Those of us with the power to use terms such as "deficit" "disorder" or "disability" often apply them with a lack of regard for how that labeling might affect the labeled individuals. Sometimes it feels like name calling. These words are loaded with negative connotations, and can be easily misinterpreted. As soon as we hear them, we focus on what the person can't do.

While labels do indeed help us determine what teaching or therapy strategies may be most helpful, they also perpetuate the myth that people who have been "diagnosed" are inferior, based on the absence of an ability.

As a special educator, I have had the opportunity to meet many unique individuals with more similarities than differences. However, most of the students I have worked with have been diagnosed with a variety of "disabilities." I say most of the students, because I have made a strong attempt over the years to help bridge the gap between special education and regular education. I have done so in a variety of ways and for several reasons.

When I started teaching, it was expected that students with significant special needs would be placed in segregated special education classrooms. I noted at that time that these students didn't have access to the same opportunities as the students who participated in the regular education classrooms. Their curriculum was watered down and did not provide exposure to the real world. Their school environment was isolating, and they had only each other as role models and peers.

I was particularly concerned that students placed in these self-contained classes were not expected to be successful academically, behaviorally or socially. Along with many other special educators in the early 1980's, I worked toward creating a more integrated model of education and pushed for all students to participate within the mainstream.

Vermont has taken the lead in the effort toward mainstreaming and has been cited for its exemplary innovations. I have had the good fortune to witness the positive changes that have occurred. As students began to be mainstreamed into a few classes, I also found myself moving out of my isolated classroom, working together with the rest of the staff. Teachers, administrators and special educators met regularly to talk about students' needs, abilities and differences.

Initially this was a very challenging process. Helping others see the benefits of having children in their schools and classes who were significantly different from the students they were accustomed to teaching was the biggest hurdle.

I'd like to believe that those of us involved in the early integration of students with significant learning differences were great at convincing others of the benefits of these changes. But this was not the case. While the adults were instrumental in making schools welcoming and supportive, the students themselves have been the greatest teachers. As more students began attending classes in local communities, significant changes began to take place in both their schools and their communities.

Vermont schools were already providing for learning disabled students in the form of small-group instruction taught by special education staff. The precedent had already been set for inclusion. We were now just expanding the concept of who would be included in our local schools. Over the years we have learned that inclusion is a complex process calling for a variety of solutions that include a blend of mainstreaming and individualized instruction. I believe that through exposure, experience and education, we have helped people become more accepting and tolerant of individual human differences.

Especially impressive is the rapidity with which or students have developed their sensitivities to others. I recall one middle school student, Steven, who had multitude of tics. He was diagnosed with Tourette Syndrome (TS) and written language and mathematical learning disabilities. Steven's ticking behaviors were frequent and included loud noises, throat clearing and head and eye movements. However, he was in total denial of the fact that he was different. He would not discuss with anyone that he manifested behaviors that there unusual and, interestingly he insisted that he did not have TS.

Each year, classroom teachers and special educators spoke with Steven's classmates, explaining TS, answering questions and helping to eliminate the concerns and fears of the other students. Steven never wanted to be included in these discussions. Although some teasing occurred, few incidents among students were noted by the teachers. Instead, whole classrooms of students learned to live with these noises and accepted Steven into the group, becoming oblivious to his difference. In the process of assimilating Steven, it became apparent that the adults were the ones doing the talking, and their talk tended to convey fear, annoyance and concern for themselves and their students.

Through discussion, experience and personal contact, the whole school became a more accepting environment where some loud, interrupting noises and unusual physical movements became acceptable. This was Steven, a child who ticked, not the student with TS.

One strategy I adopted to help bridge the gap between regular education and special education can be termed "reverse mainstreaming." I stopped teaching exclusively homogeneous classes and began teaching a few heterogeneous reading and writing classes. Thus, my classroom stopped being just a special education classroom, except in the sense that everyone there was special. Team teaching between special educators and regular educators has significantly changed the school environment, making it more like the world found in local malls, grocery stores and libraries -- an inclusive community represented by a complete spectrum of the human condition.

When schools and local communities include all of their members, all individuals have the opportunity to know and feel that they belong. When we segregate some individuals through the words we use, along with other exclusionary practices, we imply that some people are not good enough to be a part of the whole community. The language we use to describe individual differences to each other can have a lasting, humanizing effect on how we treat each other. A disability -- or difference -- is just one part of who a person is. It's not the person's identify. A person with a disability is not a disabled person.

Reprinted from The Brown University Child and Adolescent Behavior Letter, volume 14, number 2. (February, 1998)

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