical instructional format and evidence of collaboration both prior to and subsequent to implementation of researcher-developed strategies. Collaboration This teaching partnership was characterized by a number of examples of positive collaboration. However, a number of challenges were also observed, that served to inhibit positive collaboration. In this instance of co-teaching civics at the middle school level, generalizations were drawn from the observations and interviews regarding the areas of (a) co-planning; (b) teaching style; and (c) behavior management. Co-Planning. In this instance, teachers had allocated specific planning time during the school week when they could meet to develop and review plans for upcoming classes. This time was not solely dedicated to planning, however, and also included planning for the individual teachers as well as
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allocated to individual planning time and time for parent conferences, IEP meetings, and other meetings. At the beginning of the school year, the two teachers would spent one period a week planning for upcoming lessons and units in civics. Many of these meetings involved the university research team. The meetings began very positively, with both parties making helpful contributions. Professional relations between the teachers appeared to be very positive and congenial. Planning was conducted systematically and efficiently, with both teachers discussing the general curriculum, the pace of movement through the curriculum, the types and varieties of assignments and activities to be implemented for upcoming units of instruction. Frequently, discussion focused on content that was anticipated to be difficult for students to learn; in these cases, the teachers discussed how instruction should proceed and what roles and responsibilities would be assigned to each teacher. The co-teachers appeared often to base planning decisions on content expertise or preferences the individual teachers had for specific types of activities. The general education teacher, for example, was very interested in the Constitution, and had very specific ideas about which activities to implement when those units were studied. In other cases, the special education teacher assumed more of a leading role. This appeared to often be the case when procedural information – skill knowledge involving multiple steps – was to be communicated. One example of this was an activity requiring students to search the Internet for information about the different political parties. This teacher modeled and demonstrated to students the steps to be employed, and provided students with a worksheets with embedded prompts for proceeding. In this manner, the activity was subdivided into a sequence of smaller steps that could be more easily accomplished with less confusion and better comprehension. Such procedural instruction appeared similar to the type of instruction that might be provided in special education classes; yet in this instance appeared appropriate for all types of learners. Although the school year began positively, however, relations between the two co-teachers appeared to become strained as the year passed. This tension was not necessarily noticeable within the classroom, but was observed mostly outside the classroom setting. Researchers heard independently, for example, from one of the teachers that she was having difficulty getting along with her co-teaching partner. This teacher pointed out that careful planning was not being undertaken, and that the teaching partner did not appear to value planning, and that as a consequence, the difficulty level of the lessons appeared to be too high for many students. She reported that vague directions were provided with assignments resulting in student
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confusion. Further, she expressed concerns that her partner appeared to lose behavior management and control of the class due to the lack of necessary preparation. This teacher expressed feeling frustrated and trapped in a coteaching situation that was undesirable. This teacher also felt she had little influence over either the curriculum or the classroom activities, and she began to express feelings of helplessness. During this period, the research team members listened and asked questions intended to help resolve the issues being discussed. This teacher appeared to appreciate the communication, and thanked the researchers for listening. In fact, the two teachers did appear to get along well outside of the teaching situation; however, there were clear differences regarding how best to teach all students, and how best to handle any classroom behavior problems. On the other hand, the other teacher did not mention to researchers any difficulties with the co-teaching partner. At around this time, the researchers found it difficult to schedule meetings with both teachers at the same time. It seemed that either one or the other teacher was available at specific times and rarely both at the same time. As differences in teaching orientation developed, the teachers were observed beginning to divide the class into two groups, even moving each group into separate rooms for a number of the activities. In this case, the method the teachers had devised for dealing with differences was essentially to end the coteaching situation and return to separate classrooms. The specific reasons for the erosion of the collaborative relationship were not entirely clear; however, as the vice principal reported to the researchers one day, ‘‘Forced marriages often fail.’’ We have considered all relevant factors that may have influenced the deterioration in co-teaching. These include differences in individual teaching style, behavior management, and ideas about class preparation. Differences in Individual Teaching Style. Although both teachers were committed to high quality civics instruction, the two co-teachers exhibited very different and distinct differences in their instructional styles, and their approach with students. Specifically, one teacher overall appeared very casual and relaxed with students; while the other was much more structured and formal in teacher–student interactions. These different styles appeared to be complemented, in that the different approaches offered students a range of teaching styles during history classes. Initially, both teachers shared teaching roles and responsibilities. It was very common to see both the special and general education teachers share the lead teaching. In fact, frequently one teacher would start a lesson and the other teacher would assume the lead teaching role half way through the lesson.
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The different styles were obvious when the two individual teachers were presenting to the class. When the less formal teacher presenting, students continually talked among themselves and moved about the classroom. During these times, students would call out answers without raising their hands. On the other hand, the more structured teacher, when presenting, demanded that students listen, and attention, and raise their hands before speaking out. In addition, she required more behavior management from the entire class than her partner. Overall, students seemed to be able to adapt to the differences in the teaching styles and the different expectations of each teacher. Students could complete assignments and perform competently on tests under either teaching style. Nevertheless, it may be that the absence of a consistent approach to teaching contributed to the deterioration of the effectiveness of the co-teaching partnership. Classroom and Behavior Management. The models of classroom behavior management closely paralleled the differences observed in teaching style. Although the teachers suggested that the behavior management procedures were the same as the general behavior policies for the school, in fact at the beginning of the year there appeared to be any formal structure in the classroom. For one example, no specific rules for behavior were posted in the classroom. Observation notes taken for one typical class period read as follows: As the bell rang, students were milling about the door and wandering around the room. Students waited to be reminded to find their seats and get out required materials. Once they were reminded, they went to their desks, but continued to talk with their neighbors even when the teacher was presenting information. The background noise and off-task behavior continued throughout the class period (see also Mastropieri et al., in press).
This description characterized much of what was observed in this classroom over this period. Undoubtedly, many classroom teachers would consider this level of behavior management to be less than desirable. However, other teachers may feel that type of classroom management is appropriate, and may feel comfortable with a classroom that is more relaxed and less rigid. However, this approach to classroom management may have contributed to the erosion of the co-teaching relationship. The management style suited one teacher and not the other. When the more structured teacher assumed the lead teaching role, she would often have to take several minutes of time to provide more guidance on acceptable and appropriate behavior. This often sounded more like nagging than good classroom management, and for some students, it was not an easy to suddenly have to change and be quiet and pay attention during instruction.
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Conclusion This team of middle school teachers began the academic year with a healthy collaborative style of teaching. Teaching roles and responsibilities were shared, and they appeared to have a mutual respect for one another’s strengths. Somehow during the year, this positive relationship eroded, and although outwardly courteous, became difficult for them to continue coteaching. During this period, the class was more frequently split into two groups and taught in two separate rooms, rather than working together in a single classroom (see Weiss & Lloyd, 2002, for similar findings). Personal dynamics are complex, but the overriding area of tension surrounded teaching style and behavior management issues appeared to impede effective co-teaching. It may be that when teachers differ vastly on the continuum of teaching style and behavior management, successful co-teaching may be more difficult to achieve.
High School World History Three different teams of teachers were observed during World History. Each team consisted of a general and special education teacher. All teachers were experienced, having from three to 20 years of teaching experience involved in their respective fields. Of the three teams, two included two male teachers, and on included two female teachers. All general education teachers held teaching licenses in history and all of the special education teachers held special education teaching credentials. Teaching ranged experience. All teams were teaching in tenth grade classrooms. World history is a required curriculum class for high school students. The adopted textbooks contain vast amounts of information covered at a relatively high reading level. The course content covered an understanding of world history and geography from 1500 A.D. to the present that was divided into five major eras including the modern period, the age of revolution, industrialization and imperialism, the 20th century world and contemporary world. State standard and district benchmarks were provided as guidelines for the curriculum. World history is covered on statewide high stakes tests at the end of the school year, and districts provide guidance in directing the overall pace of instruction for the year. Given that the high stakes test has a multiple test format, many of the tests and activities throughout the year paralleled that format and required students to practice responding to that test format. World history classes ranged in size from 22 to 25 students, and included between four and nine students with disabilities. Disability areas that were
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represented in these classes included learning disabilities, emotional disabilities and hearing impairments. Most students enrolled were tenth graders; however, occasionally a junior or senior high school level student was enrolled in order to make up credits required for high school graduation. Typical Instructional Format All three teams of teachers relied on similar approaches to teaching, that included the following major instructional components: (a) whole class teacher presentation; (b) teacher-led whole class review of unit content, including information from textbooks, major points or text-based chapter questions; (c) teacher-assigned work that could be initiated within the class period, but needed to be completed outside of class; and (d) longer-term, project-based activities, assigned occasionally throughout the school year. Tests were also administered on a regular basis, including the administration of chapter quizzes followed by unit tests. A frequent class activity provided students with guided notes that required student to complete the missing information. Frequently, these guided notes consisted of verbatim passages from the text with deleted words. Less frequent activities involved the use of small groups or partners for completing assignments or review activities. The use of partners or small groups was implemented for providing review activities on a less frequent basis. One activity implemented in two of the co-teaching teams was developed in collaboration with the research team, and included the use of graphic organizers using the software Inspiration. Since teachers were interested in integrating the use of technology within their teaching, the research team identified the use of graphic organizers using Inspiration as an ideal opportunity to integrate technology while using research-based teaching strategies. Several graphic organizers were developed to coincide with upcoming units. Template spatial organizers were developed. Students used the organizers to take notes in class and later inserted that information using the Inspiration software. Students then had opportunities to print their spatial organizers and outline formats to use as study guides for the content. Less frequently, computer labs and Inspiration software were used for generating study guides to accompany text materials. Collaboration in World History Throughout the world history classes, observations were made to document types of teaching behaviors exhibited, and the ways teachers interacted during instruction and planning for instruction. Interviews were also conducted with co-teaching participants. Results of data analysis suggested
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some interesting generalizations regarding the ways in which co-teaching was implemented in these different situations. Of particular interest in these cases were: (a) the distinct roles and responsibilities of individual co-teachers; and (b) instruction influenced by state-wide end of year testing. Each of these areas is discussed in the following sections. Distinct Roles and Responsibilities. In all three teams, an obvious division of roles and responsibilities was evident. General education teachers were clearly the curriculum experts and assumed responsibility for the majority of all content presentations and discussions. This included leading discussions and presentations, with or without the use of instructional technology such as PowerPoint slides, supplemental videos or overhead projectors. In these cases, general education teachers held the dominant teaching role through the entire period, leading lecture and class discussions. In contrast, special educators rarely delivered instruction to the entire class. Special educators were more likely to assume the role of a manager of activities and assumed more responsibility for procedural tasks. That is, special educators collected assignments, graded assignments, wandered around the room and provided individual assistance to students as needed, or prompted them to improve their social behavior and get back on task. One illustrative example of this relationship is documented in the following observation notes for Team One: While the general education history teacher Mr. Boxer lectured, the special education teacher Mr. Everett walked around the room and checked to see if students had completed their homework assignments. If students had not completed the assignment, Mr. Everett required them to write the teacher notes, saying, ‘‘Please excuse me for not doing my homework.’’
Another indication of the division of roles within the classroom is seen from the notes in Team Two described next: This team of teachers interacted as a ‘‘boss’’ and an ‘‘assistant’’ when working with the students. She lectured on a daily basis, she dominated class discussions, and she guided all class activities. She asked students to read the text after she was done lecturing. Throughout this time period, the special educator sat in the room and occasionally went around to individual students to see if they needed any assistance (for both examples, see also Mastropieri et al., in press).
Teachers were also observed departing from these roles and responsibilities on some occasions. Infrequently, special education teachers might be seen writing on the blackboard or initiating brief oral reviews with the whole class. One team was observed to consistent shift roles whenever computer technology was employed. On those occasions, the special education teacher functioned more in the role of class leader. When computer technology was
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implemented, the general educator sat at her desk, while the special educator assumed the lead teacher role for all instruction involved in using technology (observation notes). This was the case not only when the students were in the computer labs, but also when the single computer in the classroom was being used to demonstrate something. The general education teacher acknowledged this role reversal by describing herself to be computer illiterate. This division of co-teacher roles and responsibilities appeared to be accepted by teachers within each team. All working relationships appeared to positive, and within each team, teachers appeared to be satisfied with their role. General education teachers wished to assume the lead teaching roles, because they believed themselves to possess more background knowledge in the content area. Special education teachers did not appear to feel uncomfortable with their roles as secondary to the general education teacher. In interviews, they freely admitted to a relative lack of background knowledge in the content area, compared with their co-teaching partners. These special education teachers felt comfortable assisting individual students. In fact, special education teachers appeared to express some relief that they did not need to undertake the degree of class preparation that they did in their other classes. These findings are similar to those reported by Zigmond and Matta (2004), in that special education teachers rarely assumed the lead teacher role (see also Buckley, 2005; Hardy, 2001; Weiss & Lloyd, 2002). In part this consistently observed finding may due to the clear differentiation in background and teacher licensure. Since presentations required both breadth and depth of understanding of world history content, the division of teaching responsibilities appears logical, given that one team member clearly possessed more relevant background and training in the content area. On the other hand, special educators had more expertise in developing and implementing instruction and activities for individual needs. On the other hand, however, this common differentiation may also reflect the general education teacher’s sense of ‘‘ownership’’ of the classroom, including the content area and the majority of students not directly associated with the special education teacher. Effects of High-Stakes Testing. Throughout the year, high stakes testing at the end of the school year appeared to exert a significant influence on all activities undertaken during instruction. The district provided suggested timelines for teaching content, and evaluated teachers on the extent to which they adhered to the provided guidelines. The pressure to cover content at a
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rapid pace appeared to take precedence over using specific strategies to maximize student learning. In all cases, teams of teachers emphasized the need to cover content directly relevant to the upcoming high-stakes testing. Teachers felt reluctant to stray from the established guidelines, felt pressured to move through the content at a rapid and prescribed pace, and felt enormous pressure to have all their students pass the tests. As a consequence, teachers based their planning and instructional decisions on the curriculum guidelines and timelines. For example, the use of computer-based spatial-organization strategies intended to improve learning and recall of world history was substantially was reduced because of teacher concerns about losing instructional time while students were using the computer labs. In the computer labs, students were able to generate spatial organizers using their world history content, and could print both spatially organized representations as well as outlines for independent studying. Students enjoyed and appreciated the importance of these activities and reported that they felt the Inspiration program was helpful to their learning. One student asked how she could obtain a copy of the program to use at home, as she felt it improved her own learning. In spite of the positive student attitudes toward the activities, and even though these activities were intended to improve classroom learning, general education teachers felt that use of the computer labs was not as productive a use of time as their lecturing and introduction of new content, to maintain the overall pace of instruction. It was also apparent that even though there were both general and special education teachers in these history classes, little differentiation of instruction was occurring for included students with disabilities. Since all students were required to take the high stakes tests, little was attempted to modify the content to address individual needs (see also Buckley, 2005; Hardy, 2001; Weiss & Lloyd, 2002). The major adaptation observed by researchers and reported by teachers appeared to be the one-to-one assistance that occurred while the special education teacher walked around the room. The only other major adaptation observed was the use of extra assistance with peers for the student with a hearing impairment. Unfortunately, the demands for content coverage necessitated by the end-of-year high-stakes test strongly inhibited any attempt to differentiate instruction for students with disabilities. Conclusions These three teams of high school teachers taught world history to tenth graders with and without disabilities in inclusive classes. Although teacher teams apparently worked out mutually agreeable collaborations, evidence of
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true co-teaching as defined by special education researchers was sparse (e.g., Cook & Friend, 1995; Friend, 2000). The model observed could best be described as ‘‘one teach, one assist’’. Typically general educators completed the vast majority of lead teaching while special educators assumed responsibilities of taking roll, checking assignments and providing individualized assistance when needed. These observations support those of Weiss and Lloyd (2002) who observed secondary special education teachers assuming roles little different from classroom aides. In the present investigation, this division of roles appeared mutually satisfying to co-teachers. More importantly, the upcoming high stakes tests appeared to be the driving force for the type of instruction that occurred. In fact, little differentiation of instruction for students with disabilities was observed.
