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Children’s Racial Categorization in Context

Kristin Pauker,
1
Amanda Williams,

2
and Jennifer R. Steele

1
University of Hawaii,

2
Sheffield Hallam University, and

3
York University

ABSTRACT—The ability to discriminate visually based on

race emerges early in infancy: 3-month-olds can percep-

tually differentiate and 6-month-olds can perceptually

categorize faces by race. Between ages 6 and 8 years,

children can sort others into racial groups. But to what

extent are these abilities influenced by context? In this

article, we review studies on children’s racial categoriza-

tion and discuss how our conclusions are affected by how

we ask the questions (i.e., our methods and stimuli),

where we ask them (i.e., the diversity of the child’s sur-

rounding environment), and whom we ask (i.e., the diver-

sity of the children we study). Taken together, we suggest

that despite a developmental readiness to categorize

others by race, the use of race as a psychologically salient

basis for categorization is far from inevitable and is

shaped largely by the experimental setting and the greater

cultural context.

KEYWORDS—racial categorization; racial stereotyping and

prejudice; social development

Racial prejudice is one of the most pressing social issues of our

time. Social and developmental psychologists have sought to

understand more deeply when racial biases emerge in child-

hood. Despite the foundational role of racial categorization in

stereotyping and prejudice, research with children has focused

almost exclusively on the downstream consequences of racial

categorization rather than the process of racial categorization

itself. In this article, we review what is known about racial cate-

gorization from infancy into late childhood, with a focus on

recent research. In addition, we argue that researchers need to

devote greater attention to the experimental setting and the lar-

ger cultural context to advance our theoretical and practical

understanding of the development of racial categorization.

WHEN CAN CHILDREN CATEGORIZE BY RACE?

The answer to this question depends largely on how categoriza-

tion is defined. For example, does noticing differences between

racial groups, sorting targets with similar skin color together,

identifying physical features as typical of group members, or

labeling members of different racial groups provide sufficient

evidence of racial categorization? In this article, we define racial

categorization as the tendency for race to be perceived as a psy-

chologically salient and meaningful basis for grouping others.

This definition builds on the developmental intergroup theory

(DIT; 1), in which four main factors contribute to the psychologi-

cal salience of social categories: (a) perceptual salience (i.e.,

whether categories are marked by discriminable visual features),

(b) proportional group size (i.e., proportionally smaller groups, or

minorities, tend to be more distinct), (c) explicit labeling by

adults (e.g., “the Black child”), which suggests the dimension

merits attention and provides a category label, and (d) implicit

use in the environment (e.g., through racial segregation of neigh-

borhoods), which may lead children to independently construct

explanations regarding the importance of shared attributes (1).

Measuring racial categorization involves administering tasks that

map onto these factors, and exploring how and when children

consistently and spontaneously use the category to organize

information and direct behavior. This definition of racial catego-

rization highlights not only how many inputs (both perceptual

and conceptual) integrate to inform children’s categorizations,

but also how context directs whether race is salient psychologi-

cally and thus used habitually in a psychologically meaningful

way. Although outside the scope of this article, one important

conceptual input into children’s categorizations is their intuitive

theories, including beliefs that social categories are natural

Kristin Pauker, University of Hawaii; Amanda Williams, Sheffield
Hallam University; Jennifer R. Steele, York University.

This work was supported by a grant from the Eunice Kennedy
Shriver National Institute of Child Health and Human Development
(R00-HD065741) to Kristin Pauker.

Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to
Kristin Pauker, Department of Psychology, University of Hawaii,
2530 Dole St., Sakamaki C400, Honolulu, HI 96822;
e-mail: kpauker@hawaii.edu.

DOI: 10.1111/cdep.12155

Volume 10, Number 1, 2016, Pages 33–38

CHILD DEVELOPMENT PERSPECTIVES

kinds (2). Yet even these intuitive theories may be shaped by

cultural context (2–4). Although some factors contributing to the
psychological salience of race can emerge quite early in infancy

(e.g., perceptual discrimination) and other components depend

more on linguistic skills that develop later in childhood (e.g.,

labeling by race), all are influenced by both the immediate

(experimental) and broader (cultural) context.

Infants

Although infants are not attuned to racial differences at birth

(5), their ability to differentiate perceptually based on race

develops early in homogeneous cultural contexts. By 3 months,

White, Black, and Asian infants from countries where their race

is the majority (i.e., White infants in the United Kingdom, Black

infants in Ethiopia, and Asian infants in China) look longer at

same-race faces than at other-race faces (5–7). However, despite
this visual preference for same-race faces, young infants do not

show impaired recognition of other-race faces that is typically

seen in adults (8). Instead, at 3 months, White and Asian

infants from countries where their race is the majority can rec-

ognize different faces of their race as well as different faces of

other races (9, 10). These infants demonstrate a decreasing abil-

ity to differentiate other-race faces across many out-groups

between 3 and 9 months, and by 9 months, they recognize

same-race faces but have difficulty recognizing other-race faces

(9, 10), similar to the impaired ability to recognize other-race

faces seen in adults (8).

Thus, while 3-month-olds raised in homogenous cultural con-

texts show sensitivity to distinctions between racial groups, they

can still individuate faces within racial groups. However, the

ability to individuate within racial groups apparently changes

with development and environmental input—and children
become tuned to the faces they encounter most frequently as

they age. Consistent with the strong connection in adults

between categorical processing of race and impaired recognition

of other-race faces (8), this perceptual tuning also apparently

coincides with infants’ ability to categorize faces by race (11).

Infants can perceptually categorize some faces by race at

6 months (12): Specifically, in one study, when White 6-month-

olds with limited exposure to other-race faces were familiarized

with many Black or Asian faces (i.e., faces belonging to a single

racial category), they distinguished between a new face from

the familiarized racial category compared to a new face from a

novel racial category (i.e., Asian or Black, respectively; 12).

This design tests whether infants categorized a new face from

the familiarized category as part of the same category and a face

from the novel racial category as part of a different category.

However, at 9 months, White infants no longer distinguished

between many other-race categories, instead forming a broader

distinction between same-race (White = in-group) and other-
race faces grouped together (Asian and Black = out-group; 12).
In all the studies with infants we have reviewed, stimuli

consisted of color photographs of faces that used both facial

features and skin tone as visual markers of race. Thus, we can-

not determine whether infants use one or both of these visual

cues to process same- and other-race faces. However, in some

studies (13), the ability to differentiate same- and other-race

faces was not necessarily based solely on low-level perceptual

cues such as skin color. When presented with computer-gener-

ated faces that depicted prototypical physiognomy and skin

tone (i.e., Eurocentric facial features with White skin tone and

Afrocentric features with Black skin tone) or faces that isolated

these aspects (e.g., Eurocentric features with Black skin tone

and Afrocentric features with White skin tone), the neural

responses of White majority 9-month-olds in the United States

did not differ when viewing prototypical White faces in com-

parison to faces that isolated Black features (i.e., skin tone or

face shape), but did differ in comparison to prototypical Black

faces (13). Thus, infants may rely on both facial shape associ-

ated with a racial group and skin tone to distinguish same-

from other-race faces.

Do these examples reflect individuals’ ability to perceptually

differentiate racial categories or merely to differentiate what is

familiar and what is not? As studies often involve comparing

familiar and unfamiliar race faces, this effectively assesses

whether children can separate their familiar group from a per-

ceptually distinct group (11). To build on this work, researchers

should present many groups of unfamiliar other-race faces to

further examine infants’ ability to perceptually differentiate and

categorize faces based on race (cf. 12).

Although it is unclear whether infants’ abilities to categorize

by race reflect more than perceptual differentiation, the central

role of cultural context in these effects deserves emphasis.

Because biases in visual attention are not present at birth (5),

limited exposure to other-race faces may lead to the perceptual

narrowing favoring same-race faces. Indeed, in one study, White

and Black 3-month-olds in Israel who are exposed frequently to

faces from both these racial groups did not look preferentially

toward faces of a same-race relative to other-race faces (6). Even

minimal exposure to other-race faces in infancy facilitates the

ability to recognize other-race faces (14–16). Thus, from a very
young age, infants display sensitivity to race that is driven by

cultural context, such as the faces they are exposed to in their

environment.

Toddlers

Recent studies raise questions about the extent to which young

toddlers readily use perceptual cues to categorize new racial

group exemplars, even if they appear to do so as 6-month-olds.

In one study (17), 19-month-old Jewish Israeli toddlers failed to

match new exemplars to a category of exemplars they had just

been familiarized with, including those high in perceptual (e.g.,

gender, race, shirt color) and cultural (e.g., ethnicity) salience,

unless the category exemplars were paired with a novel category

label (e.g., “Look, a Tiroli”) during familiarization. In contrast,

26-month-olds matched new race and gender exemplars with

Child Development Perspectives, Volume 10, Number 1, 2016, Pages 33–38

34 Kristin Pauker, Amanda Williams, and Jennifer R. Steele

the expected category (i.e., selecting a Black target after being

familiarized with color photographs of Black people), regardless

of whether category exemplars were paired with a novel category

label. Thus, younger toddlers’ representation of racial categories

apparently relies on cultural input (e.g., category labels) rather

than emerging solely based on visual cues.

Does being able to perceptually differentiate racial categories

correspond with viewing race as a meaningful, psychologically

salient category that guides behavior (1)? Early in development

it does not, because in infancy, looking preferences are unre-

lated to social behavior. At 10 months, when infants in homoge-

nous cultural contexts robustly recognize same-race compared to

other-race faces, White American infants do not prefer toys

offered by video-recorded White women over those offered by

video-recorded Black women (18). Even older toddlers fail to

demonstrate race-based differences in behavior: White Ameri-

can 2- to 3-year-olds are equally likely to give toys to White or

Black women depicted in color photographs (18). Furthermore,

when the experimental context places social categories in com-

petition, children may prioritize categories other than race and

these may predict behavior (19). When presented simultane-

ously with color photographs of children or adults that vary

systematically by gender and race, White American 3- to 4-

year-olds’ friendship selections, inferences about shared prefer-

ences, allocation and acceptance of toys, and preference for

novel activities and objects are determined more by gender than

race (20, 21).

Children

Children may perceptually differentiate racial group members

based on similar features. But when provided with category

labels, by ages 3 or 4, White Canadian children can identify

the racial group membership of targets depicted in color pho-

tographs (in accordance with adult judgments; 22), and by

ages 6–8, both Black and White children can consistently
classify others by race (23). However, in studies of target

groups other than Blacks and Whites, race is not as psycho-

logically salient. For example, when asked to sort color pho-

tographs of children by racial label (White, Black, Asian),

only a slim majority (60%) of White, Black, and Asian 3- to

5-year-olds from multiracial schools in the United Kingdom

used the terms in a manner consistent with adult categoriza-

tions (24). Additionally, when studies included a wider range

of stimuli, such as computer-generated faces that varied in

their prototypicality (in both skin tone and physiognomy), pre-

dominantly White American 4- to 9-year-olds relied more on

skin color than physiognomy when categorizing by race (25;

see also 26). Children did not use facial features as category-

diagnostic information in the same way as adults do, suggest-

ing that children may not have an adult-like conceptualization

of race. These results raise the possibility that past findings

may depend primarily on children’s directed attention to cate-

gory labels and skin color.

LOOKING FORWARD: BRINGING CONTEXT

INTO FOCUS

Although we know much about when children can categorize by

race, we do not know a great deal about when they do so sponta-

neously and what factors affect these categorizations. Further-

more, how much of our conclusion—that race is perceptually
discernible by 3 months and explicitly identifiable around

6 years—is based on the stability or homogeneity of the tasks,
groups, or environments in studies? In other words, are the con-

clusions about the development of racial categorization biased

by the experimental and cultural contexts in which researchers

have asked these questions? We believe they may be.

As an illustration, we used an open-ended measure to capture

how 8- to 12-year-olds in the continental United States and

Hawaii categorized prototypical White and Black target chil-

dren, depicted in color photographs, by race (27). While White,

Asian, and Latino monoracial and multiracial children in the

continental United States typically listed one racial label per

target, consistent with adult categorizations (e.g., they labeled

the Black target as African American), in Hawaii, White, Asian,

and Black monoracial and multiracial children tended to per-

ceive the monoracial targets as multiracial or belonging to many

groups. Both White and Black targets were described on average

by 3–4 racial/ethnic labels (e.g., labeling the Black target as
Black, Chinese, and Native Hawaiian). Perhaps because of their

experience with a large multiracial population (23% of Hawaii

residents identify as multiracial), children growing up in Hawaii

may default to a multiracial prototype and be less likely to rely

on perceptual cues to categorize racially because they are less

predictive in this environment. This example illustrates how

expanding our methods (e.g., moving beyond forced choice or

labels provided by the experimenter) and highlighting where

research is conducted (e.g., a heterogeneous, highly multiracial

environment) can provide new insights into racial categorization.

Although such less structured tasks are not without limits (e.g.,

reliance on children’s verbal abilities, difficulties in scoring

responses), results from these measures can clarify how we

interpret responses on more structured tasks that assess chil-

dren’s racial categorization and ensuing attitudes. Researchers

should look carefully at how experimental and cultural contexts

affect our understanding of racial categorization across develop-

ment. Specifically, we need to consider how we ask the ques-

tions (i.e., our methods and stimuli), where we ask them (i.e.,

the diversity of the child’s surrounding environment), and whom

we ask (i.e., the diversity of the groups we study).

Methods and Stimuli

Many of the tasks used to examine racial categorization inadver-

tently increase the salience of race in the experiment by, for

example, explicitly using racial labels, using racially prototypi-

cal targets, or making comparisons that differ only by race and

not by other competing social categories (e.g., gender, age). In

Child Development Perspectives, Volume 10, Number 1, 2016, Pages 33–38

Racial Categorization in Context 35

open-ended spontaneous description tasks (e.g., a child sees a

target and is prompted, “Tell me about this person; what do you

see?”), White, Black, and Asian preschool and elementary

school children in monoracial and multiracial cultures mention

race rarely (24, 28, 29). However, when children are asked to

sort photos that vary by dimensions (e.g., race, gender, facial

expression, age, clothing) into piles that “go together,” children’s

use of race as a spontaneous sorting dimension increases with

age (24, 30), becoming more reliable around 6 years (30). How

racial categorization is assessed can therefore lead to differing

conclusions about the extent to which children spontaneously

categorize others by race.

Attending to whether the experimental context makes race

psychologically salient does not inherently value unstructured

over structured tasks. Rather, it should help us expand our

repertoire of experimental tasks, interpret more effectively

results that vary across experimental context, and provide fur-

ther insight into the conditions under which others will be spon-

taneously or deliberately categorized by race. For example,

attention to experimental context may affect the interpretation of

valuable, highly structured measures, such as those that assess

children’s implicit racial biases. In tasks where targets are cate-

gorized by race (i.e., the Implicit Association Test), White

American participants display an implicit pro-White (relative to

Black) bias at 6 years that remains stable into adulthood (31).

But measures that do not require overt racial categorization (i.e.,

the Affective Priming Task) yield a different developmental tra-

jectory: Among White German 9- to 15-year-olds, implicit bias

(in the form of out-group negativity) emerged only in early ado-

lescence (32; see also 33). Thus, even among implicit measures,

racial salience in the experimental context may affect research-

ers’ conclusions. Experimental contexts that increase the sal-

ience of racial categories may overestimate the extent to which

children use race spontaneously when perceiving other people.

Similarly, the focus on prototypical exemplars of various racial

groups may artificially heighten children’s attention to race. Not

only does this drastically oversimplify the task children face

when they meet a new person, but also the representation of

stimuli in most experiments reduces within-race variation and

underestimates the dynamic nature of how we perceive other

people (34). We must broaden the range of stimuli used to

include racially ambiguous and multiracial targets to deepen

our understanding of the categorization process (35–37). Similar
to adults, primarily majority (i.e., White American) children are

flexible in how they categorize racially ambiguous faces, inte-

grating both visual and top-down category cues (38), or using

their intuitive understanding of race as distinct and immutable

(i.e., essentialist reasoning) to guide how they process and

remember racially ambiguous faces (39). Examining racially

ambiguous and multiracial targets can facilitate our understand-

ing of how conceptual knowledge may bias the category judg-

ments of perceptually identical stimuli. Researchers should also

examine the extent to which different social categories (e.g., race

and gender) intersect to inform perception and social categoriza-

tion (40). Finally, studies have begun to rely on more implicit

measures of spontaneous categorization (33, 41, 42), which is an

important area to develop.

Diversity of Cultural Contexts and Populations

As a whole, most research on racial categorization has been con-

ducted in relatively homogenous cultural contexts (often in the

United States), primarily with White children. Although we have

cited research from several countries (e.g., Canada, China,

Ethiopia, Israel, the United Kingdom, the United States),

researchers must examine both racially homogeneous and

heterogeneous cultural contexts and groups. We need to include

more racial-minority children in this work, including multiracial

children who have been almost entirely excluded (cf. 4, 43). In

studies that explicitly examined more heterogeneous cultural

contexts, where children have exposure to people from a variety

of racial groups, diversity can allow children to maintain greater

flexibility in components of racial categorization. For example,

in one study, infants with intensive cross-race experience did

not look preferentially toward same-race faces (6), and in

another study, older children in a more diverse city were less

likely than children in a rural community to view race as a natu-

ral kind (44). In addition, even within the same cultural context,

children from a minority group (e.g., Black) may categorize

others by race more readily (24, 45), and integrate perceptual

and conceptual knowledge about race earlier to inform category

judgments (36).

CONCLUSION

In this article, we reviewed studies on racial categorization in

childhood and put their findings in context by highlighting that

how, where, and to whom we ask our research questions can

influence our conclusions. While race is perceptually discrim-

inable early in infancy and used spontaneously by children as

young as 6 years to sort others, racial categorization depends on

the immediate (experimental) and broader (cultural) context. To

deepen our knowledge of the conditions under which children

consistently and spontaneously categorize others by race, we

must deepen our understanding of how context can influence

the cues that children attend to when categorizing others.

