“It seems at least possible that friendships developed in inclusive settings will not be extremely deep or enduring when students are perceived as having very few skills, and when skill deficits often cause their peers to become caregivers. Under such conditions, the competency/deviance hypothesis would predict serious threats to the membership status and the social relationships of students with severe disabilities. As a possible example, Evans et al. (1992) observed that the assistance and physical affection provided by typically developing students declined by the second half of the school year. "Unfortunately," they noted, "so did other positive interaction categories" (p. 211). Alternatively, the students with disabilities might continue to be accepted as "members," or even be identified as friends, but their membership status could be reduced to the role of "mascot" because they are consistently perceived as aberrant (Cook & Semmel, 1999; Dentier & Erikson, 1959). Neither outcome is acceptable.” Billingsley and Albertson (1999)

_What kind of students do we want?
What do we mean when we say that we want students with disabilities to be "independent"?  And what is the relationship between this concept and that of "authenticity"?  In other words, to what extent - and in what ways - do we want students to "own" their disabilities, themselves? 
The public school building is a function of the community; we require the participation of the community in the education of students and in the lives of children. 

Special Education - as it stands now, is one of our society's lasting bastions of institutionalized racism.  However, it is also one of the mechanisms by which we can

This is a thought, not from my teaching practicum, which I began at one of the local high schools this week, but rather about an experience that I had last year while working as a teaching aide at one of the local middle schools.

Each spring, like every other public school in Illinois, we began preparing for the annual ISATs, or "Illinois Standards Achievement Test," the state standardized test implemented in order to fulfill the requirements imposed by No Child Left Behind. (NCLB)  Last year, the standards for students with learning disabilities changed, and they were then required to take the same test as students without disabilities, albeit with certain accommodations, such as having the test  read to the them (as long as it wasn't the reading section of the test), being able to take the test in a quiet location away from other students, having extra time to take the test, or being allowed to take more frequent breaks than the students without disabilities.  As an aide, it was my job to take students with learning disabilities out of the classroom one by one and read sections of the ISAT (math and science) to them.

Now, let me perfectly clear: We never gave the students answers.  I know that these issues with special education and standardized teaching have been in the papers lately - and with good reason, this is an issue that I believe needs to be treated with a critical mind - but that's not what I'm concerned with here.  Because, you see, the kids try to get us to tell them the answers.  Or not even give them the answers; they try to get us to give a hint, a clue, anything to maybe give them some idea about whether or not they've got the right answer.  I'm sure that you can picture it.

So on this one particular day I was working with a seventh-grader - let's call him Ishmael - in the library, reading the math section of the test.