High School Chemistry High school chemistry classes were observed over two years. One team consisted of a general and special education teacher, both female, and the range of experience varied, as the special education teacher had been teaching over 15 years and the chemistry teacher was in her first two years of teaching. This same team was observed teaching four classes over a two-year period. Chemistry is a required science class for high school students, and most students enroll in chemistry as tenth graders. Chemistry is considered a laboratory science class, but also has adopted textbooks that are written at very high reading levels while covering a vast amount of information. The course is intended to provide students with information on how chemists work and think, and how theory is developed in chemistry. Content covered includes an understanding of the inquiry methods of chemistry and the structures, properties, and interactions of atoms, molecules and elements. Great emphasis is placed on the structure and properties of the periodic table of elements. Students are required to learn to write and balance nuclear equations using appropriate notation, and basic knowledge of algebra and math are prerequisites for success. State standard and district benchmarks provide guidelines for teachers, since chemistry is covered on statewide high stakes tests at the end of the school year. This team was assigned to teach chemistry to classes that ranged in size from 22 to 27 students, and included a range of students with disabilities from five to seven per class. Disability areas represented in the classes
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included learning disabilities, emotional disabilities and autism. All students enrolled were tenth graders.
Typical Instructional Format This team of teachers relied on similar approaches to teaching that included the following major instructional components: (a) whole class teacher presentation; (b) whole class review teacher of textbook material, major points or text-based chapter questions, and lab activities; (c) assigned lab work completed during class; and (d) occasional longer-term project-based activities. Tests were also administered regularly, including the administration of chapter quizzes followed by unit tests. Students were typically required to justify their responses on quizzes and tests. One ongoing activity required students to construct a ‘‘test review notebook’’ that consisted of many assignments throughout the year. Both teachers emphasized that these review notebooks helped students understand the relationship between previously covered concepts and newer information, and provided an excellent review for the high stakes tests at the end of the year. Teachers frequently wrote notes on the overhead projector while presenting verbal information. Students were advised take notes on this content for inclusion in their review notebooks. Lab activities comprised a major portion of class activities. Virtually all lab activities involved the use of small groups or partners for completing assignments or review activities. All lab assignments were collected and graded. Labs ranged in complexity from simple to complex, and teachers frequently provided after school time for students to make up and complete their lab assignments. The use of partners or small groups was implemented for providing review activities on a less frequent basis. A sample lab day is described as follows from observation notes taken during the lesson (see also Mastropieri et al., in press): [Content] teachery states [on board] that today they will do ‘‘binder checks’’ and then a Peanut lab. The lab objective will be to determine the caloric content of a peanut. [Content] teacher reviews the experiment in front of the class; she then asks if there are any questions. The class is working in small groups of three and four. Each group gets designated equipment including: ring stand with ring, fire plate, thermometer, goggles, peanut, paperclip and soda can. Each group measures water, takes the temperature of the water and then water is placed in soda can and placed on plate. The paperclip is poked through the peanut and placed under the plate and soda can. Students ignite the peanut and wait until it is finished burning. Students take temperature of water again. Students complete lab booklets throughout the activity.
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During the lab, both teachers circulate among small groups and monitor activitiesyStudents are talking to partners but talking seems focused on entirely on lab activity.
Another major activity was the use of peer tutoring to practice reviewing important concepts from chemistry content. These materials had been developed collaboratively with a team of university researchers. Teachers identified critical content for student to learn for the high stakes testing at the end of the school year and researchers developed strategies to help facilitate learning that content. Materials were designed to addresses the needs of diverse learners, by including a strategy to help students remember information when needed, but that could be skipped if students knew the information. In addition, materials included pictures to be shown to students to help recall when needed. Materials were packaged into different folders which each contained between five and eight separate concepts. When students mastered the content in one folder they would go on to the next folder. It was decided to use peer tutoring so students with disabilities could be partnered with students without disabilities for the activity. This activity was integrated throughout the classes. An example session from videotape records and field notes is next (see also Mastropieri et al., in press): Peer tutoring with chemistry materials for 20 minutes (videotaped class). Students worked with partners and each group obtained their relevant materials. Students recorded their own progress on their record sheets. Overall, the class was cooperative and seemed to work diligently. Sample dialogue from students included the following: ‘‘What are groups in the periodic table?’’ ‘‘They go up and down’’ ‘‘Well, I guess I will pass you on that one!’’ ‘‘What are Alkali metals?’’ ‘‘Hmmmm, they are soft, react with air’’ ‘‘What are transition elements’’ ‘‘Elements that turn from one to another’’
Both teachers circulated among students during this activity. Teachers had a friendly, but business-like style. Students worked well with their partners during the tutoring activity. Some dyads were progressing through the materials more rapidly than other groups. Overall, the class was controled and students appeared on task and were working diligently. Collaboration in Chemistry Classes These two teachers were observed team teaching four different chemistry classes over two years. These teachers had been assigned to co-teach,
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however, both teachers appeared to have a positive and well-developed sense of collaboration and developed a way to team teach that appeared to be mutually acceptable and appeared to benefit students. Similar to previous cases, analysis focused on (a) distinct working roles and responsibilities of individual co-teachers; and (b) influence of the statewide end-of-year testing. Each area is described separately next. Distinct Roles and Responsibilities. This team had a clear division of roles and responsibilities. As observed in previous co-teaching relationships, the general education teacher served as the content and curriculum expert while the special education teacher served in adapting assignments, assisting the general education teacher, and providing additional assistance to individual students when needed. Both teachers felt comfortable with these respective roles, and both executed their roles with competence and sincerity. Observations commonly noted the general education teacher standing at the front of the class, delivering instruction to the entire class while the special education teacher either stood or sat at the back or side of the class. After the teacher presentation, both teachers circulated around the classroom, assisting students with their lab or class assignments. Many of the classes were devoted to lab activities, as well as some peer tutoring activities; therefore, it was also very common to observe two teachers circulating around the room, with each teacher working with small groups of students. During these activities, it would not be easy for an uninformed observer to identify the general education teacher from the special education teacher. During their second year together, this team appeared even more comfortable with co-teaching, and on occasion the special education teacher would lead class review sessions, as she became more familiar with class content. In interviews, these teachers acknowledged a mutual respect for one another as professionals and the unique skills each teacher brought to the class. The special education teacher spoke very positively about the knowledge, skills, and personal manner of the chemistry teacher, and the chemistry teacher frequently commented on how much assistance the special education teacher provided with her more challenging students. Both teachers clearly felt that those particular classes benefited from being co-taught. This benefit was the direct consequence, according to the chemistry teacher, of the individual needs of the students. That is, the chemistry teacher taught an honors class alone and felt that it would unnecessary to have a special education teacher co-teach that class because honors students would not require extra assistance.
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Influence of High-Stakes Testing. These teachers also felt substantial pressure from the end-of-year high stakes tests. This testing appeared to exert a significant influence on activities undertaken during chemistry classes. The district provided timelines for content coverage, and pressure to cover a certain amount of content at a rapid pace appeared to have a priority over maximizing student learning. This pressure exerted perhaps the greatest overall obstacle to effective co-teaching, in this case. For example, the special education teacher and chemistry teacher regularly reviewed student products to identify students who needed additional practice. However, little time was allocated during class time to additional practice with imperfectlylearned concepts, because the pressure to move through the content quickly was overwhelming. When additional practice was offered, it was provided after school and on Saturdays, to avoid slowing the pace of classroom instruction. Two major aspects of instruction during chemistry provided differentiation of instruction for students with special needs. First, one class used peer tutoring materials that presented content with and without embedded strategies. That was one example of an activity that provided differential assistance on an as needed basis. Strategies were available to provide more concrete learning examples, but were used by students only when needed. (It was reported by Scruggs, Mastropieri, Graetz, April 2003, that use of these materials was associated with increased achievement for both general and special education students). Second, the lab activity format that consumed a majority of class time provided additional opportunities for differentiated instruction. During the lab activities, students worked in small groups of two to four students, and different roles and responsibilities were divided among group members. On these occasions, students with disabilities were provided with role-specific work and assistance from peers. Thus, it can be seen that at least some level of differentiation of instruction can be provided even in complex classes such as chemistry, with the assistance of co-teaching. However, in spite of these accommodations, the enormous amounts of vocabulary and high reading level of the textbook may still have been too challenging for many of the students with disabilities. Since all students were required to take the high stakes tests, little was attempted to modify the content to address individual needs beyond the strategies described. Conclusions This team of high school teachers taught chemistry to tenth graders with and without disabilities in inclusive classes. Teachers arranged a
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collaboration model best described as ‘‘one teach one assist’’. Typically the chemistry teacher completed the majority of lead teaching while the special educator assumed responsibilities of checking assignments and providing individualized assistance when needed. The special education teacher also provided invaluable assistance when designing and implementing differentiation of instruction for students with disabilities. The end of year high stakes tests were instrumental in driving the rapid pace of instruction that occurred throughout the year.
RESULTS AND DISCUSSION Collective findings across all these cases were evaluated using analytic induction and the constant comparative method (LeCompte & Preissle, 1993). The major themes emerging from this analysis of content area learning included academic content, influence of high stakes testing, and compatibility of the co-teachers. Each is discussed separately.
Academic Content Overall, the specific academic content taught, in and of itself, did not appear to bear any significant influence on success of the co-teaching. Such considerations such as, for example, science vs. social studies, history vs. government, or life sciences vs. chemistry did not appear to be significant influences. However, regardless of the academic content, interaction between course content and teacher knowledge did appear to exhibit a substantial influence on co-teaching. That is, courses that contained simpler content that was more likely to be known, or quickly assimilated, by the special education teacher, appeared to lead to more equal partnerships with general education teachers. For more difficult content, e.g., chemistry or world history, that was not completely mastered by the special education teacher, the teacher was more likely to be seen to play the role of an instructional assistant or aide, helping with the management of the classroom and occasionally providing assistance with individual students, but not operating as a true partner in classroom instruction. In the case of the ecosystems classes, however, co-teachers in both cases clearly understood the content, and thus were able to share teaching responsibilities more equitably.
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Other, similar research reported by Zigmond and Matta (2004), and Weiss and Lloyd (2002), Buckley (2005), and Hardy (2001) also reported that the special education co-teacher frequently took on the role of instructional aide in secondary content area classrooms. The important issue does not appear to be the content area in itself, but rather the level of knowledge of the content area possessed by the special education teacher. The fact that some content areas are well known (or can easily be acquired) by the special education might provide implications for success of co-teaching relationships. That is, Zigmond and Matta (2004) reported that the role assumed by the special education teacher varied considerably across content areas, the lowest level of lead teaching occurring in high school mathematics classes. It may well be that this would not have been the case had the special education teacher possessed high levels of mathematics skills and knowledge. It may be that such problems play a less prominent role in states such as Virginia, where all teachers must have a bachelor’s degree in some field other than education before proceeding to teacher licensure. Overall, the notion that the general education teacher necessarily provides content knowledge and serves as content expert, while the special education teacher contributes knowledge and skills in pedagogy, individualization, and learning strategies, as equal partners, was not entirely supported by the results of the cases described in this chapter. Rather, the level of teacher knowledge of academic content was a better predictor of the nature of co-teaching roles and responsibilities.