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CHILD DEVELOPMENT PERSPECTIVES

Building Literacy Instruction From Children’s
Sociocultural Worlds

Victoria Purcell-Gates,1 Gigliana Melzi,2 Behnosh Najafi,3

and Marjorie Faulstich Orellana
4

1
University of British Columbia,

2
New York University,

3
Society for Research in Child Development

Fellow (2006–2008) and Office of Planning, Research and Evaluation ⁄ ACF ⁄ DHHS, and 4University
of California

ABSTRACT—This article demonstrates that children’s lan-

guage and literacy development shares an inextricable

relationship with their social and cultural worlds. Cultural

factors always shape the ways different communities

engage in reading and writing. Young English language

learners bring culturally shaped beliefs and experiences

regarding reading and writing to school, where they are

taught important beginning literacy skills and practices

that may not fit with their previous experiences. This arti-

cle calls for carefully designed research that explores

promising curricular modifications that may increase the

early literacy abilities of children from cultural and lin-

guistic backgrounds different from mainstream educa-

tional

environments.

KEYWORDS—young multilingual learners; young multi-

cultural learners; culturally responsive early literacy

instruction

Literacy involves the ability to read, write, and engage with text

in ways that mediate cultural lives. Unfortunately, literacy

research and practice often fail to consider the cultural aspects

of how and why people in different cultural and linguistic com-

munities engage with written texts, including social interactions

around such practices. In this article, we draw from research

across multiple disciplines to demonstrate the central argument

Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to
Victoria Purcell-Gates, Department of Language and Literacy, Fac-
ulty of Education, University of British Columbia, 2125 Main Mall,
304 B Scarfe Hall, Vancouver, BC, Canada V6T 1Z4; e-mail:
vpg@interchange.ubc.ca.

ª 2011 The Authors
Child Development Perspectives ª 2011 The Society for Research in Child Development

Volume 5, Number

that language and literacy practices are profoundly sociocultural

in nature. In addition, we present research suggesting that young

children begin their formal education as skilled participants in

dynamic language and literacy practices embedded in their

homes and cultural communities. We introduce preliminary evi-

dence suggesting the effectiveness of early instruction that

bridges the language and literacy skills young children bring

from home with those they are taught in formal early child care

environments.

In writing about cultural aspects of children’s learning, we do

not espouse an essentialized view of culture that leads to state-

ments, such as ‘‘Mexicans do X’’ or ‘‘Koreans do Y.’’ Nor do we

treat culture as ‘‘traits’’ of individuals. By culture, we mean pat-

terned ways of organizing everyday life (Pollock, 2008). The

patterns are dynamic and inherent in the practices of communi-

ties, shifting over time in response to changing conditions. As

children grow, their cultural resources expand as they encounter

different ways of being, doing, thinking, and acting—including

different ways of reading and writing. As we will argue, building

on existing cultural ways with words and print can greatly assist

children’s acquisition of new literacy behaviors and skills.

LANGUAGE AND LITERACY AS SOCIOCULTURAL

PRACTICE

Researchers have studied children’s routine participation in the

everyday contexts of their lives, including families, churches,

and schools (see Duff & Hornberger, 2008, for a review). They

have documented rich and varied language and literacy tradi-

tions that all children participate in, including children from lin-

guistic and cultural minorities who are often thought of as

deficient in language and literacy experiences. The research

shows that the language with which children are socialized to

become competent members of their community and competent

1, Pages 22–27

Building Literacy Instruction 23

users of their particular language is imbued with cultural

markers—general beliefs, values, and norms, as well as specific

beliefs and practices related to children’s development.

Ochs and Schieffelin (1982, 1984) provide an early account of

variation in the ways different communities view their children’s

participation in everyday conversations. These views are interwo-

ven with distinct ways of socialization and communicative prac-

tices. For example, in the Kaluli and Samoan communities,

children were expected to adjust to the social situations around

them (i.e., situation-centered approach). Parents oriented their

children outward to pay attention to other people and events hap-

pening around them, ‘‘positioning them as observers and

overhearers of recurrent social activities’’ (Ochs & Schieffelin,

2008, p. 5) and directly asking them to repeat the language

around them.

In other communities, social situations and conversational

practices are modified to the needs of the child (i.e., child-cen-

tered approach). Parents are likely to engage in conversations

with their children, adjusting the form and content of their lan-

guage to match children’s linguistic abilities (i.e., simplified

linguistic register). Ochs and Schieffelin’s (1982, 1984) findings,

however, challenged the popular notion that engaging infants in

conversations, especially in a simplified manner (i.e., child-direc-

ted speech), fostered children’s language development. They

demonstrated that engaging young children in such a manner was

not a necessary and universal condition for children’s proper lin-

guistic development; rather, it was a cultural practice. In sum, this

work, along with other studies, suggests that all language sociali-

zation practices yield the same results: Children become compe-

tent speakers of their languages in their respective

communities.

Subsequent research has documented situation-centered

approaches to language socialization and development across

various cultural communities in the United States, such as West

Coast Mexican Americans (Eisenberg, 1985, 1986; Schieffelin &

Eisenberg, 1984; Valdés, 1996), New York Puerto Ricans

(Zentella, 1997), and East Coast Central American immigrants

(Melzi, 2000). These studies revealed that the children devel-

oped within rich linguistic environments, usually involving mul-

tiparty conversations. ‘‘Adults speak and act as they normally do,

and children must observe carefully in order to catch on and

catch up’’ (Zentella, 1997, p. 230). In one study, Mexican Ameri-

can mothers often introduced infants to conversations with dile

(tell him or her) and, as the infants were yet unable to produce

speech, the mother completed the turn (Eisenberg, 1986). As

children grew older, mothers’ participation in the conversation

decreased until they assumed a secondary role in their children’s

conversations (Eisenberg, 1985; Melzi, 2000).

Of course, patterns of child socialization and language prac-

tices are dynamic and change over time (Chavajay & Rogoff,

2002; Crago, Annahatak, & Ningiuruvik, 1993; Pels & de Haan,

2003, 2006) For example, in Moroccan society, there has tradi-

tionally been no separate sphere of childhood; children learn at

an early stage to assume adult responsibilities. By comparison,

Child Development Perspectives, V

Moroccan immigrant families in the Netherlands engage in more

child-focused activities, reflecting the shift in cultural contexts.

In addition, the tremendous importance tied to respect for

authority figures (including older siblings) that often manifests in

traditional Moroccan communicative norms (e.g., children wait-

ing to speak until their elders speak to them, children listening

and not interrupting authority figures) may sometimes give way

to forms of parent–child communication in which children are

seen more as equal communicative partners (Pels & de Haan,

2003).

Literacy engagement also reflects cultural variation (e.g.,

Britto, Brooks-Gunn, & Griffin, 2006; Miller, 1982; Reese &

Gallimore, 2000). Heath’s (1983) groundbreaking ethnographic

work across three racially and socioeconomically diverse com-

munities in North Carolina grounded our understanding of the

variation that exists in the use of literacy and how this use inter-

sects with the cultural expectations inherent in school practices.

Her results described how the values, expectations, and

practices surrounding literacy were different across the three

communities. In the White middle-class community (Maintown),

children were consumers and producers of print early on, being

read to and creating their own stories to share. In the White

working-class community (Roadville), children were immersed

in print from the time they were born through decorations,

games, and storybook reading for very practical and didactic pur-

poses. In the Black working-class community (Trackton), chil-

dren were not read to and were exposed to print only when the

situation called for it and print was available in the context (e.g.,

reading labels). However, language use in Trackton was more

holistic and dynamic (e.g., playful use of language in sophisti-

cated manners, such as creating analogies) than that of Road-

ville. Heath argued that Trackton children did not lack literacy

exposure; rather, the practices they encountered led to the devel-

opment of skills different from those expected to prepare them

for school success.

Subsequent research in other communities corroborates

Heath’s (1983) findings that shared family practices around print

materials will reflect different assumptions about the purposes of

literacy and of appropriate social interactions around it. For

example, in many middle-class European-heritage families, book

reading is a daily, structured routine for parents and children.

Parents ask questions that encourage children to participate in

the coconstruction of the story, to focus on the print, and to move

beyond the information presented in the book (Fletcher & Reese,

2005). In contrast, middle-class Peruvian mothers, who also

value reading with their children, prefer to be the sole narrator,

discouraging child participation (Melzi & Caspe, 2005). As the

expert story readers, they expect their children to learn to be

attentive and to learn through active listening (see also Fung,

Miller, & Lin, 2004) and to not interrupt the reader. Similar

book-reading routines exist among Mexican and Dominican

immigrant mothers living in New York City (Caspe, 2007).

Finally, in some communities, adult sharing of picture books

olume 5, Number 1, Pages 22–27

24 Victoria Purcell-Gates et al.

with children may not be a regular routine (Barrueco, López, &

Miles, 2007), but older children might read to younger siblings

as part of their work as family translators (Orellana, Reynolds,

Dorner, & Meza, 2003). In this way, they combine the cultural

norm emphasizing sibling caretaking with the cultural value their

new society places on storybook reading, and they provide expo-

sure to English print that might not always be accessible to their

predominantly Spanish-speaking parents (Reynolds & Orellana,

2008). The work of family translating—performed by even very

young bilingual children for their immigrant parents—also

exposes children to a wide variety of literacy practices and texts

(Orellana, 2001; Orellana et al., 2003).

In sum, whatever children learn about print before they begin

formal instruction is shaped by the literacy traditions in their

community (Purcell-Gates, 1989, 2000) as well as by the

demands of their daily lives. As children engage in reading and

writing routines, they begin to learn concepts about print and the

nature of the print-speech mapping that is used for written texts

(Purcell-Gates, 1989). Children take this knowledge with them

when they begin formal instruction in early education settings.

Unfortunately, we have yet to acknowledge and incorporate these

basic findings from the research literature into mainstream think-

ing and educational practices. Instead, absence of parent–child

book sharing is often interpreted as evidence of a low-literacy

home. The child is then often labeled as at risk for reading prob-

lems, despite the rich language and literacy traditions of families

where book reading may not be commonplace (Baquedano-López

& Kattan, 2008) or accomplished in nontraditional ways.

BRIDGING HOME AND SCHOOL LITERACY PRACTICES

Although researchers have been interested in home–school con-

nections with regard to literacy practices for some time, there

have been few systematic research studies on specific ways to

bridge home and formal literacy instruction for nonmainstream

groups. Responding to this gap, researchers have begun to

explore educational interventions (Hull & Schultz, 2002; Purcell-

Gates Degener, Jacobson, & Soler, 2002; Purcell-Gates, Duke, &

Martineau, 2007) and to call for more researches to determine the

impact of these interventions (Duke & Purcell-Gates, 2003; Pur-

cell-Gates, Jacobson, & Degener, 2004). Some approaches call

for ‘‘matching’’ home and school practices (e.g., Au, 1980). Others

argue for identifying points of leverage—ways in which school lit-

eracy can build on the literacy skills and knowledge that children

acquire from everyday interactions (Anderson, Purcell-Gates,

Gagne, & Jang, 2009; Lee, 1993). The ‘‘cultural modeling’’ tradi-

tion (Lee, 1995, 1997, 2000, 2007; Martı́nez, Orellana, Pacheco,

& Carbone, 2008; Orellana & Reynolds, 2008) has been deployed

with older students, but holds promise for young learners as well.

The basic premise involves the recruiting of cultural practices as

strengths, building from language and literacy used in the daily

lives of children to bridge their understanding of oral and

written conventions taught in formal educational environments.

Child Development Perspectives, V

Reflecting the theoretical underpinning that culture is

dynamic and that individuals can engage in multiple communities

of practice, we cannot determine literacy skills from children’s

ethnic or cultural category. Our understanding of children’s

literacy development must derive from a systematic attempt to

uncover the multiple and diverse language and literacy practices

familiar to individual children. For example, we can glean infor-

mation regarding children’s early literacy practices by asking

them who reads and writes what, as well as why they do so both

in their homes and community lives; sending questionnaires

home to the parents; conducting literacy practice focus groups of

parents; and visiting children’s homes. This approach acknowl-

edges the diversity of literacy practices that exists across

children within a given classroom or early child care program.

Approaches to instruction that connect informal skills to main-

stream lessons in early childhood settings may be especially

relevant for young children from homes where languages other

than English are spoken (Moll, Amanti, Neff, & González, 1992).

These young children develop in contexts that can include lan-

guage and literacy conventions that differ from those in early

education settings, including different types of texts, orthogra-

phies, and purposes for reading and writing, as well as values

and beliefs regarding appropriate literacy practices in the home

and in school (Chatman, 1990; McCabe, Bailey, & Melzi, 2008).

To ground the reader’s understanding of how this type of instruc-

tion might occur in an early childhood setting, we present an

example from Purcell-Gates (2005) in which children’s familiar-

ity with sending greeting cards serves as a context for learning

how to read and write.

On the basis of her ethnographic work with a migrant commu-

nity in the United States, Purcell-Gates (2005) noted the literacy

practices of migrant farm workers and the experiences of their

children attending a Migrant and Seasonal Head Start program.

Results indicated that the farm workers engaged in more than

151 different types of literacy activities, but most did not read

storybooks to their children. One of the most common literacy

practices involved the sending and receiving of greeting cards

to celebrate important events (such as birthdays, graduations,

and weddings), reflecting the strong ties of family in these

communities.

On one occasion in the Head Start classroom during an arts

and crafts activity, the children were making birthday cards for a

teaching aide in the program. Each child received a folded

‘‘card’’ made of construction paper and their activity was to color

it and paste stars, stickers, and ⁄ or glitter onto it. The teacher
would then write ‘‘Happy Birthday…’’ on the inside and the chil-

dren then were to ‘‘sign’’ their name in any way they could.

Whereas storybook routines in the classroom were seen as foster-

ing early literacy, this card-making event was supposed to be an

art activity and not a literacy activity. Acting as a teaching aide,

Purcell-Gates coached the young children to write names and

other texts on their individual birthday cards. The children’s

behaviors during the birthday card activity were in stark contrast

olume 5, Number 1, Pages 22–27

Building Literacy Instruction 25

to those they exhibited during storybook reading time, during

which they were largely inattentive or engaged in avoidance

activities. The children’s enthusiasm and joy in doing the birth-

day cards prompted the Head Start instructors to discuss with

Purcell-Gates how they might ‘‘teach’’ literacy skills in the con-

text of familiar literacy activities of the children.

However, the question still remains whether approaches that

ground literacy instruction in home- and community-based prac-

tices are more effective than traditional pedagogies. Although

there is a dearth of research studies that examine this question

(see August & Shanahan, 2006), findings from existing studies are

promising. For instance, the Literacy for Life Program (Anderson

et al., 2009) in British Columbia incorporated real-life literacy

activities into an intergenerational literacy program. The focus of

the program was to engage participants in reading and writing

real-life texts for real-life purposes to increase the English literacy

of the parents and the emergent English-literacy knowledge of

their preschool-aged children. The participants came from two

different program sites, one attended by African and Middle East-

ern refugees and the other by Asian immigrants. Participants

had low or no levels of English language skills and virtually no

English-literacy skills, as determined by norm-referenced assess-

ments of English language oral and written achievement. The

adults in the program learned English language and literacy skills

through activities, such as reading receipts to return merchandise,

completing health forms to prepare for doctor visits, and reading

school reports to learn how their children were progressing in

Canadian schools. The preschool children participated in devel-

opmentally appropriate activities while their teacher explicitly

focused them on the print that mediated the activities. For exam-

ple, they made play-dough with the teacher as she followed a rec-

ipe out loud; the teacher’s lesson focused on pointing out the print

in the recipe and explaining how recipes help people make things.

Results of pre- and posttest analysis showed statistically signifi-

cant growth as compared to the norm sample on various measures

of adult literacy (such as vocabulary, comprehension, and spell-

ing) and of children’s emergent literacy (including concepts of

print, letter name knowledge, vocabulary, and ‘‘meaning’’).

Further analysis showed that those who experienced more real-life

literacy activities in their classes had higher growth scores.

Findings from Purcell-Gates et al. (2007) suggest that real-

life literacy reading and writing in the classroom facilitate liter-

acy learning in the primary grades. Using an experimental

design, the study was to investigate the impact of explicit

instruction of two science written genre features with 420

second- and third-grade students on comprehension and compo-

sition of the

genres.

Both the experimental and control groups

incorporated real-life literacy activity into the science instruc-

tion. There were no significant experimental results. However,

the researchers did find significant relationships between expe-

rience with real-life reading and writing of science genres

and growth in reading comprehension and composition of the

genres.
Child Development Perspectives, V

The few evaluation studies that we have included here make

evident the need for additional research that examines the

impact of instruction that builds from the informal language and

literacy knowledge and skills of young children. We call for ran-

domized field trials, engaging immigrant and native-born

preschool and primary-grade English language learners that rep-

licate the Anderson et al. (2009) study for the experimental

groups (inclusion of literacy activities familiar to the children

from different cultural groups) for preschool and primary grade

children. These studies must examine the hypothesis that early

literacy skills, such as sound–symbol relationships, spelling, and

comprehension are enhanced by engagement in real-life literacy

activities as compared to instruction that does not include these

activities. The proposed research should include qualitative data

to provide a richer picture of how children from different lan-

guage and cultural groups take up specific educational interven-

tions. This type of research agenda should lead to promising

approaches for better meeting the literacy development needs of

young English language learners. Teacher preparation for such

instruction must include ways to learn the literacy practices of

their students’ communities.

In conclusion, young children’s language and literacy develop-

ment occurs as they participate in the routine ongoing practices

of their daily lives. Children take this knowledge with them when

they begin formal instruction. Starting from these rich and cul-

turally congruent foundations of literacy knowledge, educators

can build children’s understanding of more conventional forms

of literacy at school.

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olume 5, Number 1, Pages 22–27

Deficit, Difference, or Both? Autism and Neurodiversity

Steven K. Kapp, Kristen Gillespie-Lynch, Lauren E. Sherman, and Ted Hutman
University of California, Los Angeles

The neurodiversity movement challenges the medical model’s interest in causation and cure, celebrating
autism as an inseparable aspect of identity. Using an online survey, we examined the perceived
opposition between the medical model and the neurodiversity movement by assessing conceptions of
autism and neurodiversity among people with different relations to autism. Participants (N � 657)
included autistic people, relatives and friends of autistic people, and people with no specified relation to
autism. Self-identification as autistic and neurodiversity awareness were associated with viewing autism
as a positive identity that needs no cure, suggesting core differences between the medical model and the
neurodiversity movement. Nevertheless, results suggested substantial overlap between these approaches
to autism. Recognition of the negative aspects of autism and endorsement of parenting practices that
celebrate and ameliorate but do not eliminate autism did not differ based on relation to autism or
awareness of neurodiversity. These findings suggest a deficit-as-difference conception of autism wherein
neurological conditions may represent equally valid pathways within human diversity. Potential areas of
common ground in research and practice regarding autism are discussed.

Keywords: autism, neurodiversity, parenting, adaptation, identity

Many autistic people struggle with the difficulties associated
with being autistic, viewing “difference” as a lonely experience of
not belonging (e.g., Griffith, Totsika, Nash, & Hastings, in press;
Humphrey & Lewis, 2008; Huws & Jones, 2008; Portway &
Johnson, 2005; Ruiz Calzada, Pistrang, & Mandy, 2012), and some
wish for a cure (Bagatell, 2010; Ortega, 2009; Punshon et al., 2009).
However, autistic self-advocates within the neurodiversity, or autism
rights, movement celebrate autism as inseparable from identity and
challenge efforts to find a cause and a cure for it (Baker, 2011;
Jaarsma & Welin, 2012; Jordan, 2010; Ortega, 2009).

The movement arose primarily on the Internet in response to the
perceived marginalization of autistic people by organizations run
by parents of autistic people (Chamak, 2008; Ortega, 2009). Pre-
vious research has positioned neurodiversity and the medical
model, which seeks to prevent and cure conditions like autism, in

binary opposition to one another, with parents of autistic people
most commonly aligned with the medical model (Bagatell, 2010;
Chamak, 2008; Clarke & van Amerom, 2008; Jordan, 2010; Orsini
& Smith, 2010). This study aims to examine critically this oppo-
sition by investigating how awareness of neurodiversity and rela-
tionship to autism relate to three potential ways of responding to
autism: elimination, amelioration, or celebration. Investigating
these issues in terms of autism may shed light on how more
generally to improve the quality of life of people on atypical
developmental pathways.

Medical Model: Elimination and Amelioration

The medical model aspires toward normalization, symptom
reduction, and elimination of conditions identified based on defi-
cits said to cause functional impairment in major life activities
(American Psychiatric Association, 2000; Baker, 2011). In the
absence of biological markers, psychiatry mostly ascertains defi-
cits on the basis of behavioral deviations from average (Anck-
arsäter, 2010). This classification system tends to omit advanta-
geous behaviors, the reasons for behaviors, and society’s role in
determining appropriate behaviors (American Psychiatric Associ-
ation, 2000; Armstrong, 2010; Baker, 2011). It thus does not
distinguish between conditions resulting mainly from poor person–
environment fit and diseases that cause deterioration and even
death (Baker, 2011). By framing people with these conditions as
sick or at least at reduced capacity, the medical model often
confers the ability to make care decisions, especially for children
and people considered severely disabled, upon professionals and
family members (Baker, 2011; Silverman, 2012).

In apparent alignment with the medical model, many parents of
autistic people pursue treatments for their child with the intention
of cure, recovery, or at least a more normal appearance (Chamak,
2008). Many parents become knowledgeable about medical dis-

This article was published Online First April 30, 2012.
Steven K. Kapp, Graduate School of Education and Information Studies,

University of California, Los Angeles; Kristen Gillespie-Lynch and Lauren
E. Sherman, Department of Psychology, University of California, Los
Angeles; Ted Hutman, Department of Psychiatry and Biobehavioral Sci-
ences, University of California, Los Angeles.

The first two authors contributed equally and share primary authorship.
This work was supported by National Institutes of Health Grant R01-

HD40432 to Scott P. Johnson and by the FPR-UCLA Center for Culture,
Brain, and Development. We would like to thank participants of the study
and people who helped with recruitment. David S. Smith played an
instrumental role in the design of the survey. We are grateful to Patricia M.
Greenfield and her lab, especially Yalda T. Uhls for her opportune intro-
duction, for generous advice on the survey and the article.

Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to Steven
K. Kapp, UCLA Graduate School of Education & Information Studies,
3132 Moore Hall, Box 951521, Los Angeles, CA 90095, or to Kristen
Gillespie-Lynch, UCLA Department of Psychology, 2311 Franz Hall, Los
Angeles, CA 90095. E-mail: kapp@ucla.edu or proserpinae@ucla.edu

Developmental Psychology © 2012 American Psychological Association
2013, Vol. 49, No. 1,

–71 0012-1649/12/$12.00 DOI: 10.1037/a0028353

courses and practices, frequently delivering treatment as cothera-
pists (Silverman, 2012). Parents and scientists focus their advo-
cacy predominantly on children, partly because of the belief that
treatments work most effectively when delivered early in life
(Baker, 2011; Silverman, 2012). Some parents oriented toward the
medical model have represented autism as hostile and distinct from
the child they love, and themselves as warriors fighting an outside
force holding their child hostage (Langan, 2011).

Indeed, many parents, professionals, and the lay public support
the medical model by categorizing autism as a disease and even as
an epidemic, based on the rise in number of diagnoses and belief
in causal environmental factors (Hebert & Koulouglioti, 2010;
Pellicano & Stears, 2011; Russell, Kelly, & Golding, 2010). Al-
though expanded diagnostic criteria (American Psychiatric Asso-
ciation, 2000) and rising awareness at least contribute to this
increase in prevalence (Matson & Kozlowski, 2011), environmen-
tal influences on autism’s causation suggest that the incidence of
autism has also risen (e.g., Landrigan, 2010). Some parent advo-
cates have used the epidemic claim to argue for unnatural causes
like toxins; comparability with deadly diseases; and the urgent
need to screen, treat, and try to eradicate sickness as a public health
crisis (Baker, 2011). Following advocacy by relatives of autistic
people, basic science research, which often relates to causation,
has received the majority of autism research funding in the United
States (Singh, Illes, Lazzeroni, & Hallmayer, 2009). Parental in-
terest in understanding the cause of autism often reflects the belief
that etiology will elucidate family planning and treatment (Pelli-
cano & Stears, 2011).

Neurodiversity Movement:
Celebration and Amelioration?

A political identity among autistic self-advocates, and disabled
people more generally, positively relates to a proud identity and
opposition to treatment toward a cure (Bagatell, 2010; Brownlow,
2010; Clarke & van Amerom, 2008; Hahn & Belt, 2004). Mirror-
ing the concerns of other disabled people and activists (Madeo,
Biesecker, Brasington, Erby, & Peters, 2011), many autistic self-
advocates fear that cause-oriented research will lead to genetic
prevention of autism (Baker, 2011; Orsini & Smith, 2010; Ortega,
2009; Pellicano & Stears, 2011). They also voice concern that
prioritizing causation diverts resources from existing individuals
(Pellicano & Stears, 2011; Robertson, 2010).

While neurodiversity proponents tend to adopt a form of the
social model of disability, distinguishing between a biological,
underlying condition or way of being (autism) and disability
rooted substantially in inaccessible social and political infrastruc-
tures (Baker, 2011), they essentialize autism as caused by biolog-
ical factors and celebrate it as a part of natural human variation
(Armstrong, 2010; Jaarsma & Welin, 2012; Ortega et al., 2009).
Self-advocates often emphasize that autistic people’s insider ex-
periences qualify them to lead attempts to remedy sociopolitical
barriers and enable equal opportunity, such as by challenging
negative conceptions of autism and improving accommodations
and services (Baker, 2011; E. T. Savarese et al., 2010).

The neurodiversity movement seeks to provide a culture
wherein autistic people feel pride in a minority group identity and
provide mutual support in self-advocacy as a community (Baker,
2011; Jaarsma & Welin, 2012; Jordan, 2010; Ortega, 2009). View-

ing the strengths, differences, and weaknesses associated with
autism as central to identity (Ne’eman, 2010; Robertson, 2010),
self-advocates tend to prefer identity-first (e.g., “autistic person”)
terms rather than the person-first (e.g., “person with autism”)
language typically employed by the research community (Bagatell,
2010; Orsini & Smith, 2010; Ortega, 2009).

Neurodiversity advocates promote subjective well-being and
adaptive rather than typical functioning, such as reliable, but not
necessarily spoken, communication (Ne’eman, 2010; Robertson,
2010; E. T. Savarese et al., 2010; E. T. Savarese & Saverese,
2010). They oppose intervention that aims to eliminate unusual but
harmless behaviors, like avoiding eye contact or repetitive body
movements, across all contexts and without regard for the coping
mechanisms they may serve (Chamak, 2008; Orsini & Smith,
2010; Ortega, 2009). Applied behavioral analysis (ABA) is one of
the greatest sources of tension between many parents and self-
advocates, who have criticized intensive behavioral interventions that
they believe often focus too narrowly and forcefully on normalization
for its own sake (Baker, 2011; Chamak, 2008; Ne’eman, 2010; Orsini
& Smith, 2010; Ortega, 2009; Silverman, 2012).

In its pursuit of sociopolitical change and quality of life rather
than cure, the neurodiversity movement has drawn controversy
over to the extent to which it allows, if not encourages, ameliora-
tion of autism. While emerging literature suggests that leaders of
the neurodiversity movement acknowledge some deficits of autism
and support some interventions to ameliorate them (Ne’eman,
2010; E. T. Savarese et al., 2010; E. T. Savarese & Saverese,
2010), others have interpreted the movement’s celebration of and
opposition to elimination of autism as meaning that “high-
functioning” self-advocates oppose diagnoses and interventions to
ameliorate deficits (Clarke & van Amerom, 2008; Jaarsma &
Welin, 2012; Tincani, Travers, & Boutot, 2009).

Deficit as Difference: Relations to Research Priorities

Differences between the research priorities of medical research-
ers, parents of autistic individuals, and autistic self-advocates have
led to a call for research that addresses the interests of parents and
self-advocates (Pellicano & Stears, 2011). To our knowledge, no
previous study has used the same measure to assess conceptions of
autism among both the parents of autistic people and autistic
people themselves. While much research has examined parental
responses to autism, conceptions of autism held by autistic people
and the lay public have received less attention (Huws & Jones,
2010; Pellicano & Stears, 2011). Learning about neurodiversity
may serve as a turning point toward a more holistic conception of
autism (Griffin & Pollak, 2009; King et al., 2003). Many parents
come to feel strengthened by their child’s disability (Cappe, Wolff,
Bobet, & Adrien, 2011; Meadan, Halle, & Ebata, 2010; Russell &
Norwich, in press) and may become allies of the movement (Baga-
tell, 2010; Langan, 2011; Ortega, 2009; R. J. Savarese et al., 2010).
Increasing perception of positive aspects of autism may not de-
crease recognition of negative aspects for both autistic self-
advocates (Bagatell, 2010; Jones & Meldal, 2001; Punshon et al.,
2009) and familial allies (R. J. Savarese et al., 2010).

The current study approaches three primary aims by assessing
conceptions of autism and neurodiversity among people with dif-
ferent relations to autism, including autistic people, parents of
autistic people (some of whom are autistic themselves), nonparent

60 KAPP, GILLESPIE-LYNCH, SHERMAN, AND HUTMAN

relatives and friends of people on the spectrum, and people with no
specified relationship to autism (a) to characterize awareness of
and evaluations of the neurodiversity movement online (where the
neurodiversity movement arose and often takes place; e.g., Jordan,
2010), (b) to confirm core distinctions between the medical model
and the neurodiversity movement, and (c) to critically examine the
perceived opposition between the medical model and the neurodi-
versity movement.

Hypotheses of the Current Study

Awareness and Evaluations of the
Neurodiversity Movement

We hypothesized that autistic people and their relatives would
be more likely to be aware of neurodiversity than people with no
relation to autism. Given that neurodiversity is enacted primarily
online and generally by autistic people, we expected autistic peo-
ple to be more likely to learn about it online and to define it less
critically than others.

Expected Distinctions Between the
Medical Model and Neurodiversity

Perceived causes and centrality to identity of autism. Be-
cause autistic self-advocates oppose research on the cause of
autism, while parents generally endorse such research, we expected
autistic people and people aware of neurodiversity to be more likely
to reject the validity of a question about the cause of autism and
parents of autistic people to be less likely to do so. Because autistic
self-advocates view autism as a natural part of themselves, we ex-
pected autistic people and people aware of neurodiversity to be more
likely to attribute autism to biology alone and to prefer an identity-first
term for autism than their counterparts.

Deficit as Difference: Elucidating Distinctions and
Overlaps Between the Neurodiversity Movement and
the Medical Model

Perceived emotions about autism. Because neurodiversity
awareness may serve as a turning point for autistic people, we
expected autistic people and those aware of neurodiversity to
endorse more positive emotions about autism than people with less
contact with autism. Because negative emotions may be less sus-
ceptible to change, we expected these factors to have no relation-
ship with endorsement of negative emotions about autism.

Preferred parenting practices. Many of the tensions be-
tween the neurodiversity movement and the medical model focus
on aspects of parenting, such as acceptable goals and means of
intervening. Accordingly, we wished to determine whether some
parenting practices are endorsed regardless of awareness of neu-
rodiversity, signaling overlap between deficit- and difference-
oriented views of autism, and whether some parenting practices are
differentially preferred based on neurodiversity awareness.

Given that autistic people, parents of autistic people, and neu-
rodiversity proponents often celebrate autism yet recognize the
importance of adaptive skills for autistic individuals, we expected
these groups to be more supportive of parenting practices focused

on adapting to their child or understanding autism as part of their
child’s identity but no less supportive of adaptive skills than their
counterparts. Because autistic people and neurodiversity propo-
nents are not often interested in eliminating autism, we expected
them to be less supportive than other participants of parenting
practices focused on finding a cause for and cure of autism and less
supportive of services to help autistic people appear more typical.

Method

Participants

Ethical approval from a university-based institutional review
board was obtained prior to recruitment of participants. An
online survey was then posted on SurveyMonkey (http://www
.surveymonkey.com). No compensation was provided for partici-
pation. Before beginning the survey, participants completed an
informed consent form online.

Recruitment was conducted through online advertisements and
through e-mailed and mailed invitations to participate. Online
advertisements were posted on autism-related (including for autis-
tic people and parents of autistic people) and disability-related
forums, blogs, and discussion lists, as well as disability-related
groups on social networking sites (Facebook and Myspace). Ad-
vertisements were also posted on Craigslist, an online classified
advertisement community. All online recruitment sources based in
physical locations were located in the United States or United
Kingdom. Invitations to participate were e-mailed to members of
autism advocacy and support groups located throughout the United
States and United Kingdom. Invitations were also distributed to
vocational rehabilitation centers, university disability offices, sec-
ondary schools, and a disability youth advisory board, all located
in the state of California. The researchers, one of whom is an
autistic self-advocate, also recruited participants from their own
social networks and e-mail lists and asked their contacts to redis-
tribute the survey invitation.

An online survey was used, because the Internet overrepresents
the activities and interests of both autistic self-advocates and
parents who believe in and desire a cure for autism (Di Pietro,
Whiteley, & Illes, in press; Jordan, 2010; Langan, 2011; Ortega,
2009; Reichow et al., in press; Stephenson, Carter, & Kemp,
2012). Efforts were made to recruit participants from numerous
and diverse sources, including organizations that took explicit
positions for or against curing autism (e.g., biomedical and inten-
sive behavioral intervention-related organizations or autistic self-
advocacy groups).

Participants who completed the survey (n � 657) represent a
diverse group of people. They ranged in age from 8 to 84 years
with a mean of 32.5 years. More participants were female, regard-
less of diagnosis: 26.2% were male, 68.6% were female, and 3.5%
were transgender or intersex. Because gender and autism were not
independent of one another (see Table 1), transgender and intersex
participants were dropped from analyses and gender was analyzed
as a binary (male/female) variable. Education ranged from no
education (0 years of schooling) to postdoctoral training (23 years
of schooling) with a mean of 15.5 years. Relatively few partici-
pants were ethnic minorities: 78.7% of the participants were Cau-
casian, 4.6% were Hispanic, 2.7% were Asian, 1.8% were of
African descent, .3% were Pacific Islander, and 6.1% were of

61AUTISM AND NEURODIVERSITY

mixed ethnicity. These percentages do not add up to 100% because
some participants did not report their gender or ethnicity. Fourteen
autistic participants did not know if they had received a diagnosis
and thus were excluded from analysis. As can be seen in Table 1,
participants who self-identified as autistic had more self-reported
autistic traits on the Autism Spectrum Quotient (AQ) than nonau-
tistic participants. While no significant differences in autistic traits
were apparent between autistic participants who had and had not
received a formal diagnosis of autism, those who had received a
formal diagnosis reported fewer years of education and were more
frequently unemployed than nonautistic participants. Neither loca-
tion of residence nor familial income was ascertained.

Survey Questions

Please see the Appendix for a complete list of survey questions.
Demographics. Participants were asked to report gender, age,

highest level of education achieved, occupation, and ethnicity (see
Table 1).

Relationship to autism. Participants were asked a series of
questions to ascertain their relationship to autism. Based on these
questions, participants were grouped into the following analytic cat-
egories: “ASD diagnosed,” “ASD undiagnosed,” “parent of an autis-
tic child,” “nonparent relative of an autistic individual,” “friend of an
autistic individual,” or “person without contact with ASD.”

Autism Spectrum Quotient. The AQ is a 50-item self-report
measure that assesses the number of autistic traits an individual
exhibits. It has satisfactory internal consistency and test–retest
reliability and can be used to evaluate where an individual falls
along a continuum of sociocommunicative differences that extends
into the general population (Baron-Cohen, Wheelwright, Skinner,
Martin, & Clubley, 2001). Individuals on the autism spectrum
often score above 26 on the AQ (Woodbury-Smith, Robinson,
Wheelwright, & Baron-Cohen, 2005). For the purposes of the
current study, the AQ was used only to verify that participants who
identified themselves as autistic endorsed more autistic traits than
those who did not self-identify as autistic.