Influence of High Stakes Testing In most cases reviewed in this chapter, high stakes testing, appeared to exert a powerful influence on how content would be covered, and how co-teachers would collaborate, and how time for instruction would be allocated. Where high stakes testing was not implemented, teachers felt more free to determine what content to cover and the best way to cover it, perhaps expending more time on more difficult content, or elaborating on content thought to be of particular importance or interest. On the other hand, where high stakes testing was a factor, classroom instruction, and collaborative efforts, operated much differently. Districts in some case provided very specific guidelines regarding when all content included within particular grade levels should be initiated and concluded, whether or not students appeared ready to move on. These guidelines directly influenced how teachers implemented the pace of instruction. Although an increased pace of instruction may be
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useful for a number of students to be familiarized with a larger amount of content, these practices also minimizes extra practice or supplemental review activities for students who may require additional exposure to the content, specifically student with disabilities. In addition, a fast pace of curriculum coverage determines to a great extent how the content will be covered. That is, in order to maximize content coverage, teachers felt obligated to emphasize teacher lecture and textbook activities, rather than emphasizing activities focusing on pedagogical features such as computer labs, learning strategies, and practice and review activities. These activities were largely sacrificed, because teachers felt that their most important responsibility was for covering all content, regardless of pace and manner of presentation. Other activities, however, effective, that might slow the pace of content coverage and result in some content not being addressed by the end of the year, were not implemented. It is not necessarily true that larger amounts of incompletely learned content is superior to smaller amounts of content more completely learned. However, teachers were very reluctant to omit covering any material that might appear on the end-of-year tests. When pace of curriculum coverage dominates classroom planning, the role of the special education teacher is very likely to be considerably reduced. Compatibility of Co-Teachers The relationship that developed between the co-teachers appears to have been a major critical component influencing the success or failure of the inclusion of students with disabilities. To some extent, but not in all cases, this was influenced by whether teachers had volunteered, or had been assigned to co-teaching. When co-teachers interacted well and worked well together, students with disabilities were more likely to be successful. On the other hand, when problems occurred in co-teaching relationships, the inclusive experience for students with disabilities is likely to become more challenging. In healthy co-teaching situations, the relationship between the co-teachers appeared to be built upon a mutual trust and professional respect. When this occurred, it appeared that more efforts were undertaken to facilitate learning of all students with extensive modifications and accommodations for students with disabilities. Although content knowledge appeared to play a role, as described previously, number of years’ teaching experience did not appear to be a factor in the success of co-teaching. Several factors seemed to be associated with successful co-teaching. Coteaching appeared to be most successful where effective teaching behaviors
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(Mastropieri & Scruggs, 2004a) were practiced. These behaviors included structure, clarity, enthusiasm, maximizing student engagement, and use of specific strategies for improving student motivation. Unfortunately, districtdriven timelines for content coverage seemed to work against implementation of two additional important teacher effectiveness variables, redundancy of content presentation, and appropriate pace of instruction. When effective teaching behaviors were implemented, however, they led to increased academic achievement (Mastropieri et al., 1998), and also appeared to lead to a greater degree of effective collaboration. Whether co-teachers held compatible on effective teaching also appeared to influence the success of co-teaching relationships. With the civics coteachers, conflicting beliefs about planning, behavior management, and style of interacting with students, appeared to seriously inhibit positive relations and positive classroom practice. Ultimately, the class was essentially split in two, under which circumstance it was difficult to characterize it as coteaching. It seems logical that the best co-teaching relationships would arise from teachers who volunteer to work together; however, teachers who have not volunteered but were assigned to co-teach have also worked together productively. One important requirement appears to be availability of common planning time, but may require administrative support for it to become a reality. In addition to the relationship of the co-teachers, the amount of teacher content knowledge appears to be a factor, as do administrative decisions regarding such things as testing and allocation of planning time. Overall, it can be seen that a several factors, both within and outside of the province of the co-teachers, make important contributions to the success or failure of co-teaching.
GENERAL DISCUSSION In this investigation, we described the co-teaching practices of a number of teachers, across grade levels and content areas. Our findings largely supported those of previous researchers, and collectively extend our knowledge of the practice of co-teaching. Our investigations have revealed that some specific variables interact strongly with co-teaching success, and that these variables include academic content knowledge, high stakes testing, and co-teacher compatibility. Additional research could refine these and other variables and provide further implications for use of particular features of co-teaching.
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It is clear that additional investigations are needed that document the effect of co-teaching on academic achievement, compared with presently available alternatives to co-teaching. However, additional research on the features of co-teaching as it is presently being implemented in schools could also increase our knowledge of inclusive practices, and help us to provide the best possible environment for students with disabilities in inclusive settings.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT The research was supported in part from a grant from the U.S. Department of Education, Office of Special Education Programs.
REFERENCES Baker, J. M. (1995). Inclusion in Virginia: Educational experiences of students with learning disabilities in one elementary school. Journal of Special Education, 29, 116–123. Boudah, D., Schumaker, J., & Deshler, D. (1997). Collaborative instruction: Is it an effective option for inclusion in secondary classrooms? Learning Disabilities Quarterly, 20, 293–316. Buckley, C. Y. (2005). Co-teaching in middle school social studies classes. In: T. E. Scruggs & M. A. Mastropieri (Eds), Cognition and learning in diverse settings: Advances in learning and behavioral disabilities, Vol. 18. Oxford, UK: Elsevier. Cook, L., & Friend, M. (1995). Co-teaching: Guidelines for creating effective practices. Focus on Exceptional Children, 28(3), 1–15. Friend, M. (2000). Perspective: Myths and misunderstandings about professional collaboration. Remedial and Special Education, 21, 130–132. Friend, M., & Bursuck, W. D. (2002). Including students with special needs: A practical guide for classroom teachers. Boston: Allyn & Bacon. Hardy, S. D. (2001). A qualitative study of the instructional behaviors and practices of a dyad of educators in self-contained and inclusive do-taught secondary biology classrooms during a nine week science instruction grading period. Dissertation Abstracts International, 61, 4731A (UMI No. 3000278). Harris, K. C., Harvey, P., Garcia, L., Innes, D., Lynn, P., Munoz, D., Sexton, K., & Stoica, R. (1987). Meeting the needs of special high school students in regular education classrooms. Teacher Education and Special Education, 10, 143–152. LeCompte, M. D., & Preissle, J. P. (1993). Ethnography and qualitative design in educational research (2nd ed.). New York: Academic Press. Magiera, K. (2002). Do-teaching in middle school classrooms: Does the instructional experience differ for students with disabilities in co-taught and solo taught classes? Unpublished doctoral dissertation. University of Pittsburgh. Mastropieri, M. A., & Scruggs, T. E. (1994). Text-based vs. activities-oriented science curriculum: Implications for students with disabilities. Remedial and Special Education, 15, 72–85.
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Mastropieri, M. A., & Scruggs, T. E. (2004a). Effective classroom instruction. In: C. Spielberger (Ed.), Encyclopedia of applied psychology (pp. 687–691). Oxford, UK: Elsevier. Mastropieri, M. A., & Scruggs, T. E. (2004b). The inclusive classroom: Strategies for effective instruction (2nd ed., pp. 687–691). Columbus, OH: Prentice-Hall. Mastropieri, M. A., Scruggs, T. E., McDuffie, K., Nordland, J., & Vesay, J. (in press). Collaboration and inclusion: What do we know and what work remains? Intervention in School and Clinic. Mastropieri, M. A., Scruggs, T. E., & Magnusen, M. (1999). Activities-oriented science instruction for students with disabilities. Learning Disability Quarterly, 22, 240–249. Mastropieri, M. A., Scruggs, T. E., Mantzicopoulos, P. Y., Sturgeon, A., Goodwin, L., & Chung, S. (1998). ‘‘A place where living things affect and depend on each other’’: Qualitative and quantitative outcomes associated with inclusive science teaching. Science Education, 82, 163–179. Murawski, W. W., & Swanson, H. L. (2001). A meta-analysis of co-teaching research: Where are the data? Remedial and Special Education, 22(5), 258–267. Nowacek, E. J. (1992). Professionals talk about teaching together: Interviews with five collaborating teachers. Intervention in School and Clinic, 27, 262–276. Scruggs, T. E., & Mastropieri, M. A. (1994). Successful mainstreaming in elementary science classes: A qualitative investigation of three reputational cases. American Educational Research Journal, 31, 785–811. Scruggs, T. E., & Mastropieri, M. A. (1995). Qualitative research methodology in the study of learning and behavioral disorders: An analysis of recent research. In: T. E. Scruggs & M. A. Mastropieri (Eds), Advances in learning and behavioral disabilities, (Vol. 9, pp. 249–272). Greenwich, CT: JAI Press. Scruggs, T. E., Mastropieri, M. A., Bakken, J. P., & Brigham, F. J. (1993). Reading vs. doing: The relative effectiveness of textbook-based and inquiry-oriented approaches to science education. Journal of Special Education, 27, 1–15. Scruggs, T. E., Mastropieri, M. A., & Graetz, J. (April 2003). Effects of class wide peer tutoring on learning in inclusive high school chemistry classes. Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Educational Research Association, Chicago. Science and Technology for Children. (1992). Ecosystems. Washington, DC: National Science Resource Center, National Academy of Sciences. Trent, S. C. (1998). False starts and other dilemmas of a secondary general education collaborative teacher: A case study. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 31, 503–513. U.S. Department of Education. (2002). To assure the free appropriate public education of all children with disabilities: Twenty-third annual report to Congress on the implementation of the individuals with disabilities education act. Washington, DC: Office of Special Education Programs. Walther-Thomas, C. S., & Carter, K. L. (1993). Cooperative teaching: Helping students with disabilities succeed in mainstream classrooms. Middle School Journal, 25, 33–38. Weichel, W. (2001). An analysis of student outcomes on co-taught settings in comparison to other special education service delivery options for students with learning disabilities. Dissertation Abstracts International, 62(7), 2386 (UMI No. 3021407). Weiss, M. P., & Brigham, F. J. (2000). Co-teaching and the model of shared responsibility: What does the research support? In: T. E. Scruggs & M. A. Mastropieri (Eds), Advances in learning and behavioral disabilities, (Vol. 14, pp. 217–245). Oxford, UK: Elsevier Science.
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Weiss, M. P., & Lloyd, J. W. (2002). Congruence between roles and actions of secondary special educators in co-taught and special education settings. The Journal of Special Education, 36, 58–68. Zigmond, N., & Magiera, K. (2001). Current practice alerts: A focus on co-teaching: Use with caution. Alerts, 6, 1–4. Zigmond, N. (1995). Inclusion in Kansas: Educational experiences of students with learning disabilities in one elementary school. Journal of Special Education, 29, 144–154. Zigmond, N., & Matta, D. W. (2004). Value added of the special education teacher in secondary school co-taught classes. In: T. E. Scruggs & M. A. Mastropieri (Eds), Secondary interventions: Advances in learning and behavioral disabilities, (Vol. 17, pp. 57–78). Oxford, UK: Elsevier Science.
MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT HISTORY: REFLECTIONS ON TEACHING FOR HISTORICAL UNDERSTANDING IN AN INCLUSIVE FIFTH-GRADE CLASSROOM Ralph P. Ferretti, Charles D. MacArthur and Cynthia M. Okolo ABSTRACT The purpose of this paper is to report about the presence of misconceptions in the historical thinking of fifth-grade children with learning disabilities (LD) and their normally achieving (NA) peers. We also sought to determine the effects of implementing an integrated instructional unit about 19th century U.S. Westward Expansion on children’s historical misconceptions. This unit was taught over an eight-week period by a special education teacher (subsequently referred to as Ms. M) who had approximately two years of prior professional teaching experience. In addition to quantitative information about changes in children’s content knowledge, we report interview data about children’s understanding of Cognition and Learning in Diverse Settings Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 18, 261–299 Copyright r 2005 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(05)18011-2
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historical content and historical reasoning. Furthermore, we captured on videotape approximately 12 h of classroom instruction. Ms. M and the first author of this paper independently reviewed and then discussed these videotapes for the purpose of assessing the effects of her teaching practices on the development of children’s historical understanding. The implications of our findings are discussed.
On Fiction and History In a recent interview, Philip Roth, the distinguished American novelist, discussed the imminent release of his 26th book, The Plot Against America. The book apparently sprung from a single comment in Arthur Schlesinger Jr.’s autobiography, in which Schlesinger describes the possibility that Charles Lindbergh, a noted isolationist and Nazi sympathizer, could have been drafted for the presidency by right-wing elements at the 1940 Republican convention. Roth’s novel, which is predicated on this historical counterfactual, proceeds to spin a tale in which governmental institutions seek to dissolve and then reabsorb the Jewish community into American society. During the interview, Roth was asked whether his book comments on contemporary American political challenges in the wake of 9/11, a possibility made more plausible by Roth’s noted antipathy for George W. Bush. According to Grossman (September 27, 2004, Time), Roth said ‘‘Well, it ain’t, it’s about an imagined America in 1940. Look, the immediate moment often colors reading - there’s nothing wrong with that. But I don’t think that’s a lasting relevance that the book will have.’’ Unless you believe that historical narrative is simply reducible to historical fiction (for seminal analyses of these genres, see Collingwood (1996), and Mink (1987)), Roth’s book is not about history in any meaningful sense of the idea. He has, after all, written a novel, a fictional account of possible events, some of which actually happened and some of which are imaginable only if the counterfactual premise occurred in the first place. Counterfactual reasoning, which is a staple in the intellectual tool kit of professional philosophers, has no good purpose in historical explanation. To engage in such speculation is to commit the fallacy of the metaphysical question (Fisher, 1970). Metaphysical conjecture can make for thoroughly engaging dinnertime conversation about literature and philosophy, but it makes for bad history. Grossman’s question about the possible contemporary political significance of Roth’s novel illustrates another way that literature can be distinguished
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from historical explanation. Literary interpretation (Lewis, 2004) is aided by the use of topoi, which are shared thematic schemas that are invoked by members of the discourse community to warrant their critical analyses. Fahnstock and Secor (1991) have argued that a small number of topoi are commonly used to support literary interpretations, including the paradigm topoi, which is used ‘‘yto show how a societal reality is ‘‘writ small’’ in an individual text, or how a particular critical standpoint y can be used to view the work’’ (Lewis, 2004). Grossman’s interpretation of The Plot Against America illustrates the use of the paradigm topoi. For Grossman, the social reality is the political treatment of cultural minorities during a time of hightened fears about national security. Roth denies the relevance of Grossman’s conjecture, but as Lewis (2004) notes, other authors, including Robert Frost, have engaged in similar denials. Perhaps denial is the most intriguing response to questions about authorial intent in literature: they can almost never be refuted by evidence and they usually engender further interest and speculation about the author’s purposes. The latter is good for business. A novelist is unconstrained by the occurrence of actual events or the existence of real people who once lived. She can spin the tale as she wishes, appropriating real events and creating them as best suit her purposes. In contrast, historical thinkers are challenged to ‘‘ysift through traces of the past (e.g., artifacts, documents, and the physical environment) as well as accounts of the past (e.g., stories, films, television news, and historical fiction) to construct an interpretation of an event (Ferretti, MacArthur, & Okolo, 2001).’’ As Seixas (1996) argues, these sources reflect a presentation and representation of the past that exists in some form and is at the same time irretrieveably lost. As a result, historians must ask questions about how the sources came into existence, who constructed them and for what purposes, what other accounts exist for the events, and which of these accounts merit out trust (Seixas, 1996). In short, historical accounts are informed and constrained by evidence about real things, however, fragmentary and seemingly contradictory the evidence may be.
Guarding Against Biases and Misconceptions in Historical Interpretation Grossman’s interview with Roth also indirectly illustrates how people manage the ‘‘tension between the familiar and the strange’’ (Wineburg, 2001), and as a result, how historical thinking can sometimes go awry. Grossman sees Roth’s story through the lens of the current American political situation; Roth’s fictional representation of 1940’s America is interpreted as
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commentary about some of our contemporary political conundrums. Speculation of this sort can make sense in literary interpretation because literature sometimes reflects and comments upon the circumstances of contemporary life. However, the predisposition to interpret the past in terms of the present rather than to understand history on its own terms can undermine historical understanding. This ubiquitous and natural tendency, called presentism (Ashby & Lee, 1987; Judd, 1915; Wineburg, 2001), is dangerous because it obscures our capacity to understand the very contextual factors that gave birth to the event qua history. Biases and misconceptions like presentism obscure our understanding of the past. Historical explanation, then, is informed by evidence, the very consideration of which acknowledges the inherently tentative and potentially contestable nature of any interpretative claim. In judging and critically evaluating interpretations, historians, like other disciplinary experts, use strategies and standards that are shared by members of their discourse community. Wineburg’s (1991a, 1991b) comparison of historians and high school students illustrates the kinds of strategies used by experts and novices to render historical interpretations. Professional historians and high school students were asked to construct interpretations of fragmentary and somewhat inconsistent evidence about the Battle of Lexington, which included paintings and written documentation. Analyses of think aloud protocols revealed that historians used the strategies of corroboration, contextualization, and sourcing to judge the trustworthiness of the evidence. They compared the details of one source against those of another (corroboration), situated an event in its temporal and spatial context (contextualization), and checked the document’s source to determine the purposes for which it was created (sourcing). Students, on the other hand, tended to base their judgments on the aesthetic qualities of the evidence. An educational implication of Wineburg’s (1991a, 1991b) study of expertnovice differences is that students should come to appreciate the contingent nature of historical understanding, and to learn the use of disciplinary strategies and standards to evaluate historical interpretations. Consistent with this realization, the focus of history education has recently shifted in both the United States (Ferretti et al., 2001) and in Britain (Lee & Ashby, 2000) from a near exclusive focus on substantive history (history content) to what Lee and Ashby (2000) call second order or procedural ideas about history. By the latter, Lee and Ashby mean those ideas that reflect ‘‘yhistory as a discipline or form of knowledge (p.199).’’ This distinction is important because second order ideas (e.g., evidence, explanation, and accounts) influence the way historians actually do history and how they
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interpret and evaluate historical information. Surprisingly, these notions have often appeared in an ideological competition in the educational discourse (see Wineburg, 1996), as if it is possible to focus on either content or disciplinary knowledge to the exclusion of the other. To do so is to engage in the fallacy of the false dichotomous questions (Fisher, 1970). The application of evaluative standards allows students of history to selectively acquire and judge content, not to amass it indiscriminately. As Fisher (1970) eloquently notes, ‘‘If a fact is a true statement about past events, then there is no practicable limit to the number of historical facts which are relevant to even the smallest historical problem (p. 5).’’ Historical interpretations, indeed all interpretations, are selective. So far, we have distinguished between literary and historical interpretation for the purpose of highlighting the importance of evidence and evaluative standards in judging historical interpretations. In making this distinction, we alluded to biases and misconceptions that potentially distort our efforts and those of our students to understand the past. As Fisher’s (1970) analysis illustrates, fallacious thinking is not solely the province of the developmentally young; historians themselves have fallen prey to their own natural prejudices and preconceptions. Nevertheless, historians are able to engage in the kinds of ‘‘unnatural acts’’ (Wineburg, 2001) that guard against the corrosive influences of their biases, even when they lack specific content knowledge. Wineburg’s (1998) comparison of two professional historians’ interpretations of Abraham Lincoln’s racial views illustrates how this is possible. Seemingly incompatible documentary evidence about Lincoln’s publicly articulated positions was presented to the historians, one of whom was a Lincoln expert and the other an expert in other facets of American history. When confronted with the evidence, the Lincoln expert quickly situated Lincoln’s apparently disparate statements in socio-political context of the time. In contrast, his counterpart, who lacked deep knowledge about Lincoln and his socio-political context, initially behaved like future high school teachers, who either presumed Lincoln’s racism or explained the apparent contradictions by appealing to the influence of contemporary ideas and institutions, e.g., speech writers and spin doctors. However, by dint of the historian’s intellectual humility and perseverance, as evidenced by what Wineburg (1998) calls ‘‘ya prolonged exercise in the specification of ignorancey (p. 332),’’ he was able to account for what he would need to know in order to resolve the contradictions. By repeatedly puzzling about the evidence and answering his questions as he did, the historian was ultimately successful in weaving an interpretation that was remarkably similar to that
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of the Lincoln expert (see Leinhardt & Young, 1996, for a similar conclusion). Clearly, to recognize what one does not know and to reflect about the evidence’s contextual relevance enabled the historian to formulate and corroborate an interpretation in the absence of domain specific knowledge. Brophy and Alleman’s (2003, 2002) research about the understanding of cultural universals paints a less sanguine picture of children’s capacity to resist their natural biases and misconceptions. Cultural universals are categories of human experience that have exited in all cultures and for all times (Brophy & Alleman, 2002), and include activities related to the basic needs of eating and shelter, as well as government organization, transportation, economics, and religion. In this research, children of different ages, achievement levels, and socio-economic backgrounds were asked to explain the purposes of these cultural universals and their importance in people’s lives. For example, Brophy and Alleman (2002) asked children to explain the economic basis for various housing arrangements in contemporary American society. Children from grades K-3 were asked to explain why people might prefer to live in houses or apartments, why some people live in highrise apartments as compared to smaller apartment buildings, who is paid for these accommodations and why they had to be paid for, and what distinguished renting and buying a place to live. The authors found that most children had only fragmentary knowledge about these economic issues, and that the few relatively well-informed responses were produced by older, more affluent, and higher-achieving students. Nevertheless, the absence of economic knowledge did not dissuade children from speculating about these matters. As in Wineburg’s (1991a, 1991b) research, children’s speculation was informed by common knowledge drawn from personal experience about people’s motives and goals. Rather than explaining housing arrangements in economic terms, children invoked personal and aesthetic motives to account for different housing choices. This finding is unsurprisingly: most children in this study did not know that people actually have to pay for their housing! There is little evidence about the instructional conditions that inoculate children against their biases and misconceptions. The reason for the paucity of research about the development of historical understanding illustrates how prior conceptions shape and sometimes distort intellectual progress. According to Wineburg (2001), the behaviorists effectively denied the existence of thinking and understanding; these notions simply were not categories in their ontological structure. The discovery of Piaget reawakened an interest in the mind, but Piagetians viewed historical reasoning as a stage-like progression
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of cognitive forms bereft of content. As a result, what little research was done either focused on the acquisition of historical facts or the general structure of children’s reasoning about history. Researchers in both traditions drew unflattering conclusions about children’s knowledge and understanding of history (Wineburg, 2001). There is suggestive evidence about the conditions that enable children to protect themselves from historical misconceptions. The Schools Council History 13–16 Project (Shemilt, 1980) is widely cited effort to develop a comprehensive curriculum designed to promote history disciplinary knowledge and skills. This work sought to empower students to make critical judgments about narrative interpretations of history. Beginning in the eighth grade, project participants learned about the nature of historical inquiry, and in particular, about the role of evidence and the use of standards in judging historical interpretations. They then engaged in a variety of inquiry projects about different historical topics for the purpose of applying this disciplinary knowledge and skill. The performance of project participants was compared to that of matched non-participants. In general, project participants outperformed non-participants on a variety of measures, including those that tapped students’ understanding of historical evidence and interpretation. However, as the project evaluator readily admitted (Shemilt, 1980), participating students acquired only the most rudimentary understanding of historical analysis. For over a decade, Leinhardt and her colleagues (Leinhardt, 1994, 2000; Leinhardt & Young, 1996; Young & Leinhardt, 1998) have studied the conditions that promote the development of historical understanding in high school students. Their research focuses on the practices of a small number of exemplary history teachers and their impact on students’ burgeoning understanding of historical interpretation. Leinhardt’s work is predicted on a conception of disciplinary knowledge that is informed by the practices of working historians. Like us, she believes that history is an interpretative process that is shaped by the analysis and evaluation of evidence from various sources. Furthermore, weaving an historical narrative from evidence is guided by the author’s rhetorical purposes, which often include explaining an event’s significance or arguing for a critical interpretation. In one study, Young and Leinhardt (1998) traced the course of five students’ interpretative and rhetorical development in a rigorous Advanced Placement history course. Students were given numerous opportunities to write critical summaries of multiple sources constructed in response to document-based questions about historical episodes. Among other things, the classroom teacher provided feedback to students about how well their
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written responses drew on the historical context to interpret the various documents and made compelling arguments to support their interpretations. By carefully analyzing students’ use of various organizational, linguistic, and rhetorical devices, Young and Leinhardt (1998) demonstrated that students’ growth in constructing an historical interpretation depended on the acquisition of deeper and broader content knowledge, as well as the disciplinary skills that underlie the analysis and presentation of historical arguments and explanations. More importantly for our purposes, the growth in students’ content knowledge and analytic skills militated against various misconceptions that initially plagued their interpretations. For example, understanding that historical documents were manufactured for different purposes enabled students to overcome the naı¨ ve idea that primary sources are authorless and unproblematic. These findings provide strong support for the instructional relevance of Lee and Ashby’s (2000) distinction between substantive and procedural history.
Teaching to Promote Historical Understanding in Children with LD The extant literature is virtually mute about the conditions that promote historical understanding in students with LD, or how teachers’ instructional practices influence misconceptions that corrupt children’s historical thinking. In fact, our previous discussion demonstrates that the empirical literature about these matters focuses almost exclusively on the thinking of adolescents, young adults, and historians with different types of expertise. We believe that the paucity of research about young children and those with disabilities is due in part to the relative unimportance of the social studies at any grade level, and especially in the elementary and middle school years. In fact, the No Child Left Behind Act (2001) has no provision for assessing students’ achievement in history or any of the allied social studies. Consequently, the State of Delaware has been slow to develop standards, performance indicators, and assessments in the social studies, even though serious efforts were long ago undertaken in the language arts, mathematics, and science. The general neglect of the social studies is further compounded for children with disabilities, who have usually been denied social studies instruction (Kinder & Bursuck, 1991; Patton, Polloway, & Cronin, 1987) in the service of other instructional purposes. This is ironic in our view because the guarantee of a free, appropriate, public education enjoyed by students with disabilities is a result of the democratic and political processes that are foundational to the social studies curriculum (Curtis, 1991).
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We know of only one study that attempted to inculcate even a rudimentary appreciation of standards and strategies for judging historical interpretations in students with LD (Ferretti et al., 2001). In this study, fifthgrade students with and without LD participated in an eight-week projectbased investigation about the period of 19th century westward expansion in the United States. A narrative framework was used to organize and support students’ understanding of the experiences of three emigrant groups. During their investigations, students analyzed primary and secondary sources to understand the experiences of these emigrants. The analysis of source material was preceded by teacher-led discussions about the possibility of bias in evidence that affects the trustworthiness of historical documentation. In addition, students designed a presentation about the experiences of one emigrant group and presented their work to their peers and parents. These investigations were associated with gains in students’ knowledge about the period of westward expansion, a better understanding of historical content and historical inquiry, and improvements in their self-efficacy as learners. While the gains in knowledge and understanding of historical content for students with LD were not generally as large as those for their peers without disabilities, both groups showed comparable gains in their self-efficacy as learners and their understanding of historical inquiry. However, we failed to systematically document how students’ participation or the teacher’s implementation of project activities affected the occurrence of historical misconceptions.
Teaching for Understanding Teaching professionals are currently under tremendous pressure to ensure the academic achievement of all students. Federal legislation, most notably the No Child Left Behind Act (2001) and the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (1997), mandate a number of educational standards and expectations that impact all children. For example, states are now expected to systematically monitor and assess students’ academic achievement. The failure to document growth in academic achievement over a two-year period results in a school being designated as ‘‘in need of improvement,’’ triggering significant consequences for the school, parents, and students. In addition, students with disabilities are expected to participate in these statewide assessments. In Delaware, the failure to meet grade-level achievement expectations on statewide assessments may result in the child’s retention in grade. Clearly, teachers are concerned about what must be done to promote the
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achievement of students with disabilities in a time of escalating performance expectations for all children. These concerns prompted the U.S. Department of Education, Office of Special Education Programs, and the National Center for LD to conduct a number of research syntheses and meta-analyses to better understand the kinds of instructional adaptations that promote the academic achievement of students with disabilities. There is, in fact, a solid body of evidence about the characteristics of instruction that contribute to positive outcomes for students with disabilities (see Gersten, Schiller, & Vaughn, 2000). We will now briefly report about the underlying message (Vaughn, Gersten, & Chard, 2000) from these research syntheses for the purpose of contextualizing our research goals and our approach to promoting historical understanding.
Findings from the Research Syntheses Vaughn et al. (2000) summarized the major findings about effective interventions from a number of research syntheses and meta-analyses. These meta-analyses reviewed studies that focused on a range of outcomes, including higher-order processing, written expression, reading comprehension, and grouping practices in reading instruction. Vaughn and her colleagues identified the characteristics of instruction that have been linked to gains in the academic achievement all students, including those with LD. Effective instruction is explicit and visible, and makes clear to students the concepts and skills they need to be self-regulating learners. For example, effective writing instruction explicitly identifies the specific steps of the writing process and the kind of questions students should ask themselves as they write (Wong, 1999). By making instruction explicit and students’ thinking visible, teachers are able to discover students’ misunderstandings and provide corrective feedback (Bransford, Brown, & Cocking, 2000). Teachers need to have ongoing discussions with students to diagnose and correct their misconceptions (Vaughn et al., 2000). Effective instruction also controls task difficulty so that students persist and succeed in learning activities (Vaughn et al., 2000). Tasks that are challenging and meaningful to students sustain student engagement. To control task difficulty, it is important to teach strategies for problem solving to children with disabilities. Strategies often include questions or standards that can be used by children to guide their thinking and solve problems. This is especially important for children with disabilities because they may not
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generate strategies or use them flexibly without these supports. Strategies have the potential to reduce task difficulty for many students with disabilities. Finally, interactive small group instruction and instruction in pairs is usually more effective than whole class recitations and lectures because they enable teachers to check students’ understandings and provide feedback (Vaughn et al., 2000). These findings about effective instruction informed our efforts to promote students’ historical understanding. In this paper, we will present some evidence about the effects of an integrated instructional unit about the period of 19th century U.S. Westward Expansion, which was designed by us to accomplish two major goals: to promote the disciplinary knowledge and skills of fifth-grade students with LD and their NA peers, and to counteract the insidious effects of presentism and other biases and misconceptions on children’s historical understanding. We will also present evidence, gleaned from reflections on Ms. M’s implementation of the unit, about the effects of her practices on the development of children’s historical understanding.