Questions about neurodiversity. Participants were asked a
series of questions to ascertain if and how they became aware of
neurodiversity and what they thought neurodiversity was.

Questions about autism.
Autism as identity. Participants were asked whether they

preferred the term “person with autism” or “autistic person.”

Emotions about autism. Autistic participants were asked to
select emotions to characterize how they felt about autism.
Multiple-choice answers were selected on the basis of pilot data.
The frequency with which each participant endorsed positive
(happy, proud, content, and excited) or negative (overwhelmed,
sad, frustrated, angry, and ashamed) emotions about autism was
calculated.

Attitudes toward parenting. Participants were asked how
they felt autistic people should be parented.

Qualitative questions and coding. Regardless of previous
awareness of neurodiversity, participants were asked to provide
their own definition of neurodiversity: “What is the neurodiversity
movement in your words?” Neurodiversity definitions were coded
into mutually exclusive categories denoting their attitude. “Posi-
tive/neutral valence” responses did not include any disparaging
remarks or criticisms of the neurodiversity movement and may
have included discussion of the strengths of the movement.
“Mixed valence” responses provided both a neutral definition as
well as a criticism, or discussed both strengths and weaknesses of
the movement. “Negative valence” responses discussed only neg-
ative aspects of the movement.

The first and third authors double-coded 132 of the responses
for each item, representing 20% of the sample. The remainder of
the responses was coded by the first author. Agreement on the
classification of the valence of neurodiversity definitions was
100% (Cohen’s � � 1.0 on the valence of neurodiversity defini-
tions).

Participants were also asked, “What do you think is the cause of
autism?” Responses to this question were coded into mutually
exclusive categories. “Biological” responses defined the cause of
autism as genetic in nature or described specific aspects of the
biological or neurological differences between autistic and typi-
cally developing individuals. Responses categorized as “social
environment” cited others’ behaviors or attitudes as the cause of
autism, whereas responses categorized as “physical environment”
cited nonhuman aspects of the environment, such as toxins or
vaccines. Many individuals cited causes that fit multiple categories
or simply described autism as having several causes; these re-
sponses were categorized as “multiple causes.” Some participants
did not cite a specific cause of autism. These responses, which
were coded into the category “Validity Rejection,” described au-
tism as part of the natural variation of human diversity or re-

Table 1
Demographics

Variable ASD-diagnosed ASD-undiagnosed Not ASD

N 223 78 342
AQ 35.32 (7.69) 36.77 (5.84) 16.30 (7.70) Dx/NDx � NA��

Age 30.80 (11.92) 35.19 (12.33) 33.28 (13.70)
Education 14.86 (2.87) 15.78 (2.94) 15.96 (2.93) Dx � NA��

Unemployed (% yes) 14.3 12.8 2.9 Dx/NDx � NA�

Ethnicity (% White) 80.3 85.9 76.3
Gender (% transgender) 4.9 6.4 1.8
Gender (% male) 30.5 21.8 23.1
Medical conditions (% yes) 43.5 37.2 56.1 Dx/ND � NA�

Note. AQ � Autism Spectrum Quotient; ASD � autism spectrum disorder; Dx � ASD-diagnosed; NDx � ASD-undiagnosed; NA � Not ASD. Numbers
are presented as mean (SD) except where % is noted.
� � � .01. �� .001.

62 KAPP, GILLESPIE-LYNCH, SHERMAN, AND HUTMAN

sponded that they did not care about the cause of autism. Partici-
pants who simply responded that they did not know the cause of
autism, without providing a guess about the cause, were placed
into the “other” category. Also in the “other” category were any
responses that did not fit into the categories listed above, or
responses in which the meaning was unclear. The inclusion of the
“other” category allowed us to account for ambiguous responses.
Agreement on the classification of cause statements was 91.1%
(Cohen’s � � .88). Twenty percent of the responses to “What is
your occupation?” were also coded by the first and third authors
for employment or unemployment. Agreement on the classifica-
tion of employment status was 98.48% (Cohen’s � � .83). Dis-
agreements were resolved by discussion between the coders.

Results

The following demographic variables were included as covari-
ates in all analyses: age, education, gender, and whether partici-
pants endorsed nonautism diagnoses. In that context, we refer to
independent variables evaluated in connection with our hypotheses
as “primary” variables throughout this section. Because of the
large number of analyses conducted, only p values under .01 were
considered statistically significant, and all post hoc contrasts in-
cluded Bonferroni corrections. In order to include demographic
variables as covariates in all analyses, binomial logistic regression
analysis was employed for categorical outcome variables, and the
general linear model was employed for continuous outcome vari-
ables.

Awareness and Evaluations of the
Neurodiversity Movement

A binary logistic regression was conducted to determine if, over
and above demographic characteristics, self-identification as au-
tistic or the parent of an autistic child increased the likelihood of
being aware of neurodiversity.

This analysis confirmed that autistic participants, regardless of
diagnosis, were more likely to be aware of neurodiversity than

nonautistic participants. Being the parent of an autistic person was
not associated with awareness of neurodiversity, but having an
autistic friend was positively associated with awareness of neuro-
diversity. Increased educational attainment was positively associ-
ated with neurodiversity awareness.

Focusing on participants who reported that they were aware of
neurodiversity, we conducted a binary logistic regression to deter-
mine if, over and above demographic variables, self-identification
as autistic increased the likelihood of learning about neurodiversity
online (see Table 2).

As hypothesized, autistic participants, regardless of diagnosis,
were more likely to have learned about neurodiversity online.
Parents and those with other relationships to autism were not more
likely to have learned about neurodiversity online.

Focusing on respondents who indicated that they were aware of
neurodiversity, we used a binomial logistic regression to analyze
predictors of attitudes toward neurodiversity, as indexed by the
presence or absence of criticism of neurodiversity within their
definitions of it. The overall model was not significant ( p � .096).
Indeed, the majority of respondents provided uncritical definitions
of neurodiversity. For participants in the current study, awareness
of neurodiversity was generally associated with uncritical attitudes
toward the movement. See Table 3 for the frequency with which
each type of description of neurodiversity occurred.

As expected, autistic people and friends of autistic people, but
contrary to expectations not relatives of autistic people, were more
likely to be aware of neurodiversity than people with no relation to
autism. Supporting previous qualitative research (e.g., Jordan,
2010) autistic people were more likely to learn about neurodiver-
sity online than others. Contrary to our hypotheses, the majority of
participants in the current study were uncritical of the neurodiver-
sity movement, regardless of their relation to autism.

Expected Distinctions Between the Medical Model and
the Neurodiversity Movement

Perceived causes and centrality to identity of autism. A
binary logistic regression was run to determine if awareness of

Table 2
Predictors and Source of Neurodiversity Awareness

Variable

Predictors of neurodiversity awareness Learning about neurodiversity online

Odds ratio SE p Odds ratio SE p

ASD diagnosed 3.674 0.237�� .001 6.061 0.343�� .001
ASD undiagnosed 2.919 0.344� .002 10.827 0.570 �.001
Friend 3.271 0.200�� .001 0.769 0.319 .410
Family ASD 1.412 0.249 .165 1.385 0.368 .376
Parent ASD 1.280 0.289 .393 1.650 0.395 .204
Other diagnosis 1.178 0.199 .411 2.132 0.300 .012
Age 1.010 0.010 .300 0.966 0.014 .014
Education 1.144 0.040� .001 0.992 0.059 .890
Gender 0.856 0.236 .512 0.429 0.355 .017
Constant 0.030 0.639�� .001 2.842 0.974�� .283

Model �2 120.651�� .001 65.615�� .001
Cox & Snell R2 .201 .202
Nagelkerke R2 .269 .284

Note. ASD � autism spectrum disorder.
� � � .01. �� .001.

63AUTISM AND NEURODIVERSITY

neurodiversity and self-identification as autistic were associated
with greater likelihood of rejecting the validity of a question about
the cause of autism, while self-identification as the parent of an
autistic individual was associated with greater likelihood of pro-
viding a cause (see Table 4).

Being the parent of an autistic child was negatively related to the
likelihood of rejecting the validity of the question. Thus, parents
viewed the cause of autism in a manner that was not consistent
with the neurodiversity movement. Contrary to expectations, nei-
ther awareness of neurodiversity nor self-identification as autistic
was associated with likelihood of rejecting the validity of the
question.

A binary logistic regression was run to determine if awareness
of neurodiversity and self-identification as autistic were associated
with greater likelihood of providing a purely biological cause for
autism relative to a cause that attributed autism at least partially to

environmental input (social, physical, or multiple causes; see Ta-
ble 4).

Self-identification as autistic, regardless of diagnosis, was asso-
ciated with greater likelihood of selecting a biological cause while
education was associated with greater likelihood of endorsing an
environmental component.

We conducted a binary logistic regression analysis to determine
whether awareness of neurodiversity and self-identification as autistic
corresponded with increased likelihood of preferring an “identity-
first” description of autism (“autistic person” rather than “person with
autism”) beyond demographic characteristics (see Table 5).

Both self-identification as autistic, regardless of diagnosis, and
awareness of neurodiversity were associated with a greater likeli-
hood of preferring the term “autistic person” to the term “person
with autism.” While autistic people and people who were aware of
neurodiversity tended to prefer identity-first language, parents of

Table 3
Valence of Neurodiversity Definitions by Participants Aware of Neurodiversity

Valence “What is the neurodiversity movement in your words?” Examples of coding based on attitudes toward the
neurodiveristy movement.

Positive or neutral 80.5% of those aware of neurodiversity provided this type of definition
“We are all a spectrum and all different, it is not normal vs. disabled.”
“A group that has taught me to accept my son EXACTLY for who he is.”
“Accepting that people are different, that diversity in how our brains work enriches humankind.”

Mixed 3.4% of those aware of neurodiversity provided this type of definition
“Sadly they seem angry that we want to help our sick children and act like we hate them if we do. Though I do think

there is a place for it and I am sure many ppl benefit from being part of a group the celebrates who they are.”
“They want society to accept that we’re all different, but we’re all just human beings and we should all be accepted

for who we are. SOME in the neurodiversity movement however go to extremes, they want autistics to be treated
SPECIAL, they make demands for changes in society that are a bit too rigorous and even silly in my opinion.”

“Inclusiveness, acceptance, a bit idealistic really.”
Negative 1.8% of those aware of neurodiversity provided this type of definition

“A small group of people with a strong sense of entitlement and specialness.”
“The idea that we autistic folks are not “abnormal,” just a different kind of normal. (This is bullshit.)”
“A compendium of annoying adult children who need to adapt and stop finding pride in their inherent failure as

human beings.”

Table 4
Cause-of-Autism Items: (a) Validity Rejection Versus Providing a Cause and (b) Biological Versus Environmental Factors

Variable

(a) Validity rejection versus providing a cause (b) Biological versus environmental factors

Odds ratio SE p Odds ratio SE p

Neurodiversity awareness 2.051 0.438 .101 0.789 0.247 .337
ASD diagnosed 1.610 0.407 .242 2.802 0.263�� .001
ASD undiagnosed 1.571 0.581 .437 3.378 0.374� .001
Friend 1.813 0.402 .139 1.024 0.241 .921
Family ASD 0.380 0.449 .031 0.950 0.273 .850
Parent ASD 0.150 0.667� .004 0.752 0.315 .365
Other diagnosis 2.371 0.375 .022 1.362 0.225 .169
Age 1.020 0.015 .199 0.990 0.011 .362
Education 0.966 0.071 .630 0.867 0.049� .004
Gender 0.872 0.408 .738 1.150 0.260 .592
Constant 0.031 1.166� .003 8.856 0.765�� .004

Model �2 27.874� .002 48.265�� .001
Cox & Snell R2 .062 .116
Nagelkerke R2 .136 .155

Note. ASD � autism spectrum disorder.
� � � .01. �� .001.

64 KAPP, GILLESPIE-LYNCH, SHERMAN, AND HUTMAN

autistic people and those with other types of relationships to
autistic people did not have a preference for either term.

In apparent alignment with the medical model, parents were less
likely to reject the validity of a question about the cause of autism
than other participants. Unexpectedly, autistic participants and
people aware of neurodiversity were not particularly likely to
question its validity. In alignment with autistic self-advocates’
view of autism as a natural part of themselves (e.g., Ortega, 2009),
autistic participants were more likely to attribute autism to purely
biological causes, relative to causes with an environmental com-
ponent, than other groups. Consistent with the neurodiversity
movement’s view that autism is central to identity, autistic partic-
ipants and people aware of neurodiversity were more likely to
prefer the term “autistic person” to the term “person with autism”
than their counterparts.

Deficit as Difference: Elucidating Distinctions and
Overlaps Between the Neurodiversity Movement and
the Medical Model

Perceived emotions about autism. In order to determine if
positive emotions about autism varied as a function of neurodi-

versity awareness and relationship to autism, a univariate analysis
was conducted with the number of positive emotions participants
selected to describe how they would or did feel about being autistic
as the dependent variable. Self-identification as autistic (a vari-
able with three levels: autistic diagnosed, autistic undiagnosed,
and not autistic), contact with autism (a variable with four
levels: parent of autistic person, nonparent relative of autistic
person, friend of autistic person, and no relationship with
autistic person), neurodiversity awareness, and demographic
variables were entered as independent variables.

There was a main effect of neurodiversity awareness, F(1,
476) � 7.366, p � .007, �2 � .015, and self-identification as
autistic, F(2, 476) � 23.986, p � .001; �2 � .092, adjusted R2 �
.247. People who were aware of neurodiversity (M � 1.084, SE �
0.083) endorsed more positive emotions about autism than partic-
ipants who were not aware of neurodiversity (M � 0.593, SE �
0.098). Both diagnosed and undiagnosed autistic individuals en-
dorsed more positive emotions about autism than nonautistic in-
dividuals (see Table 6).

To examine negative emotions about autism, a univariate anal-
ysis was conducted, with independent variables identical to those
above and the number of negative emotions about autism endorsed
as the dependent variable. No main effects or interactions were
observed. Thus, awareness of neurodiversity and self-
identification as autistic were related to positive but not negative
emotions about autism. Being the parent of an autistic individual
was unrelated to positive or negative emotions about autism.

Consistent with a nuanced view of the neurodiversity movement
wherein recognition of the strengths of autism does not obscure
understanding the difficulties associated with autism, self-
identification as autistic and awareness of neurodiversity were
associated with endorsing more positive, but not less negative,
emotions about autism.

Preferred parenting practices. A multivariate analysis of
covariance was run with the independent variables described for
the univariate analyses above. The dependent variables can be
viewed in the Appendix. Mean scores by autism identification can
be viewed in Table 6.

Main effects of self-identifying as autistic, F(12, 928) � 2.758,
p � .001, �2 � .035; of neurodiversity awareness, F(6, 463) �

Table 5
Predicting a Preference for an “Identity-First” Label

Variable Odds ratio SE p

Neurodiversity awareness 1.891 0.220� .004
ASD diagnosed 2.719 0.231�� .001
ASD undiagnosed 2.895 0.332� .001
Friend 1.561 0.212 .035
Family ASD 0.926 0.244 .752
Parent ASD 0.916 0.303 .772
Other diagnosis 1.244 0.200 .277
Age 0.980 0.010 .053
Education 0.950 0.040 .198
Gender 1.025 0.234 .914
Constant 1.031 0.590 .959

Model �2 73.165�� .001
Cox & Snell R2 .135
Nagelkerke R2 .182

Note. ASD � autism spectrum disorder.
� � � .01. �� .001.

Table 6
Endorsement of Survey Questions by ASD Identification

Variable ASD diagnosed ASD undiagnosed Not ASD

Neurodiversity (% aware) 75.8 70.5 42.7
Neurodiversity (% online)a 85.2 89.1 49.3
Validity cause (% reject) 10.8 10.3 10.6
Cause (% purely biological) 46.2 51.3 28.4
Positive emotions 1.42 (1.25) 1.01 (0.99) 0.38 (0.81)
Negative emotions 1.35 (1.49) 1.38 (1.29) 1.66 (1.45)
Seek cureb 1.85 (1.18) 1.83 (1.11) 3.01 (1.31)
Teach adaptive skillsb 4.62 (0.65) 4.54 (0.77) 4.69 (0.55)
Teach appear typicalb 3.01 (1.30) 2.95 (1.22) 3.48 (1.07)
Know autism part identityb 4.85 (0.46) 4.82 (0.50) 4.69 (0.68)
Learn causeb 2.65 (1.30) 2.55 (1.20) 3.36 (1.21)
Learn child’s languageb 4.70 (0.67) 4.60 (0.77) 4.53 (0.76)

Note. ASD � autism spectrum disorder. Numbers are presented as mean (SD) except where % noted.
a Among people aware of neurodiversity. b Questions about parenting practices.

65AUTISM AND NEURODIVERSITY

3.203, p � .004, �2 � .040; and other medical conditions, F(6,
463) � 3.051, p � .006, �2 � .038, were observed.

Post hoc contrasts indicated that diagnosed autistic participants
found it less important to try to understand the cause of one’s
child’s autism than nonautistic participants (see Table 6; p �
.003). Undiagnosed autistic participants did not differ from either
diagnosed autistic or nonautistic participants in their interest in the
cause of autism. Both diagnosed and undiagnosed autistic partic-
ipants found it less important to seek a cure for one’s child’s
autism than nonautistic participants (see Table 6; p � .001).
People who were aware of neurodiversity (M � 2.042, SE �
0.098) were less interested in a cure for autism than those who
were not (M � 2.864, SE � 0.117; p � .001). Despite the main
effect of medical conditions for the overall multivariate analysis of
variance, no significant post hoc effects of diagnosis were ob-
served after Bonferroni correction.

As expected, no group differences in endorsement of parenting
practices aimed at helping a child develop adaptive skills were
observed. Consistent with the neurodiversity movement’s rejection
of eliminating autism, autistic participants and people aware of
neurodiversity found it less important for parents to try to seek a
cure for autism than their counterparts. Contrary to expectations,
awareness of neurodiversity was not associated with decreased
interest in the cause of autism although self-identification as a
diagnosed autistic was. Also contrary to expectations, autistic
participants and those aware of neurodiversity were no less likely
to support parenting practices aimed at helping autistic people
appear typical and no more likely to endorse practices aimed at
understanding autism as part of a child’s identity than their coun-
terparts.