METHOD Participants and Setting Conditions The Delaware district in which this study was conducted has a longstanding commitment to the education of students with disabilities in inclusive settings. It employs a Team Approach to Mastery (TAM; Bear & Proctor, 1990), in which students with mild disabilities and those without disabilities are educated in classes taught by both a general and special educator, with part-time assistance from a paraprofessional. The typical ratio of students with and without disabilities in these classrooms is 3:1. The participating classroom that is the focus of this study was located in an urban intermediate school (grades 4–6) and was co-taught by a general education and special education teacher. In total, 32 students were served in this classroom; eight of these students were identified as having LD and 24 were NA students. The class was about evenly divided by gender with 53% boys. About one-fourth of the students (22%) were African-American, and one student was Hispanic; the rest were white. The eight students with LD included 3 boys (38%), 2 African-Americans (25%), and 1 Hispanic student.
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Materials Description of the Instructional Unit. The instructional unit was composed of 8 lessons that were completed during an 8-week marking period. Approximately 45 min of instruction was provided each day. The focus of instruction was the period of 19th century United States Westward Expansion, which is a topic that is addressed in the State of Delaware’s Standards and the school district’s fifth grade social studies instruction. We sought to promote the development of students’ understanding of the events, people, and outcomes associated with Westward Expansion. In addition, we attempted to inculcate a rudimentary understanding of standards used by historians to judge historical interpretations. We designed the unit to take into account the difficulties students with disabilities were likely to experience, including problems reading and interpreting text and difficulties demonstrating knowledge through traditional paper-and-pencil assessments. Our research was conducted under the auspices of the REACH Institute (Research Institute to Accelerate Content Learning through High Support for Students with Disabilities in Grades 4–8)1, which was funded by the Office of Special Education Programs to investigate teaching for understanding in literacy, science, social studies, and mathematics. The Institute is predicated on the idea that student with disabilities can meaningfully participate in complex learning if the instruction reflects research-based principles of teaching for understanding (Morocco, 2001). Four principles, which are consistent with our views about a social constructivist orientation to teaching and learning (see Ferretti & Okolo, 1996), guided our approach to teaching for historical understanding. Consistent with the principal of authentic tasks, students were encouraged to behave like working historians, who construct knowledge by gathering, interpreting, and evaluating information about questions of historical significance. Students learned about the importance of authorial perspective in evaluating artifacts, and to consider the possibility that perspective can sometimes lead to bias, especially when the author fails to provide a ‘‘full and complete accounting’’ of the historical episode. The application of this knowledge involves interpreting multiple perspectives, analyzing evidentiary bias, and of primary and secondary sources. In one set of lessons, students were introduced to the concept of historical evidence. They read, viewed, and discussed different examples of primary and secondary sources, and considered the strengths and weaknesses of different types of evidence. Subsequent lessons addressed the issue of bias in evidence and confronted students with varying video and written interpretations of events occurring during westward expansion. Students were challenged to examine possible
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sources of bias and the consequences of basing historical interpretations on biased evidence. In their inquiry projects, students were reminded to provide an accurate interpretation that took into account different viewpoints. The application of the principal of social mediation served to deepen students’ understanding of historical events and promote their historical reasoning skills. Students worked in heterogeneous, cooperative groups as they read, viewed, and interpreted historical evidence and completed group inquiry projects. Expertise was distributed within groups and, when reading text, strong readers were partnered with struggling readers in paired reading activities. Groups engaged in two extended inquiry projects during the unit. In the first, students explored life in the 1840s, as a background for understanding how people lived in the United States at the start of westward expansion. In the second, students investigated either an emigrant or a Native American group that had been affected by westward expansion. With information gained from the two inquiry projects, and from videos presented and discussed in class, students contrasted emigrant and Native American ‘‘ways of life’’ in order to develop an understanding of sources and outcomes of the conflicts arising during westward expansion. The inquiry projects were designed to promote each group’s expertise about different groups, which they shared in class presentations. These collaborative activities are also consistent with the principal of constructive conversations because they stimulated discussions about students’ historical interpretations. Conversation in small group and teacher led discussions makes students’ thinking visible, and also provides students with the opportunity to share their evaluations and consider multiple perspectives about their historical interpretations (Morocco, 2001). Furthermore, conversation provides a window into students’ understanding and potentially enables the teacher to deepen and broaden their students’ content knowledge, correct their misconceptions, and promote the use disciplinary standards in judging historical interpretations. Lastly, conversation is the vehicle through which teachers attend to students’ conceptions and misconceptions. We also sought to embed cognitive strategies in project activities. Cognitive strategies provide students with specific disciplinary tools and evaluative standards, and they enable students to obtain, analyze, and share information. Strategies were explicitly taught in the context of particular tasks that students performed. The unit was organized around two themes, or ‘‘big ideas,’’ that were taught as analytic strategies to be used to interpret specific historical events. The first was a ways of life schema, in which students learned to analyze different groups of people by examining their
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The schema is a conceptual support for students to use throughout the unit. You will have a large wall chart of the schema to use during class discussions and activities. The schema contains three key ideas: • People move for reasons that have to do with their ways of life. • When they move into new lands, they come into contact with the people who already live there and who also have specific ways of life. Conflict results because of differences in ways of life and beliefs, and because the groups are often in competition for resources. • Specific outcomes result for the all the groups participating in and affected by the migration. These outcomes affect the ways in which these groups live today. Migration Why did people move? Ways of Life of migrants • Economy • Technology • Daily Life • Politics • Religion Conflict Who did they have conflict with and why? Ways of Life of people already there • Economy • Technology • Daily Life • Politics • Religion What resources did they compete for? What were their beliefs about the other group? Outcomes What happened to the migrants? What happened to the people already there? What were the outcomes for the future?
Fig. 1.
Migration, Conflict, and Outcomes Schema.
political, economic, and religious belief systems. Second, students learned a migration and conflict schema for interpreting events associated with instances of migration, such as that occurring during westward expansion. Building on the ways of life strategy, students learned that aspects of people’s ways of life motivate migration and bring them into contact with other groups of people, who often have different ways of life. Conflicts may arise and various outcomes occur as a result of these conflicts. Fig. 1, which was
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presented in the lessons, represents these schemata. Finally, students also learned a compare and contrast strategy to guide their understanding of similarities and differences between different periods of time, ways of life, and groups of people. Students had opportunities to apply strategies during inquiry projects and in the analysis of information about different groups involved in westward expansion. The instructional unit included a comprehensive set of tasks and activities for the purposes of promoting students’ historical understanding. Therefore, it was important for students to know that each activity had a purpose, and that each purpose was related to a major goal of the unit. In the interest of ensuring that children understood the relationships among the different activities and the goals of instruction, we prepared a series of questions that was intended to guide Ms. M’s efforts to check on her students’ understanding of different activities. Ms. M was asked to use the following questions for this purpose: (1) describe the activity that you are doing. Explain what are you doing for me?; (2) can you explain why it’s important to do this activity?; How is it supposed to help you?; (3) what have you learned in doing this activity about (migration and conflict, ways of life, push factors, pull factors, etc.)?; (4) what role have you been assigned in this activity? What are you supposed to do to help the group?; (5) how will you know when you’ve done a good job on this activity? What do you have to do to finish the activity correctly?; and (6) what did you learn from doing this activity? Data Collection Group Knowledge Test. We assessed students’ content knowledge about Westward Expansion with a 22 item multiple-choice test. A content analysis of the curriculum, including information presented in whole-class and smallgroup activities, informed the development of the test. The test, which was administered to all participating students prior to and at the conclusion of instruction, tapped students’ knowledge of the various groups that participated in the period of Westward Expansion, their motives and goals, and the outcomes that resulted from migration. It was read to the whole class and teachers and research staff monitored students to ensure they understood our directions and completed the task appropriately. Individual Interviews on Historical Content and Historical Inquiry. We developed an interview with questions designed to tap students’ understanding of the historical content about Westward Expansion and their understanding of the processes of historical reasoning. Interviews were administered
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before and after instruction individually to the eight students with LD and ten of their NA peers. The interview yielded separate quantitative scores for understanding of content about migration and historical reasoning. Furthermore, these interviews provided qualitative information about students’ misconceptions and the impact of instruction on these misconceptions. The content section of the interview consisted of 17 questions that tapped students’ understanding and application of the ‘‘big ideas’’ that were unit’s organizing concepts. The questions addressed the students’ understanding of the following issues: (a) the meaning of migration; (b) reasons for the westward movement; (b) how a group’s ‘‘ways of life’’ motivated migration; (c) knowledge of groups who migrated during the period of Westward Expansion; (d) the political, economic, and religious reasons for the migration of these groups; and (e) and how the ‘‘ways of life’’ and competition for resources contributed to conflict among groups. The historical reasoning section of the interview consisted of 12 questions that probed students’ understanding of disciplinary knowledge and skills. These questions targeted students’ understanding of the following issues: (a) what history is and what historians do; (b) why historians have different viewpoints about the past; (c) what evidence is and the differences between primary and secondary sources; (d) the nature of bias in evidence; and (e) the significance of providing a ‘‘full and complete account’’ of events that happened in the past. Classroom Observations and Teacher Interviews. The first author interviewed Ms. M before the beginning of instruction to learn more about her teaching background, her assessment practices, and her approaches to teaching the social studies in an inclusive classroom. In addition, Ms. M and the first author met at least once each week during the 8 weeks of instruction to discuss their impressions of previous lessons’ strengths and weaknesses, and to agree about the purposes of subsequent lessons. These meetings were held either at the end of the school day or during Ms. M’s planning time. In total, nine meetings were held during the marking period, each about 50 min in duration. In total, Ms. M and the first author met for approximately 6 h during the 8 weeks of instruction. We observed Ms. M’s classroom instruction once or twice each week, during which we took field notes about Ms. M’s instruction, students’ activities, and the students’ understanding of these activities. Two heterogeneous groups of children were selected by Ms. M to be the targets of our observational analyses. Each group, which contained between 4 and 8 students, included at least 2 children with LD. From day to day, the number of children and the composition of the groups varied somewhat due to
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absences, competing academic responsibilities, and the nature of the instructional activities. During these observations, the research assistants or the first author recorded field notes that described the nature and duration of each instructional activity, the ways in which the target student and members of his group participated in it, any challenges or difficulties encountered during the activity, and general impressions of students’ attitudes and the classroom climate. The field notes were collected for 18 different instructional sessions, which spanned approximately 14 h of classroom instruction. We also video taped 16 of Ms. M’s lessons, five of which were recorded from the perspective of both target groups, i.e., we have two recordings for five of these lessons. In total, these videotapes span approximately 12 h of classroom instruction. The field notes for these lessons served as a guide for the videotapes, which portrayed in detail the events described in notes. Rather than transcribing and analyzing each videotape, we used the field notes as an index to segments of the video archive that were of particular interest or relevance to the key findings that emerged during our discussions with Ms. M. In addition, Ms. M and the first author independently viewed and evaluated 11 of the video taped lessons to see if the instruction as delivered was conducive to promoting children’s historical understanding. Prior to viewing the videotapes, Ms. M and the first author agreed on a set of questions that would be used to guide their inquiry into the efficacy of the classroom instruction. These questions were derived from the previously described meta-analytic findings about the characteristics of effective instruction, as well as the REACH principles that informed the unit’s development. While viewing the videotapes, the first author and Ms. M took notes about the following major questions: (1) did Ms. M clearly identify the lesson’s goals and purposes?; (2) did Ms. M. check to see that students’ understood each lesson’s goals and activities, and did she explain how the target content and skills related to these goals?; (3) did Ms. M provide ongoing feedback to students, provide corrective feedback about misunderstandings, and encourage students to monitor their own progress?; and (4) did Ms. M help the students to manage task complexity by using cognitive strategies or by providing accommodations to students who found the tasks too challenging? After independently reviewing the 11-video taped lessons, Ms. M and the first author met on ten different occasions to discuss their observations about her efforts to promote students’ historical understanding. The discussions, each of which was approximately 60 min in duration, were audio
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taped and transcribed. Together, the field notes and conversation transcripts provided useful information about the efficacy of the classroom instruction. Emergent findings were checked with Ms. M during our weekly conversations. Our interpretations of the case study findings were adjusted accordingly and any inaccuracies or misunderstandings were corrected.
RESULTS Quantitative Information about Group Knowledge Test and Individual Interviews The quantitative information about the knowledge test and interviews are presented in Table 1. Analysis of variance (ANOVA) with one betweengroups factor (Disability Status) and one within-group factor (Time) was used for the initial analyses with follow-up tests as appropriate. The assumption of homogeneity of variance was met for all analyses. For the knowledge test, we found statistically significant effects of Time [F ð1; 24Þ ¼ 51:05; po0.001] and Disability Status [F ð1; 24Þ ¼ 5:32;
Table 1. Knowledge Test and Interview Scores. Mean
Standard Deviation
LD
NLD
LD
NLD
Pre-test Post-test
8.0 11.8
8.9 15.7
3.0 3.5
3.1 2.8
Pre-test Post-test
11.5 25.6
11.2 35.6
6.4 14.1
5.1 14.2
Pre-test Post-test
3.8 10.8
3.8 18.8
2.4 9.1
2.3 7.3
Pre-test Post-test
7.8 14.9
7.4 16.8
4.9 7.4
4.0 7.7
Knowledge test
Interview total
Historical reasoning
Migration concepts
Note: For the knowledge test, there were 8 LD and 18 NLD students. For the interview, there were 8 LD and 10 NLD students.
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p ¼ 0.03]. The interaction of Time and Disability Status was marginally significant [F ð1; 24Þ ¼ 4:23; p ¼ 0.05]. The NA students made greater gains than students with LD. However, follow-up t-tests found significant gains for both and students with LD [t ð7Þ ¼ 2:5; p ¼ 0:04] and their NA peers [t ð17Þ ¼ 9:5; po0.001]. For the total interview score, we found statistically significant effects of Time [F ð1; 16Þ ¼ 70:68; po0.001] and the interaction of Time and Disability Status [F ð1; 16Þ ¼ 5:03; p ¼ 0:039]. Students without LD made greater gains than NA students. We conducted follow-up tests of the component scores for students’ historical reasoning and understanding of migration. For historical reasoning, we found similar results – statistically significant effects of Time [F ð1; 16Þ ¼ 44:58; po0.001] and the interaction of Time and Disability Status [F ð1; 16Þ ¼ 5:90; p ¼ 0:027]. Students without LD made greater gains than their NA peers. However, for migration concepts, only the effect of Time was statistically significant [F ð1; 16Þ ¼ 53:75; po0.001]. As for the knowledge test, follow-up t-tests showed statistically significant gains for both groups of students on the total interview, historical reasoning, and migration concepts. Overall, both students with LD and their NA peers made significant gains from pre-test to post-test on all measures. However, NA students made greater gains than students with LD on the knowledge test and on the historical reasoning interview questions, but not on the migration concepts questions. Qualitative Analysis of the Interviews We analyzed the interviews qualitatively to describe what students knew before and after instruction and to identify misconceptions about historical reasoning and the core concepts about migration. Two purposes guided our analysis. First, we were interested in adding to the literature about what children understand about history and what sort of misconceptions interfere with developing a more mature understanding of these ideas. Thus, we attempted to relate our findings to theory and prior research on historical understanding. Second, we wanted to know in what ways the curriculum and this particular teacher’s instruction may have contributed to misconceptions so that more effective instruction could be designed. Questions about Historical Reasoning. The interview questions about historical reasoning were analyzed in three sets: history and historians, primary and secondary sources, and bias and historical accounts. For each set of questions, we attempted to summarize what students knew before and after
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instruction and to interpret any misconceptions. History and historians included questions about what history is and what historians do when they write history, as well as questions about what historical evidence is and how historians use it. On the pre-test interview, most students knew that history was about the past, but they thought that historians were people who lived in the past. They knew that evidence is clues used to prove something but nothing about historical evidence. By the post-test, most students (14/18) knew that historians study the past to try to prove what happened then. In general, the students emphasized the idea of proof. For example, one student with LD described historians as ‘‘people that research history. They are trying to prove that something really happened. They have to have all this stuff to prove if it was true or not true.’’ A NA student responded that historians ‘‘are people that study history and the things that happened in it for a jobyTrying to show their viewpoint about things.’’ However, two students still thought that historians were people who lived in the past; as one of them explained it, historians are ‘‘people who lived in the pastyTry to express what they went through and how they lived and survived.’’ In addition, more than half of the students (10/18) were able to give some explanation of how historians use evidence, either by giving examples of types of primary sources or examples of how historians use evidence to support what they are saying. For example, one student with LD explained historical evidence by giving an example of the use of an artifact, ‘‘Like if they found an old time dress and they could can tell that it can be sewed by hand because of the way the stitches are done and how the designs are made. Because if you had a sewing machine the designs would be more better but by hand you can mess up easily.’’ The most common misconception about evidence was linking it to criminal investigation. Two students with LD and two of their NA peers referred to evidence as clues used to solve crimes. For example, one student said ‘‘evidence is, kind of like on cops, they have to have evidence to prove that a person was a killer. So they have to have evidence to prove that it really happened.’’ Most of these students did not connect the idea of evidence specifically to history, but one student did link crime and history in a rather tortured way, saying that historians use evidence ‘‘in their writing. Say they wrote about Benjamin Franklin and they wrote about him and they thought that he was still alive. Then they found out he was dead and then they had to use evidence to find out if he was dead.’’ The next set of questions consisted of just two questions asking what primary and secondary sources are. None of the students could answer these
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questions before instruction. After instruction, over half (11/18) understood that a primary source was something created by people at the time of the event and were able to give examples. Half (9/18) understood that secondary sources were created later or were based on primary sources and were able to give an example. The most common example of primary sources was a diary, probably because students read selections from old diaries as part of the unit. Journals, letters, newspapers, and books from the time were also mentioned. As for secondary sources, several students mentioned history books or textbooks. Several students were able to give examples of primary and secondary sources but could not explain the difference. Several students appeared to have formed the misconception that primary sources were accurate because they were made by someone who was there and knew what happened, whereas secondary sources were inaccurate or even made up. For example, one NA student said, ‘‘A primary source is like a book. I think it’s a book that’s happening. A secondary source is a book that’s not happeningy[A secondary source is] if they wrote a book and they didn’t have evidence about it.’’ A student with LD, as part of a long explanation of diaries as primary sources, asked about how we would know whether George Washington chopped down the cherry tree, ‘‘Did he write it in a diary or did they just think about it as how the past was?’’ He then went on with a definition, ‘‘A secondary source is something that really didn’t happen. They just write a different version of ity[like] a history book.’’ The interview section on bias and historical accounts included questions on what it means to say that a historian has a viewpoint and what bias means. In addition, students were read a paragraph-length account of the settlement of Australia that described how the Aborigines were forced off their land and now live in poverty; they were asked whether the account was biased. Pre-test responses showed minimal understanding of the concept of viewpoint and none of bias. At the post-test, two-thirds (12/18) of the students had some understanding that historians have opinions about history. For example, one NA student described an historian’s viewpoint as, ‘‘Like their opinions. If they liked the Native Americans more they’d tell more about what happened to them or the settlers were all bad and the Native Americans were good.’’ A student with LD said, ‘‘They have their own point of view of what they think happened.’’ Just over half of the students (10/18) understood that a biased account was one that did not consider multiple viewpoints to tell the whole story and were able to give an appropriate historical example. Three examples from the instructional unit were mentioned fairly frequently: the settlers and
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Indians; the Donner Party, and Lansford Hastings; and contemporary newspaper accounts of the conflicts between middle class residents of Georgetown, DE and Guatemalan immigrants working in the poultry factories. For example, a student with LD responded, ‘‘Biased is when they only tell half of the story. Like for the immigrants they say the Native Americans are brutal and savage and they attack. They don’t tell why they attack, maybe they [were] attacked first or something.’’ A NA student answered, ‘‘Like, it doesn’t have all the viewpoints of both sides. [prompt for more] Like in the Georgetown thing it told what the Georgetown people – it showed their viewpoint and was practically telling everybody that the Guatemalan people were all bad. And from the Guatemalan viewpoint it told – what the Georgetown people thought wasn’t really all that true.’’ Just under half (8/18) of the students explained that the account of Australia’s settlement was biased because it only gave the Aborigines side of the story. In addition, one student spontaneously generalized the concept of a biased account to an everyday account; ‘‘Biased means that if I wrote a story about kids that are really rich and really poor and if I always talked about the rich people and good things about them, then that’s biased. [Why?] Because they only talk about one side of the story and they agree with it. They are supposed to give the whole story and not just half of it.’’ Two misconceptions were evident. A couple of students thought that the idea of bias meant the author did not give enough detail; this misconception probably flowed from the curriculum’s description of an unbiased account as a ‘‘full and complete account’’ that provides multiple viewpoints on events. For example, one student said the Australian account was biased ‘‘because it didn’t tell how it happened at the time – because now they do that instead of doing what they did back then. They didn’t follow you through and tell you every detail.’’ Two students had the misconception that bias was a form of lying. For example, one student with LD described biased accounts as fakery, ‘‘It may be fake, maybe not true. It may be makebelieve or they just made it up on the top of their heads. They didn’t know what it was so they just wrote down any old thing and its wasn’t even true and if the person tries to go read it, it was fake.’’ This misconception may have originated in the video about the Donner Party that told about the consequences of providing a biased account. The video shows how the Donner Party experienced catastrophic consequences as a result of being mislead by Lansford Hastings’ guidebook describing a route west that he had never taken himself. One NA student specifically referred to this
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deception, saying, ‘‘The Donner Party . . . Because, I forget his name, but he didn’t give them a full and complete account and he didn’t even take the trail that he was telling them to go on.’’ Overall, the interviews provide evidence that the majority of the students with LD and their NA peers developed some understanding of historical reasoning. They learned that historians use evidence from primary sources to understand what happened in the past, that historians and people could have different viewpoints on what happened, and that it is important to avoid bias by considering multiple viewpoints in writing historical accounts. However, there was also evidence of misconceptions about historical thinking. A few students held the simple view that you can only know what happened if you were there. Thus, historians lived in the past, and primary sources were accurate while secondary sources were not. Other students developed misconceptions about the nature of bias and historical accounts, thinking that bias results from people making things up or deliberately lying. Questions on Concepts about Migration. One of the goals of the curriculum was for students not only to understand Westward Expansion in the mid19th century but also to understand the ‘‘Migration and Conflict’’ schema and apply it to contemporary and other historical examples. Thus, the interview asked students to explain the concepts in the Migration and Conflict schema, including ‘‘ways of life,’’ reasons for moving, and reasons for conflict due to moving. Whereas the knowledge test asked about the specific content taught in the unit, the interview questions were all posed in general terms, e.g., ‘‘What are some reasons that groups of people decide to move to a new place or a new country?’’ In addition, students were asked to apply the migration concepts to scenarios of contemporary migration. Generally, students learned the specific reasons that led farmers, Mormons, and miners to move west. On the knowledge test, the average score on those items was 90%. On the interview, most students (14/18) were able to generate at least two reasons why groups of people might migrate; their answers included both reasons for these groups of settlers, Native Americans, and modern groups. However, a few students gave everyday reasons for moving that would not apply to groups of people, for example, to find friends or move to a better neighborhood. When given a brief scenario about contemporary immigration to the United States from Nicaragua, most (15/18) were able to generate at least one reason for the immigration that made sense in current times and about half generated more than one reason.
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In addition, most students (13/18) were able to give at least two reasons why groups might come into conflict after migration. Even more (15/18) could name two groups that came into conflict (usually the settlers and the Native Americans) and give a reason for the conflict (e.g., ‘‘Miners & Indians. The miners wanted gold and the Indians were in the way.’’). However, less than half (8/18) were able to generate a reason for conflict between the Nicaraguans and residents of California and Arizona until the scenario was expanded to give more hints. Few students were able to explain the concepts on the migration schema. Students generally had a poor understanding of the concepts regarding ways of life. Only about a quarter (5/18) could define ways of life in even a basic way by mentioning one aspect of the concept (e.g., jobs, religion, food/ clothing). When asked about the generic kinds of reasons for migrating, students had difficulty generating economic reasons (28%), and about half could give political reasons (50%), and religious reasons (60%). Many students did not know the meaning of the terms economic and political. Overall, it appears that students learned the basic content regarding migration during the era of Westward Expansion. However, they did not understand well the schema in the curriculum that was designed to help them analyze general reasons why groups of people might migrate and come into conflict with other groups. Interview with Ms. M before Instruction Two teachers were responsible for educating the 32 students in this inclusive classroom. Ms. M, who was responsible for teaching the Westward Expansion unit, had two years of teaching experience before working on this project. She held dual certificates in special education and elementary education, and during her undergraduate studies, she minored in history. Ms. M was enrolled in a Master’s degree program in special education at the time of the project. In her two previous teaching assignments, Ms. M taught fourth and fifth graders with disabilities, and then after transferring to the school in which this project was done, she taught sixth graders in a TAM classroom. Ms. M’s colleague, Ms. A, was not involved in teaching the Westward Expansion unit; therefore, we will not discuss her further in this report. During our interview, Ms. M was asked to express her views about a range of issues related to the goals of education, the role of social studies education in achieving these goals, her use of instructional strategies and accommodations for students with disabilities, and how she tries to promote students’ historical understanding.
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According to Ms. M, education should prepare her students to be lifelong learners and that social studies instruction can contribute to this goal by cultivating a critical disposition about the things they study: yI try to challenge them to go beyond what the book says or what they see that I present to them. I want them to question things and find out people’s motivation for presenting history in a certain way and try to take into account as much information as they can when they are making up their minds about something that they didn’t experience themselves.
Ms. M believed in the importance of personal experience in the teaching the social studies. For her, the sharing of personal experience is important because it demonstrates the relevance of history in the lives of everyday people. This conviction was evident in the kinds of instructional tasks she planned for students: I share a lot of personal things with them in social studiesyI just wish that I could find an easy way to make it more real for the kids. You talk about people that existed 200 or 300 years ago and it is hard for them to relate to that. ythey are going to be doing a family tree project where they have to research at least 2 generations back into their family, create a family tree, and write a report that goes along with it.
Ms. M. indicated that she often used heterogeneous groupings of students to work on social studies projects, and she tried to cultivate attitudes and dispositions that were conducive to effective cooperation. Ms. M. also was asked to describe how she assessed students’ progress during social studies instruction. She indicated ‘‘We take a look at their homework, the chapter review, their tests, teacher made tests, writing prompts or any writing assignments.’’ When asked to describe how she encouraged her students to monitor their own progress, she responded: As far as Social Studies, in the beginning of the year I was having problems with them giving answers that weren’t related to the question, so I went over a few of the tests. I wrote some answers and showed them to the kids and they realized that it really didn’t make sense. It made them stop and take time to answer things carefully.
For the most part, these responses indicated that Ms. M relied on formal assessments to monitor students’ progress, and that her efforts to promote self-regulation were based on the provision of feedback about test-based performance. Ms. M. believed that children with disabilities were challenged to overcome information processing limitations, and that these limitations affect students’ ability to: ‘‘ytake information in and answer a question related to that and then really understand what they are talking about.’’ According to
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Ms. M, children with disabilities have the greatest difficulty with ‘‘abstract ideas’’ and that this difficulty contributes to a form of egocentrism that resembles presentism bias. Furthermore, these difficulties necessitate that teachers ‘‘ybreak things down into smaller partsy’’ so that students can understand abstractions ‘‘yas a whole idea.’’ Abstract ideas. Things that happened a long time ago and they are not familiar with that time period or the way people thought back then. They assume everyone is like them or have experienced the things they have. They don’t realize that everyone comes from their own background with their own experiences.
Ms. M understood that in order to understand history, students ‘‘yhave to understand what a historian actually does so that they can put themselves in that position.’’ According to Ms. M, historians: yhave to research the particular issue or stance they want to take about a person or an issue or fact. They need to find things to help prove or disprove their opinion. They seek out different sources. They also need to have a good understanding of what was going on during that time period and why people did certain things or how they were influenced.