Discussion

Characterizing the Neurodiversity Movement Online

Autistic people were more likely to be aware of neurodiver-
sity and to have learned about it online than nonautistic people.
Many autistic people’s preferences for the Internet as a com-
municative medium (Benford & Standen, 2009; Jordan, 2010)
may have facilitated their learning about neurodiversity online.
The generally uncritical definitions of the neurodiversity move-
ment provided by participants in this study contrasts with
previously reported criticisms of the neurodiversity movement
(Bagatell, 2010; Baker, 2011; Chamak, 2008; Ortega, 2009). As
it has become more political, the movement has achieved better
representation in the media, public policy, and parent-led au-
tism advocacy organizations (Baker, 2011; Nicolaidis et al.,
2011; Pellicano & Stears, 2011; E. T. Savarese & Saverese,
2010; Silverman, 2012) and reached out more actively to allies
(Baker, 2011; Nicolaidis et al., 2011; Orsini & Smith, 2010;
Robertson, 2010). Additionally, the language and content of the
survey may have led to its selective completion by people who
were generally uncritical of the movement. Some participants
may also have interpreted our question about the movement as
an invitation to provide only a descriptive, rather than evalua-
tive, definition.

Core Distinctions Between the Medical Model and the
Neurodiversity Movement: Centrality to Identity and
Opposition to Elimination

Results revealed clear distinctions between the medical
model and the neurodiversity movement in terms of the per-
ceived cause and importance of curing autism, positive emo-
tions about autism, and the centrality of autism to identity.
Formally diagnosed autistic participants expressed relative disin-
terest in parental efforts to find a cause for autism, while parents
were least likely to reject the validity of finding a cause. Autistic
people may assign a lower priority to research on autism’s causa-
tion because of concerns about genetic testing and worry that
efforts to identify the cause may divert resources from services for
existing autistic individuals (Baker, 2011; Orsini & Smith, 2010;
Ortega, 2009; Pellicano & Stears, 2011) or because of a greater
likelihood of attributing it to biology alone.

Contrary to both the social model of disability, wherein disabil-
ity is socially constructed, and the medical model, wherein autism
is generally viewed as arising from environmental and genetic
causes (e.g., Pellicano & Stears, 2011), autistic individuals en-
dorsed a relatively essentialist biological attribution of autism.
While autistic people have referred to their brain as the obstacle
preventing them from social acceptance (Humphrey & Lewis,
2008), becoming aware of their autism often offers them a sense of
exoneration in explaining the neurological basis of their challenges
(Punshon et al., 2009). Biological attributions may offer autistic
people protection from the greater stigma associated with disabil-
ities viewed as within one’s control (Hinshaw & Stier, 2008). The
neurodiversity movement’s celebration of the brain may thus ap-
peal to autistic people who likely already think of autism as a
natural part of themselves.

Deficit as Difference: Celebration and Amelioration

The current study suggests that awareness of neurodiversity and
self-identification as autistic correspond with a deficit-as-
difference conception of autism. While both autistic identity and
neurodiversity awareness were unrelated to negative emotions
about autism and endorsement of the importance of helping a child
build adaptive skills and— contrary to our expectations—appear
more typical, both were associated with positive emotions about
autism, a preference for identify-first language, and disinterest in a
cure. These findings suggest self-identification as autistic and
awareness of neurodiversity reduce neither acknowledgment of
deficits associated with autism nor support for ameliorative inter-
ventions, while they contribute to viewing autism as a positive
identity that needs no cure. Such a deficit-as-difference conception
of autism suggests the importance of harnessing autistic traits in
developmentally beneficial ways, transcending a false dichotomy
between celebrating differences and ameliorating deficits (R. J.
Savarese et al., 2010).

The association between neurodiversity awareness and viewing
autism as a positive identity may represent the convergence of
social and medical model viewpoints. Positively reframing autism
often helps parents of children with disabilities such as autism
(e.g., Cappe et al., 2011; Hall, Neely-Barnes, Graff, Krcek, &
Roberts, 2012; Meadan et al., 2010; Russell & Norwich, in press)
and people with disabilities like autism (e.g., Clarke & van Am-

66 KAPP, GILLESPIE-LYNCH, SHERMAN, AND HUTMAN

erom, 2008; Jones & Meldal, 2001; Griffin & Pollak, 2009) cope.
Reframing can consist of viewing autism as a difference rather
than a deficit or of believing that autistic people will outgrow the
problems associated with autism (Samios, Pakenham, & Sofronoff,
2008). The social model’s distinction between the condition and
disability is not part of the medical model. Thus, an autistic person
who has achieved a happy, productive, and independent life might
be considered recovered in the medical model (Baker, 2011; Sil-
verman, 2012) but living adaptively with and in part because of
their autism in the social model (E. T. Savarese et al., 2010).

Although we expected autistic people, parents of autistic people,
and people aware of neurodiversity to endorse celebration-related
parenting practices more than their counterparts, most participants
endorsed such practices. This may reflect recognition of the lack of
a cure for autism and, hence, the practicality of recognizing it as
part of identity. It may also reflect an understanding of the impor-
tance of recognizing a child’s developmental level in order to help
him or her expand upon it and that parental positive emotions
about and acceptance of autism may not relate to child character-
istics (Hutman, Siller, & Sigman, 2009; Milshtein, Yirmiya, Op-
penheim, Koren-Karie, & Levi, 2010; Oppenheim, Koren-Karie,
Dolev, & Yirmiya, 2009; Totsika, Hastings, Emerson, Lancaster,
& Berridge, 2011; Wachtel & Carter, 2008).

The unexpected lack of differential endorsement of services to
appear more typical, coupled with the predicted agreement on the
importance of adaptive skills, suggest that autistic people and
people aware of neurodiversity support at least some forms of
behavioral interventions (e.g., R. J. Savarese et al., 2010). Like the
false dichotomy between celebrating differences and ameliorating
deficits, developmental and behavioral intervention approaches
have shifted toward and can complement one another (Callahan,
Shukla-Mehta, Magee, & Wie, 2010; Vismara & Rodgers, 2010).
Callahan et al. (2010) found that parents and professionals reported
equal satisfaction with the principles of ABA and another well-
established model that claims to respect the “culture of autism”
(TEACCH; Mesibov, Shea, & Shopler, 2004). Similarly, parent
education programs using ABA that emphasize strengths rather
than deficits appear to strengthen parent– child interaction (Steiner,
2011). Neurodiversity proponents have encouraged the use of
interventions that leverage a person’s interests and strengths to
address challenges positively (E. T. Savarese et al., 2010; R. J.
Savarese et al., 2010). They have noted that restricted interests, a
core symptom of autism (American Psychiatric Association,
2000), can, with support, enhance the social-communicative de-
velopment of young children (R. J. Savarese et al., 2010) and
mature into selective advantages (Armstrong, 2010; Brownlow,
2010).

Moreover, neurodiversity proponents have suggested the use-
fulness of learning to appear more typical selectively as a coping
strategy rather than an end in itself (Baker, 2011; Jones & Meldal,
2001), perhaps because the stigma of mental disabilities may
reduce functioning more than the deficits (Hinshaw & Stier, 2008).
Accordingly, even autistic people who support the ideals and
long-term goals of the neurodiversity movement may view adapt-
ing to a “neurotypical” world as a practical matter, given the
slower pace of and less control over sociopolitical compared with
personal change. Neurodiversity and disability rights advocates
have likewise expressed acceptance of choice regarding identity,
prevention, and cure based on comprehensive information that

includes disabled people’s views, abilities, and opportunities
(Baker, 2011; Beauchamp-Pryor, 2011; Madeo et al., 2011).

Limitations

The online, self-selecting recruitment method and lack of de-
tailed clinical information may bias the sample toward higher
developmental and socioeconomic statuses relative to previous
studies (e.g., Brugha et al., 2011) and thus limit generalizability of
our results. More educated participants had higher awareness of
neurodiversity, possibly suggesting less positive attitudes among
people with less knowledge about it. Moreover, the autistic sample
included a disproportionately large number of females (despite
autism’s much higher prevalence among males; e.g., Kim et al.,
2011) and people without formal diagnoses, groups at the margins,
if not outside, of current and proposed diagnostic criteria for the
autism spectrum (Frazier et al., 2012). A substantial proportion of
autistic adults, especially females, with clear clinical histories may
not present as autistic in behavioral diagnostic assessments
adapted from childhood measures because they develop coping
skills that superficially mask autism (Lai et al., 2011). Indeed,
most people who meet diagnostic criteria for autism may be near
the margins of a diagnosis, as recent studies on the prevalence of
autism in total population community-based samples found that
across the lifespan, most people who met criteria for ASD had not
been previously diagnosed because of milder symptoms (Brugha et
al., 2011; Kim et al., 2011; White, Ollendick, & Bray, 2011).

The sample may be more representative of the online autistic
community and proponents of neurodiversity. Autistic females
may be overrepresented online, as another recent online survey of
autistic adults recruited an even higher female-to-male ratio
(Gilmour, Schalomon, & Smith, 2012). They may disproportion-
ately engage with the online community for social support and
self-advocacy because of their greater difficulties in gaining rec-
ognition as autistic (Jack, 2011). Many people claim an autistic
identity through participation in online communities (Giles &
Newbold, 2011; Jordan, 2010). Other reasons for the high number
of informally diagnosed people could include difficulties directly
diagnosing adults, accessing qualified professionals, and affording
the evaluation, as well as expected problems with accessing ser-
vices or accommodations if diagnosed. Future studies should ex-
amine why some self-identified autistic people lack a diagnosis as
well as differences between formally and informally diagnosed
autistic people. To the extent that this study overrepresents fe-
males, high-functioning autistic people, people who have self-
diagnosed, and neurodiversity proponents, it provides evidence
that they recognize deficits and support some ameliorative inter-
ventions.

Future surveys of this kind will benefit from the development of
a scale (the reliability and validity of which could be assessed) to
evaluate conceptions of neurodiversity by including more ques-
tions on each topic and evaluating the coherence of questions
within each topic in order to permit analysis of the latent structure
of the constructs. While the potential choices for the question
about emotions about autism were selected on the basis of pilot
data, the unequal number of positive, negative, and neutral emo-
tions could have biased results. Additionally, asking directly
whether participants were interested in understanding the cause of
or finding a cure for autism may have been less confusing and

67AUTISM AND NEURODIVERSITY

more directly relevant than asking whether they thought parents
should focus on such issues.

This study’s lack of nonacademic community members among
its research team may have reduced sensitivity to participants’
diverse interests and needs. Despite clear indications in the instruc-
tions that assistance could be offered to respondents who were
unable to complete the survey independently, a shorter survey
would have benefited people with limited language skills or less
available time. While the survey’s topics and language may have
discouraged people critical of the neurodiversity movement, crit-
icisms of the AQ as lacking nuance from autistic participants
suggest parts of the survey may have offended proponents of the
movement. Indeed, when asked how the survey could have been
improved, autistic participants expressed disappointment with our
use of the AQ and concerns that we would use it to group them.
They stated that it lacked nuance and upheld autism stereotypes—
especially the controversial theory of autism as an extreme form of
the male brain (Jack, 2011; Krahn & Fenton, 2012).

Deficit as Difference: Recommendations for
Research Priorities

Autistic people, parents, and other parties may have relatively
few absolute differences in their views about autism or neurodi-
versity but, rather, disagree mainly on nuances too subtle for our
survey to capture, such as research service priorities. Future stud-
ies should focus more directly on the explicit research and service
priorities of people with different relations to autism in order to
tailor research and services to the needs of stakeholders. They
should recruit both online and offline and incorporate community-
based participatory research that includes autistic people, parents,
practitioners, and researchers in every step of the research process
(Ne’eman, 2010; Nicolaidis et al., 2011; Orsini & Smith, 2010;
Pellicano & Stears, 2011; Robertson, 2010). Such research could
develop methods for studying a broader range of autistic and
nonautistic people while combining scientific rigor with commu-
nity needs. The results of this study suggest potential for collab-
orative research to find common ground on best practices in
providing interventions and services to help autistic people and
their families across the lifespan. If future, more generalizable
research replicates this study’s finding that officially diagnosed
autistic people have less interest in the cause of autism, a higher
proportion of research funding may shift toward interventions and
services as the interests of autistic people and the objectives of the
neurodiversity movement become better represented in public pol-
icy. Indeed, this shift may have already begun. Parent-led advo-
cacy organizations’ proportion of funding of basic science and
causation research has dropped compared with funding of clinical
and translational research (Singh et al., 2009).

Community-based participatory research should examine the
movement’s breadth beyond autism (Beauchamp-Pryor, 2011).
Conceptually, many neurological conditions have variable traits,
fluid boundaries among one another, a continuous nature within
the general population, and strengths beyond or as part of signif-
icant challenges (Anckarsäter, 2010; Armstrong, 2010). As autistic
self-advocates relate the brain to both the mind (cognition and
emotions) and the body (sensation and movement), neurodiversity
appears applicable beyond mental conditions (Robertson, 2010;
E. T. Savarese et al., 2010). Nevertheless, neurodiversity propo-

nents disagree on criteria for eligibility in the broader movement;
some autistic advocates suggest aversion to conditions that revolve
around distress (Ne’eman, 2010; E. T. Savarese et al., 2010), while
allies and scholars have included them (Armstrong, 2010; Baker,
2011; E. T. Savarese & Saverese, 2010). Similarly, disability rights
advocates often think the social model does not apply to pain and
chronic illness (Beauchamp-Pryor, 2011). Politically, the move-
ment may have greater appeal among “invisible” conditions with
unknown causes, given the belief that constructing a biological
identity reduces judgment and improves access to services (Baker,
2011; Orsini & Smith, 2010), and among conditions with early age
of onset, which is positively associated with disability pride
(Beauchamp-Pryor, 2011; Hahn & Belt, 2004).

Conclusion

This study provides support for the notion of disability as an
interaction between social factors and personal deficits, the chal-
lenges of which do not necessarily make life less valid or worth-
while but an equally valid part of human diversity, especially in the
subjective experience of disabled people. Considering that autism
is diagnosed primarily on the basis of social deficits (American
Psychiatric Association, 2000), autistic people’s apparent ac-
knowledgment of their deficits and acceptance of means to ame-
liorate them challenge a purely social model of disability in which
oppression alone creates disability, a notion disability rights ad-
vocates increasingly criticize as not recognizing that deficits them-
selves lower quality of life (Beauchamp-Pryor, 2011; Palmer &
Harley, in press). Neurodiversity advocates, while often empha-
sizing social barriers, have acknowledged this interrelationship
between internal and social challenges (Baker, 2011; Ne’eman,
2010).

Indeed, an international biopsychosocial model of causation of
and support for disability now prevails (Leckman & March, 2011;
Palmer & Harley, in press). This emerging, nuanced understanding
of disability may require disentanglement of symptoms and adap-
tive functioning (Anckarsäter, 2010) and care supporting signifi-
cantly challenged people, including considering the perspectives,
abilities, and opportunities of people with disabilities (Baker,
2011; Beauchamp-Pryor, 2011; Madeo et al., 2011; E. T. Savarese
& Savarese, 2010; Silverman, 2012).

Nevertheless, the spectrum nature of disability supports the
legitimacy of multiple agendas (Baker, 2011). Scientists, working
with the community, can help stakeholders with competing agen-
das make informed choices between rights, responsibilities, and
needs at personal, social, and political levels by affirming that
diverse societies respect multiple perspectives (Baker, 2011;
Beauchamp-Pryor, 2011; Madeo et al., 2011; Silverman, 2012), as
empathy, communication, and relationship work both ways (E. T.
Savarese et al., 2010; Silverman, 2012).

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Appendix

Survey Questions and Answers

Demographic Questions

1. Do you consider yourself to be autistic or on the
autism spectrum (autism, Aspergers, or PDD-NOS)?

Answer choices: Yes, No

2. Asked of participants that self-identified as autis-
tic: “Were you diagnosed by a professional such as
a psychologist, doctor or psychiatrist?”

Answer choices: Yes, No

3. Do you have any autistic relatives? If so, please list
how they are related to you (i.e., a grandmother, a
brother, etc.).

Free response

4. Do you have any autistic friends?

Answer choices: Yes, No

5. What is your gender?

Answer choices: Male, Female, Intersex, Transgender

6. How old are you?

Free response

7. What is the highest level of education you
achieved?

Free response

8. What is your ethnicity?

Free-response ethnicity reports were classified into the
following race and ethnicity categories: Caucasian,
Black, Asian, Hispanic, Native American or Alaska
Native, Pacific Islander, or Mixed Race.

9. Do you have any physical, neurological, or psy-
chological diagnoses? If so, what are they?

Free-response answers were classified as “medical condi-
tions” if any health condition besides an ASD was entered.

10. What is your occupation?

Free response

Conceptions of Neurodiversity

1. Are you aware of the neurodiversity movement? If
yes, where did you learn about it?

Answer choices: “No, I am not aware of it”; “Yes, I
heard of it online”; “Yes, I read about it in a book or
magazine”; “Yes, I heard of it in person”; “Yes, I heard
about it at a conference”; “Yes, I heard about it at a
support group”; “Yes, but none of the above.”

2. What is the neurodiversity movement in your
words?

Free response

Conceptions of Autism

1. When talking about autism, which term do you
prefer?

Answer choices: Autistic person, person with autism

2. How do you (think you would) feel about being
autistic? Select as many choices as you want.

Answer choices: “Happy,” “overwhelmed, “sad,”
“proud,” “frustrated,” “angry,” “content,” “indifferent,”
“bored,” “confused,” “ashamed,” “excited,” “other,”
and “don’t know.”

3. Do you agree or disagree that parents of autistic
people should do the following:

“Seek a cure for their child?”

“Teach their child how to develop adaptive skills?”

“Teach their child how to appear more like a typically
developing person?”

“Understand that autism is part of their child’s identity?”

“Try to learn what caused their child to be autistic?”

“Learn to speak their child’s language?”

Answer choices (1–5): “I strongly disagree,” “I somewhat
disagree,” “Not applicable,” “I agree,” “I strongly agree.”

4. What do you think is the cause of autism?

Free response

Received May 16, 2011
Revision received March 9, 2012

Accepted March 16, 2012 �

71AUTISM AND NEURODIVERSITY

Still Searching for the Zipperump-a-Zoo: A Reflection
After 40 Years

Robert J. Sternberg

Cornell University

ABSTRACT—In this article, I describe chronologically my

attempts over a 40-year career to understand the nature

of human intelligence. I explain how later attempts built

on earlier ones, with each attempt revealing the earlier

one to be too limited and narrow in the questions it asked.

In my early work, I envisioned intelligence in terms of

components of information processing. Later, I viewed

these components as contributing to three distinct but

related aspects of intelligence: analytical, creative, and

practical. I came to realize the importance of contextual

factors in determining what constitutes adaptive behavior.

Still later, I viewed wisdom as part of the mix. The search

has been rewarding, except for the fact that I have not

yet completed it and never will.

KEYWORDS—intelligence; analytical skills; creative skills;

practical skills; wisdom-based skills

When my eldest children Seth and Sara were young, I used to

read them a book entitled Professor Wormbog in Search for the

Zipperump-a-Zoo (1). Seth and Sara are now adults with chil-

dren of their own. But the more things change, the more they

stay the same: I now read the book to my 4-year-old triplets.

The book is about Professor Wormbog, who wants to collect one

of each of a panoply of strange animals. There is one animal for

each letter of the alphabet, but the one animal that has eluded

him is the last in the list: the Zipperump-a-Zoo. He searches

high and low, cannot find it, and gives up. He goes to sleep on

his couch. While he sleeps, the reader learns that Wormbog’s

house is full of Zipperump-a-Zoos. They just never appear to

him when he is looking, even though they are right there in front

of him.

I used the story of Professor Wormbog as a figurative basis for

a Broadbent lecture I gave to the British Psychological Society,

which was published in the Society’s journal, The Psychologist

(2). At that point, I had completed half my career and felt it was

a good time to take stock. By now, 15 years later, I probably am

at least three-quarters or so finished with my career, and it is

probably a good time to take another look. My views on intelli-

gence, as well as the field of intelligence, have developed con-

siderably since then. What has not changed is the elusiveness of

the figurative Zipperump-a-Zoo. You and I know that intelli-

gence is right there in front of us, its manifestations as easily

observed as were the manifestations of the Zipperump-a-Zoo in

Professor Wormbog’s home. But we, like he, just cannot quite

see the beast. It is as elusive as ever.

STAGE 0: THE PREHISTORY

I have long believed that IQ is not the whole story of intelli-

gence. Like McClelland (3), Gardner (4), and Ceci (5), among

others, I believe that IQ tests are narrow in what they assess as

intelligence (see also (6)). But if a score on an IQ test is not the

whole story, what is?

As a result of my dismal scores on the group IQ tests that

were all the rage in the 1950s, I became interested in intelli-

gence in elementary school (see Ref. 7). When I was in the sev-

enth grade, in 1963, as part of a science project, I created my

own IQ test: the Sternberg Test of Mental Abilities (STOMA—
no doubt you have heard of it!). I thought that what was wrong
with IQ tests is that they insufficiently sampled the skills

involved in intelligence. So I put into my test just about every

subtest I could find that was used in existing intelligence tests. I

Robert J. Sternberg, Cornell University.

I thank my mentors—Endel Tulving when I was an undergraduate
student at Yale, Gordon Bower when I was a graduate student at
Stanford, and the late Wendell Garner when I was a junior faculty
member at Yale—for all they taught me that has helped guide me in
my research career.

Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to
Robert J. Sternberg, Department of Human Development, College
of Human Ecology, Cornell University, B44 MVR, Ithaca, NY
14853; e-mail: robert.sternberg@cornell.edu.

DOI: 10.1111/cdep.12113

Volume 9, Number 2, 2015, Pages 106–110

CHILD DEVELOPMENT PERSPECTIVES

did not know statistics, but I knew enough to discover, through

testing, that after a certain point, it did not seem to matter how

many subtests I gave: The results were about the same. I had

rediscovered Spearman’s (8) g. No Zipperump-a-Zoo there!

STAGE 1: THE COMPONENTIAL THEORY OF

INTELLIGENCE

By the time I was in graduate school at Stanford and then an

assistant professor at Yale, I concluded that I finally had figured

out what was wrong with IQ in particular and the whole psycho-

metric approach to intelligence in general. The problem was

focusing on individual differences—person variation—instead
of on information processing, as assessed by stimulus variation

(9). So my colleagues and I started giving mental-test problems

in different forms, recording reaction times and error rates, and

mathematically modeling the cognitive processes involved in

solving inductive (e.g., analogies) as well as deductive reasoning

problems (e.g., categorical syllogisms) as well as verbal-compre-

hension problems (where test takers had to figure out the mean-

ings of unknown words). We also gave psychometric ability tests

so we could relate components of information processing to psy-

chometrically determined abilities. Using these techniques, we

ascertained the components of information processing people

used, the strategies into which these components were com-

bined, the mental representations upon which the processes

acted, and the latencies and error rates associated with the com-

ponents (10, 11).

For example, we found that most people solve linear syllo-

gisms (e.g., John is taller than Mary. Mary is taller than Bill.

Who is shortest?) using a combination of linguistic and spatial

strategies, that encoding the terms of the sentences was time-

consuming, and that we could distinguish components of infor-

mation processing that were linguistically based from those that

were spatially based. We also could account for the develop-

ment of component processes in linear syllogisms, analogies,

and other types of problems over different age spans (12–14).
I came to believe that components are of three kinds: meta-

components, which plan, monitor, and evaluate problem solving

(e.g., recognizing the existence of a problem, defining the nature

of the problem); performance components, which execute the

problem solving (e.g., encoding items, inferring relations

between items); and knowledge-acquisition components, which

learn how to solve the problems in the first place (e.g., selec-

tively encoding what information is relevant, selectively compar-

ing new information to old information stored in long-term

memory). Some kinds of componential processes (e.g., inference)

continued to develop monotonically, but other kinds of compo-

nential processes (e.g., encoding) did not. Children first became

faster in encoding and then, when they learned that strong

encoding could speed up their reasoning and problem solving,

actually became slower. So we learned that development was

not a matter of continuity versus discontinuity, but a matter of

both (15). I thought I had found the Zipperump-a-Zoo. I was

wrong.

The componential approach was elegant—if I must say so
myself—but had three problems. First, in regression equations,
the component latency that correlated most strongly with g was

the regression constant. That was clearly not what I had hoped

for, as that was the unanalyzed component. Second, the

approach worked for problems whose information processing

could be decomposed relatively easily, but it was not clear how

it would work for more complex problems, such as the crypt-

arithmetic problems studied by Newell and Simon (16): For

example, given DONALD + GERALD = ROBERT, D = 5, test
takers would have to figure out what numerals to put in place of

the remaining letters. Third, I concluded that all I was doing

was reanalyzing IQ test data: Psychometricians analyzed subject

variance; I analyzed stimulus variance. But the underlying

assumption was still that IQ is all there is.

STAGE 2: THE TRIARCHIC THEORY OF

INTELLIGENCE

By the early 1980s, I was convinced that the componential

approach to intelligence was inadequate. Partly through the lit-

erature and partly through my experiences as director of gradu-

ate studies in psychology at Yale, I became convinced that

intelligence comprised more than just the kinds of analytical

skills measured by intelligence tests, including the ones I had

been using. In particular, I believed that intelligence involved

creative and practical skills (17, 18), not just analytical intelli-

gence or what is commonly called general intelligence, or g.

General intelligence is a modestly to moderately good predictor

of many forms of behavior (19), but much unexplained variance

remains in its prediction of various criteria, such as academic

success, job success, and health. When I was tackling the con-

cept of g in the early 1980s, it was a time of some ferment in

the field of intelligence, with Howard Gardner (20) proposing

his theory of multiple intelligences at about the same time. My

colleagues and I did empirical work on practical intelligence

(21) and creative intelligence (22, 23).

I called the theory triarchic because it had three parts: a part

specifying the information-processing components of intelli-

gence; a part specifying what constituted creative and automa-

tized use of those components, depending on one’s level of

experience in given tasks and situations; and a part dealing with

how the components could be used practically by adapting to,

shaping, and selecting environments. However, some scholars

came to see the theory as triarchic because of its distinction

among analytical, creative, and practical aspects of intelligence

—and I eventually adopted that view, too. Unlike in Gardner’s
(20) theory, which specified independent intelligences, the three

aspects of intelligence were not viewed as independent. Rather,

components of intelligence were used analytically when applied

to relatively familiar and abstract problems; used creatively

Child Development Perspectives, Volume 9, Number 2, 2015, Pages 106–110

Still Searching for the Zipperump-a-Zoo 107

when applied to relatively novel tasks and situations; and used

practically when applied to everyday situations in which people

needed to adapt to, shape, and select environments.

I thought I had found the Zipperump-a-Zoo at last. I had not.

I was viewing intelligence as some kind of weighted combina-

tion of its analytical, creative, and practical aspects, and that

was wrong.

STAGE 3: THE THEORY OF SUCCESSFUL

INTELLIGENCE

In the triarchic theory, I noted something about human intelli-

gence, but at the time, did not realize its full significance. That

something was that people are intelligent, in large part, by virtue

of recognizing their strengths and weaknesses, and of finding

ways to capitalize on their strengths and compensating for or

correcting their weaknesses. No single weighted combination of

skills characterized a person’s intelligence because people suc-

ceed in large part not just because of their abilities, but also

because of their patterns of capitalization, on one hand, and

compensation and correction, on the other (24). It was as impor-

tant to leverage one’s abilities effectively as to have the abilities

in various degrees in the first place.

We studied validating the theory of successful intelligence,

particularly with regard to whether the theory could improve

instruction. We found that teaching for successful intelligence

improved school achievement (25); however, when we tried to

upscale the work some years later, we were less successful (26).

We lacked the resources to ensure fidelity of treatment, but the

weak findings may have been the result of many possible

causes. We also found that students who were taught at least

some of the time in a way that capitalized on their strengths per-

formed more optimally than students who were not taught in a

way that considered their abilities (27).

This is about where I was when I wrote the first article for The

Psychologist on my search for the Zipperump-a-Zoo (2). But I

knew I had not found the Zipperump-a-Zoo, for at least two rea-

sons. First, I had no well-validated measures of the elements of

the theory of successful intelligence. Second, my experience

suggested that although I acknowledged context effects on intel-

ligence, I was underestimating them.

My first goal was to develop validated measures and show that

they could be useful. A team of collaborators and I constructed

an assessment for an enterprise we called the Rainbow Project

(28). The assessment was administered to roughly 1,000 high

school seniors and college freshmen. The students varied widely

in their geographic region as well as in the level of prestige of

the institution they attended.

By using tests of analytical, creative, and practical skills, we

could about double the prediction of how the SAT or the ACT

alone influenced freshman GPA, and we could reduce substan-

tially ethnic-group differences on our measures in comparison

with the SAT and ACT. We also found separable creative and

practical factors, although the analytical factor we anticipated

instead was characterized by the multiple-choice format. That

is, no matter what we intended to measure, if we measured it by

multiple-choice testing, we ended up with an analytical test. In

a separate study (29), we showed that we could improve predic-

tion of success in a graduate business school over and above the

prediction obtained from the Graduate Management Admission

Test (GMAT). In particular, our test predicted success in a crea-

tive independent project, whereas the GMAT did not. My col-

laborators and I also showed that ethnic-group differences could

be reduced in our augmented versions of various Advanced

Placement (AP) examinations, in particular, in psychology, sta-

tistics, and physics (30, 31).

The Rainbow Project succeeded, at least in a predictive way,

but our funders, the College Board, refused to renew our fund-

ing, claiming that the assessment could not be upscaled. I dis-

agreed. I saw all my research plans going up in smoke. So I

decided to enter administration, which would give me a chance

to use measures like the ones we developed in the undergradu-

ate admissions process. We did so when I was Dean of Arts and

Sciences at Tufts University and Provost at Oklahoma State Uni-

versity. Through a project called Kaleidoscope, we increased

prediction not only of college academic performance but also of

extracurricular and leadership performance, and we continued

to reduce ethnic-group differences (32). These admissions pro-

cedures are still used at Tufts (Kaleidoscope) and Oklahoma

State (Panorama).

Of course, all of these studies were conducted in U.S. main-

stream culture and did not look beyond it. So they could address

some questions about performance of U.S. college-bound stu-

dents, but not about students in other countries. By the turn of

the 20th century, I was looking at cultural and other contextual

factors not only in what it meant to think and perform intelli-

gently, but also on what people meant by intelligence. Although

as psychological scientists, we may discount people’s implicit

theories (folk conceptions) of intelligence, these implicit theories

determine largely both their judgments of the intelligence of oth-

ers and how they raise their children to be intelligent. I had

been studying implicit theories for a while (33, 34), but I had

studied them in the continental United States. I now found that

people’s conceptions of intelligence differed widely across cul-

tures (35). Moreover, what they needed to do to adapt to their

environment varied wildly across cultures (36).

For example, rural Kenyan school children needed to learn

the names of natural herbal medicines to combat frequent para-

sitic illnesses (37), and rural Yup’ik children in Alaska needed

to learn spatial navigation, hunting, and ice-fishing skills (38).

Some of the children who excelled in these indigenous skills did

not fare well on conventional intelligence tests, and some of the

children who did well on standardized tests did not do well on

the indigenous tasks. People in different cultures had very dif-

ferent metaphors of mind (39, 40) and as a result, raised their

children to be smart in terms of their own implicit theories of

Child Development Perspectives, Volume 9, Number 2, 2015, Pages 106–110

108 Robert J. Sternberg

intelligence. When these implicit theories matched those of the

school, the children tended to look smart; but when the implicit

theories were a poor match, the children tended not to look so

smart (41).

I still did not have my Zipperump-a-Zoo and I knew it: I now

realized that even people who were successfully intelligent

could be plenty smart but remarkably foolish (42).

STAGE 4: THE AUGMENTED THEORY OF SUCCESSFUL

INTELLIGENCE

By the early 2000s, I was convinced the theory of successful

intelligence lacked one crucial feature: It did not consider wis-

dom (43, 44). I came to view wisdom as the application of the

analytical, creative, and practical aspects of successful intelli-

gence for a common good, over the long as well as the short

terms, through the infusion of positive values (44). People could

be smart, both in terms of IQ and of successful intelligence, and

yet commit egregious cognitive fallacies in their thinking, in

particular, egocentrism (“It’s all about me”), unrealistic opti-

mism (“It’s my idea so it has to work out”), false omniscience

(“I’m so smart, I know all there is to know”), false omnipotence

(“I’m so smart, I’m all-powerful”), false invulnerability (“I’m so

smart, no one ever will be able to touch me”), and ethical disen-

gagement (“Ethics are important for other people, but I’m too

smart for that.”). Recently, I have become interested in why so

many people’s ethical reasoning goes astray (45). Stanovich (46)

made a related point: People can be smart but highly irrational.

Unfortunately, they do not realize how irrational they are

because they cloak themselves in their not-always-useful IQs.

THAT STILL-HIDDEN ZIPPERUMP-A-ZOO

No, I still have not found the Zipperump-a-Zoo. I know it, and

others are convinced that I am not even close. For one thing,

although I have been studying intelligence as modifiable (47), I

know that intelligence has state-like properties that even a view

of intelligence as modifiable does not capture (48). In universi-

ties today, students take drugs that boost test scores to capitalize

on these state-like properties, raising a new question of what it

means for a test, administered in a brief period of time, to be

fair. Moreover, although I have argued that general intelligence

(g) is part of the whole package of intelligence, many psycholo-

gists and especially psychometricians believe that, when it

comes to intelligence, g is pretty much the whole thing, and they

question much or all of my research (19, 49–51). Personally, I
accept a hierarchical model of g, such as Carroll’s (52): I just do

not believe that g, by itself or in a hierarchical arrangement, is

all there is to intelligence.

In the end, you never find the Zipperump-a-Zoo, though it

may lurk in your office, living room, or anywhere else. You pass

the torch to your students in the hope they may find it, and the

best they can do is pass on their torch when the time comes.

The search has been fun, though, and I have had the pleasure to

see plenty of other animals in Professor Wormbog’s menagerie

along the way, even though the Zipperump-a-Zoo has eluded

me, no matter where I have looked. Should you encounter any-

one who believes he or she has found it—and there are plenty
of those in the field of intelligence—my advice is: “Caveat emp-
tor: Buyer beware!”

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Child Development Perspectives, Volume 9, Number 2, 2015, Pages 106–110

110 Robert J. Sternberg

The Development of Language-Like Communication Without a Language Model

Author(s): Susan Goldin-Meadow and Heidi Feldman

Source: Science , Jul. 22, 1977, New Series, Vol. 197, No. 4301 (Jul. 22, 1977), pp. 401-403

Published by: American Association for the Advancement of Science

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https://www.jstor.org/stable/1744359

On the basis of field and aquarium ob-
servations, it is apparent that, when
threatened, most reef-fish prey species
take shelter in the reef and await the

eventual departure of the predator. What
then would be the selective advantage to
a prey species to pose in a vulnerable lo-
cation rather than to flee and hide? The

strategy of the mimic appears to be one
of intimidation. Rather than flee into the

refuge of the reef when it encounters a
predator, Calloplesiops simulates the
abundant and aggresive moray, fright-
ening away a predator and thereby reduc-
ing the time spent by Calloplesiops in
less productive activities.

JOHN E. MCCOSKER

Steinhart Aquarium,
California Academy of Sciences,
San Francisco 94118

References and Notes

1. W. Wickler, Mimicry in Plants and Animals
(McGraw-Hill, New York, 1968); J. Randall and
H. Randall, Bull. Mar. Sci. Gulf Caribb. 10, 444
(1960); J. Randall and A. Emery, Zoologica 56,
115 (1971).