Finally, Ms. M believed that as a result of literacy-related limitations, children with disabilities had special challenges in understanding history: Well the hardest things with the lower level kids is their reading level because usually you are asking them to read a lot of content information. That can even be difficult for kids without a disability and for those that do have a disability, it is even more difficult. The two main things that historians do are read and write. For kids with disabilities this is hard.
Ms. M was remarkably clear and perspicacious about the goals of education and the ways in which the social studies can contribute to the attainment of those goals. To foreshadow our conclusions, Ms. M put into practice her beliefs about the centrality of personal experience in understanding about the past, and her understanding of the processes of historical interpretation, which resulted from her undergraduate studies, impelled her to provide dynamic and insightful lessons about the uses of evidence and the importance of perspective in judging historical interpretations. However, her beliefs about providing instructional accommodations for students with disabilities were not realized in this study. In addition, her pre-instruction pattern of relying on group assessments to monitor students’ progress continued during instruction. As a result, the benefits of this instructional unit were not fully realized.
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Observations and Conversations with Ms. M during and after Instruction The information we collected during the classroom observations and the conversations with Ms. M about her classroom were used to gain insight into the factors that contributed to changes in students’ knowledge of and misconceptions about historical reasoning and Westward Migration. We organize our observations about this information according to the questions that guided Ms. M and the first author’s conversations about the video taped lessons. As we mentioned before, these questions based on the findings about the characteristics of effective instruction (Vaughn et al., 2000) and the REACH principles for teaching for understanding. In what follows, the sources for our conclusions about specific instructional episodes are cited as follows: (1) field notes (FN); (2) first author’s observations about the video taped lessons (RPF Observe); (3) Ms. M’s observations about the video taped lessons (Ms. M Observe); and (4) conversations between the first author and Ms. M about their independent observations of the video taped lessons (Converse). Did Ms. M clearly Identify the Lesson’s Goals and Purposes? Did Ms. M. Check to see that Students’ Understood each Lesson’s Goals and Activities, and did She Explain how the Target Content and Skills Related to these Goals? Ms. M usually began each of the eight lessons that comprised the instructional unit with a clear statement of its purposes. This was unsurprising because each lesson’s script began with a description of its goals and purposes. Nevertheless, these lessons were delivered over the course of days, so confusion about the lesson’s purposes and its relationship to other activities might have developed unless Ms. M made the connections explicit. Without prompting from the project staff, Ms. M routinely began each lesson with a brief review of the preceding day’s activities and a description of the current days’ activities, enabling students to maintain a sense of continuity from day to day. However, Ms. M rarely related these discrete activities to the overall purposes of the instructional unit, or for that matter to the Migration, Conflict, and Outcomes schema that was designed to promote students’ understanding of the ‘‘big ideas’’ about migration. This pattern is illustrated in Ms. M’s delivery of the unit’s second lesson, which was designed to help students understand about the ‘‘ways of life’’ in 1840. In designing this lesson, we hoped that students would acquire knowledge about (a) technology for travel; (b) technology for communication; and (c) basic information about the economy and daily life on the farm and city during the 1840s. In addition, we hoped that students would understand that this knowledge instantiated the ‘‘ways of life’’ schema that Ms. M had taught in the days leading up this lesson. Understanding this schema
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and its relationship to the content was important because it would enable the students to coherently represent the relevant knowledge. At the beginning of the lesson (RPF Observe, 1/31; Ms. M Observe, 1/31), Ms. M. reminds her students of the preceding day’s discussion, which focused on the economies of farm life during the 1840s. She then proceeds to discuss different work and housing arrangements during this time, as well as other aspects of daily life, including the production of food and clothing. At the close of the lesson, Ms. M foreshadows the next day’s activities, which involves doing group research about an Emigrant or Native American group. However, Ms. M never relates the specific goals of these instructional activities to the overall purpose of the instructional unit. Said differently, she does not discuss how the lesson’s activities or content related to the ‘‘ways of life’’ schema that had been taught in the preceding days. This pattern was seen for other lessons, and was discussed by Ms. M and the first author during our conversations. When asked why this occurred, Ms. M explained (Conversation, 1/31): Probably because I was so focused on just trying to get their predictions and brainstorming on their different ideas. It probably didn’t occur to me at that moment to tie it into the umyyou know, whether this is economy or whether this has to do with religion or governmentyI didn’t really think about making those connections. And I probably should have used the chart more because that probably would have directed what we were doing a little bit more for the kids and then they could have thought in the future about how it relates to different ways of life.
In her overall reflections about her instruction, Ms. M. acknowledged that the failure to relate activities and ideas to the ‘‘ways of life’’ schema might have adversely impacted the development of students’ historical understanding. In contrast, Ms. M provided thoroughly engaging lessons about the importance of personal perspective in historical interpretation. While preparing to teach this lesson, Ms. M mentioned to the first author (Field Notes, 1/ 19) that she had previously discussed the concept of bias with the children after reading a poem entitled ‘‘The Cold Within,’’ which describes the consequences of failing to take into account other people’s perspective. Ms. M’s sensitivity about this issue stemmed in part from the fact that her husband recently immigrated to the United States. However, Ms. M was also sensitized to this issue in her undergraduate history studies, during which she read ‘‘Broken Spears’’ and the ‘‘Colombian Exchange,’’ two books that illustrated the criticality of prospective taking. Her lessons about perspective taking contained interesting anecdotes that illustrated its importance in historical interpretation. Moreover, Ms. M took care to ensure students
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understood how these personal anecdotes were related to the instructional activities. The issue of perspective taking was first introduced in the unit’s fourth lesson, during which the students were asked to share their views about the desirability of homework. Rather than beginning the lesson as scripted, i.e., by asking students to describe their perspectives about the desirability of homework, Ms. M began by explaining the teacher’s perspective on homework (RPF Observe, 2/7). She explained that teachers use homework to diagnose what students understand and make adjustment in subsequent lessons. She then asked her students to express their views about the matter, and as you might expect, they believed that homework was largely undesirable. Ms. M was asked how she felt about homework when she was a student, and she proceeded to explain the differences between her views as a child and a teacher to illustrate how one’s views might change. Furthermore, Ms. M discussed questions concerning parents’ views about homework for the purpose of discussing another perspective, and illustrating again how perspectives can change over time as a result of personal experience. Ms. M’s interest and commitment to communicating about perspective taking is also illustrated in her delivery of the unit’s eighth lesson, which presented a contemporary example of migration and conflict. The lesson presented the reasons for the immigration of Guatemalan people to southern Delaware, the conflicts that emerged with indigenous Delawareans, and the outcomes that resulted for these people. At this beginning of this lesson (RPF Observe, 3/12; Ms. M Observe, 3/12), Ms. M asks the students, some of whom were recent immigrants, to discuss the reasons for their immigration to the United States. Here she drew out information from the students about their parents’ motivations, hopes, and aspirations in coming to America. Two days later, while continuing with this lesson, Ms. M discusses her personal experience with immigration through the eyes of her husband (Field Notes, 3/14; RPF Observe, 3/14). This discussion was prompted by a comment from one child about his family’s immigration status. Ms. M explained that many native-born Americans incorrectly assume that all immigrants are in the United States illegally. In this child’s case, the parents were in America on a work visa, and consequently enjoy most of the protections afforded American citizens, except that are not permitted to vote. Ms. M explained that children born in America to immigrants, regardless of their legal status, are citizens and have voting rights. She illustrated this principal by reference to her husband, who is not yet an American citizen
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and therefore, unable to vote. Nevertheless, their children will be citizens of America and will enjoy voting privileges. Ms. M uses her personal experience to illustrate how stereotypical perspectives can be mistaken. Moreover, Ms. M reminded the students throughout this lesson about the importance of perspective in drawing historical interpretations. The connection between the instructional activities and their purposes was made explicit for the students. In sum, some of Ms. M’s lessons, and especially those about issue of personal significance to her, illustrated the relationship between an instructional activity and the overall purposes of the lessons. In other cases, and especially those involving the understanding and application of the ‘‘ways of life’’ schema, Ms. M failed to make the connection between project goals and activities. Did Ms. M Provide Ongoing Feedback to Students, Provide Corrective Feedback about Misunderstandings, and Encourage Students to Monitor their own Progress? As we mentioned previously, Ms. M. responses indicate that she relied on formal assessments to monitor students’ progress, and that her efforts to promote self-regulation were based on the provision of feedback about test-based performance. The reliance on test-based feedback was also characteristic of Ms. M’s delivery of the instructional unit. In general, Ms. M’s feedback was not tailored to meet the needs of individual students. Ms. M’s approach to assessment is best illustrated by an activity she devised at the midpoint of the marking period. At that point, her students had completed the lessons that were designed to promote an understanding of the Migration, Conflict, and Outcomes schema. Furthermore, they had discussed the work of historians and their use of evidence, and had begun to discuss the issue of perspective in historical interpretation. Ms. M designed a test that assessed the students’ ability to explain and illustrate the major concepts that were embodied in these lessons. In preparation for the test, students participated in a game of Jeopardy, in which they were sat with their groups while Ms. M asked questions about the previously covered content. After Ms. M asked a question, the students were permitted to confer with their colleagues, and after coming to a consensus about their response, a pre-appointed representative raised her hand on behalf of the group. The first representative who raised her hand was permitted to respond. If the response was correct, the group was awarded a point; the first group that attained predetermined point total was deemed the winner. If the response was incorrect, the group with the next quickest representative was permitted to respond. This process was continued until a correct response
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was produced. Absent a correct response, Ms. M asked other groups to respond (RPF Observe, 2/15; Ms. M Observe, 2/15). The first three questions, which asked about the Native American’s strategies for producing food and the Emigrant’s perspective about Native Americans, were answered quickly and correctly. Ms. M awarded points for to these groups, but she did not ask if other groups had answers that merited consideration. Furthermore, Ms. M neither discussed the reasons for deeming a response correct or incorrect, nor did she pose diagnostic questions for specific students whose knowledge was uncertain. The failure to probe the basis for incorrect responses was particularly unfortunate because some students’ responses would have indicated that they had fundamental misunderstandings about the Emigrants’ and Native Americans’ political, economic, and religious ‘‘ways of life’’ (RPF Observe, 2/15; Ms. M Observe, 2/15). Subsequently, Ms M was asked to explain what she could have done to ensure that students understood the concepts that comprised the ‘‘ways of life’’ schema. She responded as follows (Converse, 2/15): I think it was at the point in the lesson where I would have actually, based on their performance during the gameyI would have stoppedy. um, as far as after that particular lesson, I would have stopped at that point during the unit and gone back over the ways of life and really dug into that a little bit more deeply. Um, because basically it was just skimming the information and they really didn’t have a good understanding of economy or politics or technologyythey didn’ty. very few kids got itythey couldn’t tell you what it wasythey couldn’t define it and then they couldn’t come up with examples, so I probably would have, based on the Jeopardy game, I probably would have stopped teaching any further lessons and actually gone back over the ways of life lesson and referred back to the visual aids and the posters and the graphs and thing like that.
Clearly, Ms. M believed that she missed an opportunity to diagnose students’ misunderstandings about the ‘‘ways of life’’ schema. Students’ responses revealed that they possessed partial understandings of some concepts that were the focus of instruction. For example, during the Jeopardy game, some students provided an incomplete explanation of the concept of ‘‘economics’’ (RPF Observe, 2/15). Ms M. recognized the limitations of these responses, and attempted to promote a more complete understanding by explaining that economics involved money, trading, and more generally, how groups financially sustain themselves. However, Ms. M did not illustrate these ideas by relating them to the Emigrants’ or Native American’s ‘‘ways of life.’’ Therefore, her explanation appealed to an abstraction for its interpretation. As Brophy and Alleman’s research (2003)
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shows, children usually lack the requisite background knowledge to interpret such abstractions. Ms. M’s discussion of the concept of historical evidence may have inadvertently contributed to the misconception that evidence constitutes ‘‘proof’’ of an historical interpretation. As we discussed in our introductory comments, historical interpretations are tentative and always contestable because the evidence is often fragmentary and based on human artifacts. The latter point was reinforced in the unit’s fourth lesson, during which students were asked to judge whether a newspaper report provided a ‘‘full and complete’’ account of a baseball game. In brief, the account, which was edited by us for instructional purposes, was written to imply that the author presented an incomplete account because of his personal interest in the team. When asked how historians use evidence, some students indicated that evidence is ‘‘proof’’ of things that happened in the past (Field Notes, 1/30). This response, which represents a misconception about the nature of historical evidence, was not challenged by Ms. M. We also designed the instruction to ensure that Ms. M routinely checked on students’ understanding of the activities. For example, we mentioned during our description of the Westward Expansion unit that we prepared questions that were to be used by Ms. M to check on her students’ understanding of instructional activities. In reviewing our field notes, our observations about the video taped lessons, and our conversations about those lessons, we were unable to find an episode during which these questions were asked. To be clear, there were situations during which Ms. M intervened to address a problem, but the intervention usually focused on behavior management, clarifying student roles associated with a group activity, or explaining specific questions that students needed to answer as part of a group activity. Opportunities to guide children’s thinking and understanding of task activities were missed because these questions were not used. In sum, Ms. M relied on group assessments to assess student’s progress, did not systematically assess the individual student’s understanding of complicated ideas, and sometimes accepted partial understandings or misconceptions that approximated an authentic conception of an historical concept. By Ms. M’s admission, this especially disadvantaged her students with LD. Did Ms. M Help the Students to Manage Task Complexity by using Cognitive Strategies or by Providing Accommodations to Students who Found the Tasks too Challenging? Our previous comments concerning student’s misconceptions about the Migration, Conflict, and Outcomes schema suggest
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that the capacity to apply a strategy depends upon understanding the core concepts that comprise it. As we already noted, some students misunderstood or had partial understandings of the concepts of politics, economics, and religion that comprise the ‘‘ways of life’’ scheme. In so far as the application of this scheme depends upon understanding these concepts, these students would have had difficulty applying the scheme in new contexts. This conjecture is supported by students’ responses to the interview questions about the immigration of Nicaraguans and the resulting conflict with the residents of Arizona and California. Ms. M also taught the compare and contrast strategy prior to delivering the Westward Expansion lessons, and this strategy was subsequently used for different purposes throughout the instructional unit. For example, children used the strategy to compare and contrast the ‘‘ways of life’’ of the Emigrants and Native Americans (Lesson 2), differing perspectives about Westward Expansion as represented in films about the Emigrants and Native Americans (Lesson 4), and the outcomes of Westward Expansion for the Emigrants and Native Americans (Lesson 6). Unfortunately, we did not collect information about Ms. M’s initial teaching of this strategy, but we observed Ms. M’s spontaneous application of the strategy during instruction. We designed the lessons so that they identified the particular activities for which the compare and contrast strategy should be used, and also we provided planning sheets and questions that guided students’ application of the strategy. Ms. M went beyond our prescriptions and creatively used this strategy to promote students’ understanding of the content. For example, students conducted group investigations about different aspects of the Emigrants’ and Native Americans’ ‘‘ways of life,’’ and they presented their findings to the entire class. In general, the presentations were rather perfunctory, with students in each group presenting ad seriatim the specific information they learned during their investigations. During one group presentation, the students shared information about the creation myth of the Nez Perce (a collection of Native Americans tribes that live in the western United States). Ms. M stopped the presentation and initiated a discussion about differences among Native American tribes with respect to creation beliefs and other matters (RPF Observe, 3/7). After discussing differences in these creation beliefs, Ms. M proceeded to compare and contrast the beliefs of the Emigrants and Native Americans with respect to the use of natural resources, such as the land and buffalo. Ms. M spontaneously deployed the compare and contrast strategy so that her students could better understand of similarities and differences in people’s belief systems.