2. Aquarium observations are based on six speci-
mens, presumably collected in the Philippines,
of Calloplesiops that have been in captivity
since December 1973. I made field observations

enough to act as predators). In the ab-
sence of evidence from other sources, it
seems most likely that the ocellus func-
tions as a component of Batesian mim-
icry rather than as a deflective target, but
it may also startle a predator.
On the basis of field and aquarium ob-
servations, it is apparent that, when
threatened, most reef-fish prey species
take shelter in the reef and await the
eventual departure of the predator. What
then would be the selective advantage to
a prey species to pose in a vulnerable lo-
cation rather than to flee and hide? The
strategy of the mimic appears to be one
of intimidation. Rather than flee into the
refuge of the reef when it encounters a
predator, Calloplesiops simulates the
abundant and aggresive moray, fright-
ening away a predator and thereby reduc-
ing the time spent by Calloplesiops in
less productive activities.
JOHN E. MCCOSKER
Steinhart Aquarium,
California Academy of Sciences,
San Francisco 94118
References and Notes
1. W. Wickler, Mimicry in Plants and Animals
(McGraw-Hill, New York, 1968); J. Randall and
H. Randall, Bull. Mar. Sci. Gulf Caribb. 10, 444
(1960); J. Randall and A. Emery, Zoologica 56,
115 (1971).
2. Aquarium observations are based on six speci-
mens, presumably collected in the Philippines,
of Calloplesiops that have been in captivity
since December 1973. I made field observations

rather than of the caretakers.

Must a child experience language in
order to learn language? Clearly some
experience with language is necessary
for the child to learn the established lan-

guage of his particular community. The
child of English-speaking parents learns
English and not Hopi, while the child of
Hopi-speaking parents learns Hopi, not
English. But what if a child is exposed to
no conventional language at all? Surely
such a child, lacking a specific model to
imitate, could not learn the conventional

language of his culture. But might he
elaborate a structured, albeit idiosyn-
cratic, language nevertheless?

We have observed a group of children
who lack specific linquistic input but
who otherwise have normal home envi-

ronments. Our subjects are deaf children

22 JULY 1977

rather than of the caretakers.
Must a child experience language in
order to learn language? Clearly some
experience with language is necessary
for the child to learn the established lan-
guage of his particular community. The
child of English-speaking parents learns
English and not Hopi, while the child of
Hopi-speaking parents learns Hopi, not
English. But what if a child is exposed to
no conventional language at all? Surely
such a child, lacking a specific model to
imitate, could not learn the conventional
language of his culture. But might he
elaborate a structured, albeit idiosyn-
cratic, language nevertheless?
We have observed a group of children
who lack specific linquistic input but
who otherwise have normal home envi-
ronments. Our subjects are deaf children
22 JULY 1977

along the western coast of Grande Comore Is-
land, Indian Ocean, during February and March
1975.

3. Calloplesiops altivelis (Steindachner) was de-
scribed as Plesiops altivelis and includes Bar-
rosia barrosi Smith in its synonymy.

4. E. Hobson, Fish. Bull. 72, 915 (1974).
5. R. Hiatt and D. Strasburg, Ecol. Monogr. 30, 65

(1960).
6. C. Rettenmeyer, Annu. Rev. Entomol. 15, 43

(1970).
7. The necessity and importance of certain of the

listed characters, particularly items (iii) and (iv),
is debatable.

8. Miillerian mimicry is based on the premises that
(i) two or more species are unpalatable, (ii) if
two or more species are indistinguishable by
predators, they will be captured in proportion to
their abundance, and items (iv) to (vi) of the
Batesian mimicry criteria (6).

9. Because of the scarcity of Calloplesiops, the
simple but conclusive experiment of feeding a
series of Calloplesiops to various predators was
not attempted.

10. J. E. Randall, K. Aida, T. Hibiya, N. Mitsuura,
H. Kamiya, and Y. Hashimoto [Publ. Seto Mar.
Biol. Lab. 19, 157 (1971)] outlined the procedure
for identifying the presence of skin toxins and
discovered them to be present throughout the
family Grammistidae. Ichthyologists consider
the Grammistidae and Plesiopidae to be related
families within the suborder Percoidei [see, for
example, P. H. Greenwood, D. E. Rosen, S.
Weitzman, G. S. Myers, Bull. Am. Mus. Nat.
Hist. 131, 341 (1966)].

11. E. Poulton, The Colours of Animals (Interna-
tional Scientific Series, LXVIII, London, 1890);
H. Cott, Adaptive Coloration in Animals
(Meuthen, London, 1940).

12. A. Blest, Behaviour 11, 209 (1957).
13. Six specimens from Steinhart Aquarium and

preserved specimens from the fish collections of
the California Academy of Sciences, National
Museum of Natural History, and J. L. B. Smith
Institute of Ichthyology.

14. A. Blest, Zoologica 49, 161 (1964).
15. Comoran fieldwork supported by a grant from

the C. H. Breeden Foundation. I thank R. Mac-
Pherson for insight, P. Ehrlich and G. Barlow
for advice, and T. McHugh/Photo Researchers
and D. Powell for photographs.

2 November 1976; revised 28 December 1976

along the western coast of Grande Comore Is-
land, Indian Ocean, during February and March
1975.
3. Calloplesiops altivelis (Steindachner) was de-
scribed as Plesiops altivelis and includes Bar-
rosia barrosi Smith in its synonymy.
4. E. Hobson, Fish. Bull. 72, 915 (1974).
5. R. Hiatt and D. Strasburg, Ecol. Monogr. 30, 65
(1960).
6. C. Rettenmeyer, Annu. Rev. Entomol. 15, 43
(1970).
7. The necessity and importance of certain of the
listed characters, particularly items (iii) and (iv),
is debatable.
8. Miillerian mimicry is based on the premises that
(i) two or more species are unpalatable, (ii) if
two or more species are indistinguishable by
predators, they will be captured in proportion to
their abundance, and items (iv) to (vi) of the
Batesian mimicry criteria (6).
9. Because of the scarcity of Calloplesiops, the
simple but conclusive experiment of feeding a
series of Calloplesiops to various predators was
not attempted.
10. J. E. Randall, K. Aida, T. Hibiya, N. Mitsuura,
H. Kamiya, and Y. Hashimoto [Publ. Seto Mar.
Biol. Lab. 19, 157 (1971)] outlined the procedure
for identifying the presence of skin toxins and
discovered them to be present throughout the
family Grammistidae. Ichthyologists consider
the Grammistidae and Plesiopidae to be related
families within the suborder Percoidei [see, for
example, P. H. Greenwood, D. E. Rosen, S.
Weitzman, G. S. Myers, Bull. Am. Mus. Nat.
Hist. 131, 341 (1966)].
11. E. Poulton, The Colours of Animals (Interna-
tional Scientific Series, LXVIII, London, 1890);
H. Cott, Adaptive Coloration in Animals
(Meuthen, London, 1940).
12. A. Blest, Behaviour 11, 209 (1957).
13. Six specimens from Steinhart Aquarium and
preserved specimens from the fish collections of
the California Academy of Sciences, National
Museum of Natural History, and J. L. B. Smith
Institute of Ichthyology.
14. A. Blest, Zoologica 49, 161 (1964).
15. Comoran fieldwork supported by a grant from
the C. H. Breeden Foundation. I thank R. Mac-
Pherson for insight, P. Ehrlich and G. Barlow
for advice, and T. McHugh/Photo Researchers
and D. Powell for photographs.
2 November 1976; revised 28 December 1976

Six deaf children of hearing parents
(two girls and four boys), ranging in age
from 17 to 49 months at the first inter-

view, were visited in their homes by two
experimenters for 1 to 2 hours at inter-
vals of approximately 6 to 8 weeks. The

of normal intelligence whose hearing
losses prevent them from acquiring oral
language naturally in the home. These
children’s hearing parents have decided
against exposing them to a manual sign
language in order to concentrate on oral
education (1). At the point at which we
studied these subjects, their oral educa-
tion program had not produced signifi-
cant learning; they had acquired few, if
any, spoken-language items that they
could use regularly in their daily activi-
ties.
Six deaf children of hearing parents
(two girls and four boys), ranging in age
from 17 to 49 months at the first inter-
view, were visited in their homes by two
experimenters for 1 to 2 hours at inter-
vals of approximately 6 to 8 weeks. The

The videotaped sessions were used to
develop a coding system (2). (i) In-
stances of communicative gestures were
designated in the stream of motor behav-
ior (3). In a randomly selected sample of
videotape, 82 percent of the gestures
identified by either of two coders were
identified and similarly described by
both coders. (ii) On the basis of physical
criteria, these gestures were broken
down into single units analogous to
words or signs and into multisign units
analogous to phrases (4). Of the gestures
identified by both coders, there was 95
percent agreement on sign boundary as-
signment and 85 percent agreement on
phrase boundary assignment. (iii) By the
method of “rich interpretation” (5), ref-
erential designates (such as Santa Claus
or twist) were assigned to all word signs,
and semantic elements, cases, and predi-
cates (such as agent or act) (6) were as-
signed to the individual signs in all multi-
sign phrases. Of the gestures identified
by both coders, there was 98 percent
agreement on reference assignment and
96 percent agreement on semantic ele-
ment assignment.

Using these descriptive categories, we
found that each of our deaf subjects de-
veloped a structured communication
system that incorporates properties
found in all child languages (7). They de-
veloped a lexicon of signs to refer to ob-
jects, people, and actions, and they com-
bined signs into phrases that express se-
mantic relations in an ordered way.

Lexicon. The children developed two
types of signs to refer to objects and ac-
tions (8). First, they used deictic signs,
typically pointing gestures which, like
proforms in English (such as “this” or
“there”), effectively allow the child to
make reference to any object or person
in the present. However, as is the case
with proforms, context is necessary to
interpret these signs. During the study,
David, Donald, Dennis, Chris, Kathy,
and Tracy produced, respectively, 4854,
1806, 309, 401, 1218, and 366 deictic
signs, representing 52, 62, 49, 41, 52, and

experimenters provided a standard set of
toys for the child to play with during the
interview and videotaped the informal
interaction of mother, experimenter,
child, and toys. Each videotaped session
was coded by one of the experimenters
or a research assistant. Selected samples
were coded by both experimenters in or-
der to calculate reliability scores on the
coding categories.
The videotaped sessions were used to
develop a coding system (2). (i) In-
stances of communicative gestures were
designated in the stream of motor behav-
ior (3). In a randomly selected sample of
videotape, 82 percent of the gestures
identified by either of two coders were
identified and similarly described by
both coders. (ii) On the basis of physical
criteria, these gestures were broken
down into single units analogous to
words or signs and into multisign units
analogous to phrases (4). Of the gestures
identified by both coders, there was 95
percent agreement on sign boundary as-
signment and 85 percent agreement on
phrase boundary assignment. (iii) By the
method of “rich interpretation” (5), ref-
erential designates (such as Santa Claus
or twist) were assigned to all word signs,
and semantic elements, cases, and predi-
cates (such as agent or act) (6) were as-
signed to the individual signs in all multi-
sign phrases. Of the gestures identified
by both coders, there was 98 percent
agreement on reference assignment and
96 percent agreement on semantic ele-
ment assignment.
Using these descriptive categories, we
found that each of our deaf subjects de-
veloped a structured communication
system that incorporates properties
found in all child languages (7). They de-
veloped a lexicon of signs to refer to ob-
jects, people, and actions, and they com-
bined signs into phrases that express se-
mantic relations in an ordered way.

52 percent of the signs each child pro-
duced.

The children produced a second type
of sign, characterizing signs, which are
motor-iconic signs that specify actions,

401

52 percent of the signs each child pro-
duced.
The children produced a second type
of sign, characterizing signs, which are
motor-iconic signs that specify actions,
401

The Development of Language-Like Communication Without a

Language Model

Abstract. Deaf children who are unable to acquire oral language naturally and
who are not exposed to a standard manual language can spontaneously develop a
structured sign system that has many of the properties of natural spoken language.
This communication system appears to be largely the invention of the child himself

The Development of Language-Like Communication Without a
Language Model
Abstract. Deaf children who are unable to acquire oral language naturally and
who are not exposed to a standard manual language can spontaneously develop a
structured sign system that has many of the properties of natural spoken language.
This communication system appears to be largely the invention of the child himself
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Table 1. Comparison of number of characterizing signs produced during sessions 1 to 4 by
mothers and children. Types refers to number of different characterizing signs; tokens refers to
number of occurrences across types.

Types Tokens

Subject In In semantic
Subject Child Mother com- Child Mother relation phrases

mon Child Mother

David 56 54 18 107 90 47 9
Dennis 25 23 5 50 58 18 3

objects, and, less frequently, attributes.
The form of a characterizing sign is re-
lated to its referent by apparent physical
similarity. For example, a closed fist
bobbed in and out near the mouth re-

ferred to a banana or to the act of eating
a banana. Two hands flapped up and
down at shoulder height referred to a
bird or the act of flying. As a result of
this motor-iconicity, the characterizing
sign is less dependent on context for in-
terpretation than is the deictic sign. Da-
vid, Donald, Dennis, Chris, Kathy, and
Tracy each produced, respectively, 210,
76, 25, 59, 35, and 95 different types of
characterizing signs throughout the
study.

Syntax and semantics. In addition to
these lexical accomplishments, the chil-
dren concatenated their deictic and char-

acterizing signs into multisign phrases
that conveyed relations between objects
and actions. For example, one child
pointed at a shoe and then pointed at a
table to request that the shoe (patient) be
put on the table (recipient). On another
occasion, the child pointed at a jar and
then produced a twisting motion in the
air to comment on mother’s having twist-
ed open (act) the jar (patient). Another
child opened his hand with his palm fac-
ing upward and then followed this
“give” sign with a point toward his
chest, to request that an object be given
(act) to him (recipient). The children
tended to produce phrases containing
combinations of the patient, recipient,
and act semantic elements represented in
the examples above: David, Donald,
Dennis, Chris, Kathy, and Tracy pro-
duced, respectively, 156, 64, 22, 23, 22,
and 12 such phrases, representing 63, 76,
80, 79, 66, and 50 percent of the action
phrases each child produced. Phrases
containing the agent or actor element
were produced less frequently than
phrases with the other three semantic
elements, and phrases with place of ac-
tion and instrument elements were rarely
produced.

Some of the children tended to pro-
duce their signs for the patient, recipient,
and act semantic elements in consistent

402

positions of their two-sign phrases. Spe-
cifically, as exemplified above, the chil-
dren tended to produce phrases with
patient-act, patient-recipient, and act-re-
cipient orders (Fig. 1) (9). Not all chil-
dren showed ordering tendencies for all
pairs of the three elements; but if the
children showed any ordering tendencies
at all, those tendencies were ordered in

I iiii

Dennis

20 Donald
oU.

20 z

20 l Kathy

Chris

PR RP PA AP AR RA

Sign order

Fig. 1. Number of two-sign phrases classifed
according to the order of each element in the
phrase. Abbreviations: P, patient, the object
or person acted upon; A, act, the action car-
ried out to effect a change of either state or
location; and R, recipient, the locus or person
toward which someone or something moves.
Patient signs tended to precede recipient signs
(X2=36, P<.001 for David; by the binomial test, P<.03 for Dennis, P<.02 for Donald). Patients tended to precede acts (X2=5.48, P<.02 for David; X2=7.36, P<.01 for Dennis). Acts tended to precede recipients (X2= 13.00, P<.001 for David; X2= 10.28, P<.001 for Don- ald). Subjects were observed over varying pe- riods of time: David was seen from 2 years 10 months to 3 years 10 months for eight ses- sions; Dennis from 2 years 2 months to 2 years 6 months for four sessions; Donald from 2 years 5 months to 4 years 6V? months for 11 sessions; Kathy from 1 year 5 months to 2 years 8 months for nine sessions; and Chris from 3 years 2 months to 3 years 6 months for three sessions.

the same direction. We can describe the

children’s two-sign phrases with the fol-
lowing element-ordering rule (10):

Rule A:

(choose any two maintaining order)

Phrase -> (patient) (act) (recipient)

Thus, it appears that some of the chil-
dren expressed semantic relations in a
systematic way, that is, by following a
syntactic rule based on the semantic role
of each of the sign units.

The children also produced longer
phrases that expressed at least two se-
mantic relations. David, Donald, Den-
nis, Chris, Kathy, and Tracy each pro-
duced, respectively, 240, 12, 4, 8, 11,
and 10 multirelation phrases, represent-
ing 31, 7, 10, 14, 17, and 12 percent of
each child’s semantic relation phrases.
For example, David pointed at a picture
of a shovel, pointed downstairs where a
shovel was stored, produced a digging
motion in the air with two fists, and final-

ly pointed downstairs a second time. Da-
vid had commented in one phrase on two
aspects of the shovel, the act usually per-
formed on the shovel and the habitual lo-
cation of the shovel.

The child inventor. A crucial question
is whether the deaf children rather than

their caretakers first elaborated these

signed communications. We observed
that the children’s mothers did use some

gestures. To determine who invented the
system, we transcribed the gestures pro-
duced by the mothers of two of our sub-
jects during the first four interviews. Our
impression was that these mothers did
not alter their behavior in front of the

camera and that our samples were repre-
sentative of the mothers’ communication
efforts.

A comparison of the mothers’ and the
children’s signs suggests that indeed it
was the children who first produced the
system. The children showed that they
could invent characterizing signs by
creating motor-iconic gestures for new
stimulus toys they had not previously en-
countered. Although the mothers pro-
duced as many different types of charac-
terizing signs as did their children, only
about 25 percent of these signs were
common to both mother and child (Table
1, column 1). There is thus some sugges-
tion that the mothers’ lexical vocabu-
laries differed from their children’s and
that each of the children could invent
characterizing signs on his own.

Furthermore, the children produced
multisign phrases that conveyed seman-
tic relations earlier than their mothers.

Both children produced a number of
these phrases in session 1. David’s moth-
er produced only three such phrases in

SCIENCE, VOL. 197

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signs to express semantic relations by
imitating their mothers’ gestures.

Finally, the children were far more
likely than were their mothers to use
characterizing signs in their multisign
phrases. The mothers produced as many
characterizing signs in single-unit
phrases as their children but far fewer
characterizing signs in multisign phrases
(Table 1, columns 2 and 3). Con-
sequently, there is no indication that the
children learned to integrate their char-
acterizing signs into an ordered system
by imitating their mothers’ productions
(11).