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During our pre-instruction interview, Ms. M expressed the belief that reading difficulties might adversely impact the historical understanding of her students with LD. Therefore, we expected that Ms. would make some accommodations for these difficulties. However, special accommodations were not provided for these students. Ms. M paired poor and good readers for the purpose of completing many project activities, and Vaughn et al. (2000) have shown that this is generally effective approach to promoting students’ reading comprehension. However, the approach’s success depends upon the provision of clear questions and roles that guide students’ interpretation of the text, which were not provided. In Ms. M’s view, two factors militated against the provision of specific accommodations. First, Ms. M believed that the better readers do not want to work with less able readers (Converse, 2/28): ymost kids only want to work with kids who are similar in ability to what they are. That’s why the whole thing of mixed grouping and all thatyI don’t think it’s very effective, because the kids usually are pretty reluctant to work with somebody who isn’t going to take it seriously, isn’t on the same level that they’re onyand it isn’t even a spoken kind of thingyit’s just kind of an understood academic thing that comes upythe kids that could understand the reading and get their own answers out of the readings, just kind of went ahead and did their own thing and got their work done and the other kids were just kind of left in limbo and they really didn’t get anything out of it during the reading activities.
Second, Ms. M believed that the complexity of the lessons, and the difficulty of language and concepts used throughout, placed insurmountable demands on her capacity to adapt the lessons: yat the time I was teaching it, some of the concepts were a little bit over the average fifth grader’s headybased on their own background knowledge and things like thatyumyand I would probably try to accomplish less, but go deeper. So, I’d do more depth and less of a scope or span of topics. Because, it was a lot, in the sense of the unityI mean, it’s good information, it’s ideas that I think maybe 7th or 8th grade students would understand a little bit betterybut, I think it was a lot to be covered by a 5th grade class. And, at the time, that was my first year in 5th grade and I certainly wasn’t that well equipped to, you knowyactually instruct the lesson and go back over things that the students really didn’t get (Converse, 2/8).
At the end of our conversations about the lessons, Ms. M expressed the following observations about the instructional unit: The materials for the unit weren’t adapted to meet the reading levels or individual instructional needs of the identified students. I could have done these accommodations, which would have then made the material more accessible to the students. They had great difficulty in decoding the reading materials and completing the multi-step tasks. Most of the activities in the unit required the students to read, collect information,
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analyze the information, answer questions, and participate in group discussions. These skills were beyond the abilities of the identified students in the class that school year.
In sum, Ms. M effectively and creatively applied the compare and contrast strategy in these lessons. However, she neither provided accommodations for the reading difficulties of students with LD nor ensured that they understood the component concepts that comprise the ‘‘ways of life’’ scheme. As a result, the students did not fully profit from instruction.
CONCLUSIONS The purpose of this paper was to describe the implementation of an instructional unit about 19th century U.S. Westward Expansion that was designed to promote the historical knowledge and reasoning of fifth-grade students. We were specifically interested in describing the conceptions and misconceptions of NA students and students with LD prior to instruction, and documenting any changes in understanding that occurred as a result of instruction. The design of the instructional unit was guided by our understanding of the characteristics of effective interventions (Vaughn et al., 2000) and principles of teaching for understanding in the content areas (Morocco, 2001). Finally, we sought information about Ms. M’s instructional practices to determine how they might have impacted the thinking and reasoning of her students. We obtained quantitative evidence that was consistent with the conclusion that that the unit’s implementation was associated with gains in students’ knowledge about migration, historical reasoning, and their understanding of migration concepts. However, NA students showed greater gains in knowledge and historical reasoning than students with LD; comparable improvements were obtained for their understanding of historical concepts. Of course, these findings are only suggestive. The sample was extremely small, all of the participants were from the same classroom, and a comparison condition was not used to control from the myriad threats to internal validity associated with the use of a one group, pre-test-post-test only design. Qualitative analyses derived from field notes and observations of Ms. M’s classroom instruction provide an interpretative lens on the quantitative findings, and particularly for the greater gains enjoyed by NA students as compared to students with LD. These analyses revealed that Ms. M had a deep and abiding interest in the importance of perspective taking in
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historical interpretation and communicated with students in a very personal way about this issue. Moreover, Ms. M routinely described the lesson’s goals and she usually reviewed the previous lesson before embarking on new activities. However, there was little evidence that Ms. M explained how each lesson’s goals were linked with the unit’s ‘‘big ideas’’ and overall purposes. This pattern was most readily apparent in Ms. M’s presentation of the ‘‘ways of life’’ schema. Students were confused about the constituent concepts that comprise the schema, and they had difficulty applying it to a new instance of migration. Also, Ms. M missed opportunities to diagnose student’s misunderstandings because she tended to rely on group-assessments to evaluate students’ progress. Furthermore, she was unable to make accommodations for students with LD that would have enhanced the accessibility of target concepts and skills. Qualitative analyses also revealed that some students’ misconceptions could be partially explained by the characteristics of Ms. M’s instruction. For example, some students believed that historical evidence could be used to ‘‘prove’’ an historical interpretation. This view is clearly inconsistent with the goals of our lessons and may have arisen from the failure to correct this misunderstanding during instruction. Similarly, Ms. M’s did not deeply probe students’ erroneous conceptions of the ‘‘ways of life’’ scheme, and this may have contributed to partial and incorrect understandings of these ideas. However, Ms. M’s instruction is not solely responsible for students’ misconceptions. In our view, design features of our lessons inadvertently promoted some these misconceptions. For example, after instruction some students harbored the misconception that bias in historical interpretation arises from ‘‘not providing enough details’’ or from ‘‘lying.’’ Interestingly, both notions bear a family resemblance to the conception of bias that we tried to promote with our lessons. We hoped that students would understand that bias results from the failure to provide a ‘‘full and complete account’’ of an event, which in turn results from the failure to represent multiple perspectives about the matter. In a sense, the failure to provide a ‘‘full and complete’’ account arises from ‘‘not providing enough details,’’ but details of a special sort having to do with alternate perspectives. Similarly, ‘‘lying’’ is a special case in which the failure to provide a ‘‘full and complete’’ account arises from a purposeful misrepresentation. The latter misconception most assuredly arose from our lesson about the Donner Party, which described the catastrophe that befell these emigrants in the Sierra Nevada Mountains as a result of the purposeful distortions of Lansford Hastings. Clearly, the design features of our lessons were responsible for inducing some misconceptions.
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This paper focused on the challenges to Ms. M’s instruction, and to a much lesser extent on problems with our instructional design. Another equally long paper could have been written about the problems with our design, and this paper would have provided an alternate context for the interpretation of Ms. M’s instruction. However, both the paper we wrote and one that was not written seem to focus too narrowly on the problems with our lessons either as enacted or envisioned. In fact, students knew little about migration concepts or historical reasoning prior to instruction and evidenced real progress as result of their participation. We can take some solace in this fact, and remain hopeful that these students, who were like ‘‘ystony, derelict grounds barely able to support a few straggling weedsy’’ before participation now resemble ‘‘ycultivated but undisciplined garden in which a few splendid blossoms struggle to show through (Shemilt, 1980, p. 14).
ACKNOWLEDGMENT This research was supported by Grant No. H180E30043 and Grant No. H023V70008 from the United States Department of Education, Office of Special Education Programs, and by a Dwight D. Eisenhower Professional Development State Grant (No. 84.281B).
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SUBJECT INDEX Academic achievement or outcomes, 84, 90, 114 Academic competence, 112 Acceptance, 141 African American students, 78, 81–82, 128, 131 American Indian/Alaskan or Native American students, 79, 81, 156 Arithmetic, 200, 202, 208 Arithmetic problem solving, 36 Asian Pacific Islanders, 78 At-risk students, 72, 89 Attachment or Attachment theory, 114, 116–117, 130–131 Attentional deficits, 39 Behavior management, 243 Behavior problems, 127 Calculation, 199, 204, 208–217 Central executive system, 2, 26 Chemistry, 99, 101, 103, 105, 109, 232, 249, 251, 252, 254 Child-parent attachment relationships, 116–117 Civics, see social studies Cochlear implants, 34, 37, 41 Cognitive load theory, 66 Collaboration or collaborative relationships, 155, 158, 160, 167, 169, 172, 176, 179, 187, 188, 190, 192, 226–227, 230, 234, 240, 245, 254–255 Computers, 248
Construct, 111, 113, 115, 118–119, 123, 130, 132 Consultation, 161 Content area, 154, 169, 177, 179, 185–187, 225, 232, 234, 238, 255, 257 Co-planning, 235, 240 Co-teaching, 66, 91, 161, 167, 169, 180, 183, 185, 225–231, 233, 235, 237–239, 245, 247, 252–253, 255–257 Deaf children or students, 33, 35, 36, 38, 41, 43 Digit span, 3 Direct instruction, 60, 65 Dyscalculia, 199–200, 202, 210, 216–218 Effect size, 2, 9–10, 81, 88 Elaborative strategies, 104, 108 Elementary school, 232, 233 Emotional or behavioral disorders, 71, 72, 74, 78, 80 Ethnicity, 80 General education curriculum, 154 Gender, 79, 82 General and special education teachers, see Regular and special education teachers Graphic organizers, 48, 50, 58, 60, 63, 245
Head start, 73 Hearing aids, 41 Hearing impaired children, 40, 248 301
302 High incidence disabilities, 71–72, 81, 91 High school, 229, 232, 244, 248, 253 High stakes testing, 48, 225, 247–248, 253–255, 257 Hispanic students, 78, 81–82, 129 History, see social studies Illustrations, 48, 51, 63 Imagery, 50 Inclusion, 64, 101, 139, 142, 144–146, 148, 153, 156, 171, 232 Individualized Education Plans (IEPs), 153–155, 158–159, 165–166, 169, 177, 179, 181–183, 185–186, 189–192, 230 Intelligence Quotient (IQ) 9, 20, 21, 23, 212 Internal working model (IWM), 116–117 Integration, 140, 142 Language comprehension, 45 Language development, 34 Learning disabilities, 5–6, 8, 21, 48–50, 63, 65, 66, 71, 73–75, 80, 99, 101–12, 106–108, 154, 156–160, 166–167, 170, 172, 175–177, 181–184, 186–189, 191–192, 199–200, 238, 261, 268–270, 279–283, 295 Learning strategies, 63 Literacy development, 34 Long term memory, 25 Maps, 48, 57, 61, 63 Mathematical disabilities, 25 Mathematics achievement or learning, 35–37, 39, 41, 50, 53 Mental retardation, 39, 71, 73–74, 75, 77, 80, 102 Meta-analysis, 1–2 Middle school, 154, 155, 160, 166, 188, 193, 229, 232–233, 239, 244 Minority students, 77
SUBJECT INDEX Mnemonics, 51, 55, 57–58, 65 Motivation, 115, 118, 119 Motivational theory or framework, 114, 130 Native American students, see American Indian/Alaskan students Numerical Intelligence Program, 203, 205, 208, 210, 212, 214, 216 Numerical knowledge, 33, 35, 37, 39, 41, 205, 209 Parent-child attachment, 117 Parenting styles, 115 Peer tutoring, 99, 101, 103, 106, 109, 251–252 Peers, 79 Perceptual integration, 39 Phonemic knowledge, 34 Phonological awareness, 37, 44 Phonological loop, 2, 20, 26 Problem behaviors, 125 q-sort method or technique, 119–120 Reading comprehension, 34 Reading development, 34 Reading disabilities, 1–9, 11, 21–26, Referrals, 84, 85 Regular and special education teachers, 155, 159, 160, 162, 166, 169, 170, 228, 240, 271 Relatedness, 114 Risk factors, 76, 81 School adjustment, 111–112, 125–126 School attendance, 90 School integration, 139 Science see also chemistry, 232–234, 236, 239 Secondary level students, 99, 103, 109 Short term memory, 2–5 Social acceptance, 139–140, 146
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Subject Index Social competence, 112 Social interaction, 139–140, 143, 149 Social skills training, 132 Social studies, 153, 155–158, 160, 163, 172, 185, 188, 191, 193, 239, 261–265, 267–268, 271–273, 275–276, 279–281, 283–286, 288, 291, 295–296 Socio-cultural, 113 Socio-economic status, 77, 79, 82 Sociometric measures or techniques, 139–140, 142 Spatial abilities or learning, 47, 50, 57 Spatial instruction or strategies, 63–64, 65 Spatial organizers, see graphic organizers Special education placement, 71–72, 90, 91 Storage system, 2
Student-teacher relationship or child teacher relationship, 111, 116–119, 121, 122, 124, 126, 130 Study skills, 53 Systems-based theory, 73–74 Teacher-student relationship or teacher-child relationship, 111–114, 116, 118–119, 121, 123–124, 126–132 Teaching styles, 115 Textbooks, 100, 156–157, 236–237 Visual perception, 39 Vocabulary, 43 White students, 78 Working memory, 1–2, 4–12, 20, 22–26, 34 World history, 65, 232, 244–245, 247–248 Writing disabilities, 3 Writing, 42, 67
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