We have shown that a child can devel-

op a structured communication system
in a manual mode without the benefit of

an explicit, conventional language mod-
el. This achievement is cast into bold re-

lief by comparison with the meager lin-
guistic achievements of chimpanzees.
While chimpanzees seem to learn from
manual language training (12), they have
never been shown to spontaneously de-
velop a language-like communication
system without such training-even
when that chimp is lovingly raised at a
human mother’s knee (13). On the other
hand, even under difficult circum-
stances, the human child reveals a natu-
ral inclination to develop a structured
communication system.

SUSAN GOLDIN-MEADOW

Department of Education,
University of Chicago
Chicago, Illinois 60637

HEIDI FELDMAN

School of Medicine,
University of California, San Diego,
La Jolla 92037

References and Notes

1. Deaf children who are orally trained are in-
structed in lipreading and in speech production
with no audio feedback. These children have
been observed to spontaneously gesture to one
another “behind the teacher’s back.” [L. Fant,
Ameslan (National Association of the Deaf, Sil-

session 1 (compared to David’s 27 during
session 1), and Dennis’ mother did not
start production at all until session 2. In
addition, the children produced many
more multisign phrases conveying se-
mantic relations than did their mothers.
Over the course of the four interviews,
David and Dennis produced 127 and 42
such phrases, respectively, while their
mothers produced only 41 and 13, re-
spectively. There is thus no evidence
that the children learned to concatenate
signs to express semantic relations by
imitating their mothers’ gestures.
Finally, the children were far more
likely than were their mothers to use
characterizing signs in their multisign
phrases. The mothers produced as many
characterizing signs in single-unit
phrases as their children but far fewer
characterizing signs in multisign phrases
(Table 1, columns 2 and 3). Con-
sequently, there is no indication that the
children learned to integrate their char-
acterizing signs into an ordered system
by imitating their mothers’ productions
(11).
We have shown that a child can devel-
op a structured communication system
in a manual mode without the benefit of
an explicit, conventional language mod-
el. This achievement is cast into bold re-
lief by comparison with the meager lin-
guistic achievements of chimpanzees.
While chimpanzees seem to learn from
manual language training (12), they have
never been shown to spontaneously de-
velop a language-like communication
system without such training-even
when that chimp is lovingly raised at a
human mother’s knee (13). On the other
hand, even under difficult circum-
stances, the human child reveals a natu-
ral inclination to develop a structured
communication system.
SUSAN GOLDIN-MEADOW
Department of Education,
University of Chicago
Chicago, Illinois 60637
HEIDI FELDMAN
School of Medicine,
University of California, San Diego,
La Jolla 92037
References and Notes

ver Spring, Md., 1972); B. T. Tervoort, Am.
Ann. Deaf 106, 436 (1961)].

2. A rationale and justification of our coding meth-
ods and a more detailed discussion of results are
given by H. Feldman, S. Goldin-Meadow, and
L. Gleitman [Action, Gesture, and Symbol, A.
Lock, Ed. (Academic Press, New York; in
press)].

3. Communicative signs were motor behaviors, di-
rected to a person, which served no direct func-
tion in the setting. The physical form of the signs

22 JULY 1977
ver Spring, Md., 1972); B. T. Tervoort, Am.
Ann. Deaf 106, 436 (1961)].
2. A rationale and justification of our coding meth-
ods and a more detailed discussion of results are
given by H. Feldman, S. Goldin-Meadow, and
L. Gleitman [Action, Gesture, and Symbol, A.
Lock, Ed. (Academic Press, New York; in
press)].
3. Communicative signs were motor behaviors, di-
rected to a person, which served no direct func-
tion in the setting. The physical form of the signs
22 JULY 1977

4. A detailed account of the criteria for single signs
and an account of the lexical data are given by
H. Feldman [thesis, University of Pennsylvania
(1975)1; the criteria for sign phrases and for the
data on syntactic and semantic relations are de-
scribed by S. Goldin-Meadow (Stud. Neurolin-
guist, in press).

5. A description of the method of rich inter-
pretation is given by L. Bloom [Language De-
velopment (MIT Press, Cambridge, Mass.,
1970); One Word at a Time (Mouton, The
Hague, 1973)].

6. The system we use to describe the deaf child’s
phrases is an adaptation of the case system pre-
sented by C. J. Fillmore [in Universals in Lin-
guistic Theory, E. Bach and R. T. Harms, Eds.
(Holt, Rinehart & Winston, New York, 1968),
pp. 1-88].

7. R. Brown, A First Language (Harvard Univ.
Press, Cambridge, Mass., 1973); D. I. Slobin, in
Studies of Child Language Development, C. A.
Ferguson and D. I. Slobin, Eds. (Holt, Rinehart
& Winston, New York (1973), pp. 175-208.

8. The children produced a third type of sign, the
marker, which did not refer to things and events
but rather served modulation functions. Sign
markers were head nods and side-to-side head
shakes and were reminiscent of words such as
“yes” and “no” in English; for instance, in the
sentence “There are no trucks,” the “no” mod-
ulates, in particular negates, the existence of
trucks.

9. The data in Fig. 1 include only two-sign phrases.
We exclude phrases containing three elements
(such as point at book, “give” sign, point at self,
to request that the book be given to the child)
and also exclude phrases containing either re-
peated elements or simultaneously sign ele-
ments (such as point at book, “give,” point at
book; or point at book signed simultaneously
with “give”). In addition, we exclude all
phrases containing points at pictures because
the children tended to point at pictures before
producing other signs. The pictures pointed at
were often facsimiles of objects playing the
patient role; thus, we would have, perhaps arti-
factually, inflated our patient-first orderings if
we had included these phrases. As a result,
Tracy (observed for two sessions at 4 years 1
month and-4 years 3 months) was not included in

was described by a system similar to the one
used to describe American Sign Lanuage. The
dimensions used in the descriptions are de-
scribed by W. C. Stokoe, Jr. [Stud. Linguist.
Occas. Pap. 8 (1960)].
4. A detailed account of the criteria for single signs
and an account of the lexical data are given by
H. Feldman [thesis, University of Pennsylvania
(1975)1; the criteria for sign phrases and for the
data on syntactic and semantic relations are de-
scribed by S. Goldin-Meadow (Stud. Neurolin-
guist, in press).
5. A description of the method of rich inter-
pretation is given by L. Bloom [Language De-
velopment (MIT Press, Cambridge, Mass.,
1970); One Word at a Time (Mouton, The
Hague, 1973)].
6. The system we use to describe the deaf child’s
phrases is an adaptation of the case system pre-
sented by C. J. Fillmore [in Universals in Lin-
guistic Theory, E. Bach and R. T. Harms, Eds.
(Holt, Rinehart & Winston, New York, 1968),
pp. 1-88].
7. R. Brown, A First Language (Harvard Univ.
Press, Cambridge, Mass., 1973); D. I. Slobin, in
Studies of Child Language Development, C. A.
Ferguson and D. I. Slobin, Eds. (Holt, Rinehart
& Winston, New York (1973), pp. 175-208.
8. The children produced a third type of sign, the
marker, which did not refer to things and events
but rather served modulation functions. Sign
markers were head nods and side-to-side head
shakes and were reminiscent of words such as
“yes” and “no” in English; for instance, in the
sentence “There are no trucks,” the “no” mod-
ulates, in particular negates, the existence of
trucks.
9. The data in Fig. 1 include only two-sign phrases.
We exclude phrases containing three elements
(such as point at book, “give” sign, point at self,
to request that the book be given to the child)
and also exclude phrases containing either re-
peated elements or simultaneously sign ele-
ments (such as point at book, “give,” point at
book; or point at book signed simultaneously
with “give”). In addition, we exclude all
phrases containing points at pictures because
the children tended to point at pictures before
producing other signs. The pictures pointed at
were often facsimiles of objects playing the
patient role; thus, we would have, perhaps arti-
factually, inflated our patient-first orderings if
we had included these phrases. As a result,
Tracy (observed for two sessions at 4 years 1
month and-4 years 3 months) was not included in

10. The following conventions are used in describ-
ing the order rule: (i)-* indicates that the symbol
on the left can be rewritten as the symbol or
symbols on the right. The order of the symbols
on the right must be maintained in the rewriting
process. (ii) ( ) indicates that the symbol in the
parentheses is optional, that is, it either can or
cannot be chosen in the rewriting process.

11. S. Goldin-Meadow and H. Feldman [Sign Lang.
Stud. 8, 225 (1975)].

12. R. A. Gardner and B. T. Gardner, Science 165,
664 (1969); B. T. Gardner and R. A. Gardner,
Behav. Non-Hum. Primates 4, 117 (1971); A. J.
Premack and D. Premack, Sci. Am. 227, 92 (Oc-
tober 1972). Gardner and Gardner report that
Washoe has invented signs for certain objects;
although striking, this accomplishment does not
address the issue of whether or not Washoe
would invent such signs if she had not been ex-
posed to a standard manual language model.

13. C. Hayes, The Ape in Our House (Harper, New
York, 1951); W. N. Kellogg, Science 162, 423
(1968). Although the Kellogg chimpanzee Gua
occasionally did gesture (such as protruding lips
toward a cup to mean “drink”), her gestures ap-
peared to be far less explicit than our deaf chil-
dren’s signs (such as tilting a C-shaped palm to-
ward the mouth several times without the cup in
the hand, which was David’s signs for “drink”);
moreover, Gua did not combine signs into
phrases as did our deaf children.

14. We thank D. Burke, J. Huttenlocher, K. Kaye,
J. McClelland, and B. Meadow for reading ear-
lier versions of this paper; E. Newport for help-
ful suggestions; L. Tefo and B. Gray for help in
coding videotapes; our subjects and their fa-
milies for continued cooperation throughout the
study; and L. Gleitman for contributions to both
our thoughts and language. Supported by a
Spencer Foundation grant to S.G.-M. and H.F.
while they were students at the University of
Pennsylvania, an NSF graduate fellowship to
H.F., an American Association of University
Women predoctoral fellowship to S.G.-M., NIH
training grant HD 00337 under the direction of J.
Aronfreed, and NIH research grant HD 52744 to
R. Gelman.

24 May 1976; revised 11 February 1977

this analysis because she produced very few ac-
tion phrases which did not contain points at pic-
tures. The data that appear in Fig. 1 represent
64, 83, 92, 70, and 86 percent of all the two-sign,
pictureless action phrases produced by David,
Dennis, Donald, Kathy, and Chris, respectively.
10. The following conventions are used in describ-
ing the order rule: (i)-* indicates that the symbol
on the left can be rewritten as the symbol or
symbols on the right. The order of the symbols
on the right must be maintained in the rewriting
process. (ii) ( ) indicates that the symbol in the
parentheses is optional, that is, it either can or
cannot be chosen in the rewriting process.
11. S. Goldin-Meadow and H. Feldman [Sign Lang.
Stud. 8, 225 (1975)].
12. R. A. Gardner and B. T. Gardner, Science 165,
664 (1969); B. T. Gardner and R. A. Gardner,
Behav. Non-Hum. Primates 4, 117 (1971); A. J.
Premack and D. Premack, Sci. Am. 227, 92 (Oc-
tober 1972). Gardner and Gardner report that
Washoe has invented signs for certain objects;
although striking, this accomplishment does not
address the issue of whether or not Washoe
would invent such signs if she had not been ex-
posed to a standard manual language model.
13. C. Hayes, The Ape in Our House (Harper, New
York, 1951); W. N. Kellogg, Science 162, 423
(1968). Although the Kellogg chimpanzee Gua
occasionally did gesture (such as protruding lips
toward a cup to mean “drink”), her gestures ap-
peared to be far less explicit than our deaf chil-
dren’s signs (such as tilting a C-shaped palm to-
ward the mouth several times without the cup in
the hand, which was David’s signs for “drink”);
moreover, Gua did not combine signs into
phrases as did our deaf children.
14. We thank D. Burke, J. Huttenlocher, K. Kaye,
J. McClelland, and B. Meadow for reading ear-
lier versions of this paper; E. Newport for help-
ful suggestions; L. Tefo and B. Gray for help in
coding videotapes; our subjects and their fa-
milies for continued cooperation throughout the
study; and L. Gleitman for contributions to both
our thoughts and language. Supported by a
Spencer Foundation grant to S.G.-M. and H.F.
while they were students at the University of
Pennsylvania, an NSF graduate fellowship to
H.F., an American Association of University
Women predoctoral fellowship to S.G.-M., NIH
training grant HD 00337 under the direction of J.
Aronfreed, and NIH research grant HD 52744 to
R. Gelman.
24 May 1976; revised 11 February 1977

Relative Fecundity and Parental Effort

in Communally Nesting Anis, Crotophaga sulcirostris

Abstract. The contribution of eggs to the communal clutch by females of the group
and the genetic contribution by males of the group are significantly skewed. The
amount of parental care performed by each bird is correlated with relative egg own-

Relative Fecundity and Parental Effort
in Communally Nesting Anis, Crotophaga sulcirostris

ership for both sexes.

True communal nesting, in which sev-
eral females regularly deposit their eggs
into a single nest, is now known to occur
in a number of avian species such as
rheas, tinamous, anis, ostriches, magpie
geese, and pukekos (1). While the coop-
erative nature of this breeding system
has been emphasized, the degree of skew
in the clutch sizes of communal females

has not been reported for any of these
species. If the number of eggs the group
can incubate or raise successfully is lim-
ited, females should attempt to ensure
that the largest possible fraction of the
communal clutch is theirs.

A phenomenon commonly observed in
some of these species is the presence of
eggs strewn about in the vicinity of the
nest. Several explanations of this appar-

ership for both sexes.
True communal nesting, in which sev-
eral females regularly deposit their eggs
into a single nest, is now known to occur
in a number of avian species such as
rheas, tinamous, anis, ostriches, magpie
geese, and pukekos (1). While the coop-
erative nature of this breeding system
has been emphasized, the degree of skew
in the clutch sizes of communal females
has not been reported for any of these
species. If the number of eggs the group
can incubate or raise successfully is lim-
ited, females should attempt to ensure
that the largest possible fraction of the
communal clutch is theirs.
A phenomenon commonly observed in
some of these species is the presence of
eggs strewn about in the vicinity of the
nest. Several explanations of this appar-

ent wastage have been offered, usually in
terms of negligence, poor breeding syn-
chrony, improperly built or unfinished
nests, the onset of male incubation, or
predators (1). As part of a broader study
of communal nesting in groove-billed
anis (Crotophaga sulcirostris), I exam-
ined this question of egg loss and its im-
plications. I report here that (i) egg loss-
es are a direct result of competition
among females, (ii) egg losses create a
skew in the egg contribution of each fe-
male to the communal clutch, and (iii)
the amount of parental care is correlated
with relative egg contribution for both
males and females (2).

Nesting groups of groove-billed anis
consist of from one to four monogamous
pairs. Such breeding units are stable

403

Contents

image 1
image 2
image 3

Issue Table of Contents

Science, Vol. 197, No. 4301 (Jul. 22, 1977), pp. 309-416
Front Matter [pp. 309-406]
Letters
Canadian Saccharin Study [p. 320]
Drinking Water: Sources and Treatment [pp. 320+322+324]
Energy and Inspiration [pp. 324-325]
Last Resorts [p. 327]
Biomethylation of Toxic Elements in the Environment [pp. 329-332]
Biological Nitrogen Fixation for Food and Fiber Production [pp. 332-339]
An Economic Appraisal of President Carter’s Energy Program [pp. 340-345]
News and Comment
U.S. Foreign Medical Students: After the “Guadalajara Clause” [pp. 346-348]
Gene Splicing: Senate Bill Draws Charges of Lysenkoism [pp. 348+350]
Soviets Turn Deaf Ear to Pleas for Levich [p. 349]
Engineer’s Memo Stirs Doubts on Clinch River Breeder [pp. 350-352]
Appointments [p. 352]
Research News
Solar Thermal Electricity: Power Tower Dominates Research [pp. 353-356]
Electron Probe Microanalysis: New Uses in Physiology [pp. 356-358]
Book Reviews
Review: Early Man in South Africa [p. 359]
Review: Megalithic Monuments [pp. 360-361]
Review: Plasma Physics [p. 361]
Review: Dendroclimatology [pp. 361-362]
Books Received and Book Order Service [pp. 362+407]
Reports
Mining the Apollo and Amor Asteroids [pp. 363-366]
Antibody-Induced Antigen Redistribution and Shedding from Human Breast Cancer Cells [pp. 366-367]
Impaired Regulation of Alveolar Ventilation and the Sudden Infant Death Syndrome [pp. 367-368]
Goblet Cells in Embryonic Intestine: Accelerated Differentiation in Culture [pp. 368-370]
Stimulation by Immune Complexes of Mucus Release from Goblet Cells of the Rat Small Intestine [pp. 370-372]
Circulation of H$^{+}$ and K$^{+}$ Across the Plasma Membrane Is Not Obligatory for Bacterial Growth [pp. 372-373]
Formation of a Serine Enzyme in the Presence of Bovine Factor VIII (Antihemophilic Factor) and Thrombin [pp. 374-376]
Antigenic Shift of Visna Virus in Persistently Infected Sheep [pp. 376-378]
New Genetic Marker in Human Parotid Saliva (Pm) [pp. 378-379]
In vitro Growth of Mycobacterium lepraemurium, an Obligate Intracellular Microbe [pp. 379-381]
Stimulation of in vitro Translation of Messenger RNA by Actinomycin D and Cordycepin [pp. 381-383]
Overlapping Platelets: A Diffusion Barrier in a Teleost Swimbladder [pp. 383-384]
Secondary Structure of Histones and DNA in Chromatin [pp. 385-388]
An Effective Immunization of Experimental Monkeys Against a Human Malaria Parasite, Plasmodium falciparum [pp. 388-389]
North American Egg Parasite Successfully Controls a Different Host Genus in South America [pp. 390-391]
Adipose Tissue Regeneration Following Lipectomy [pp. 391-393]
Surgical Removal of Adipose Tissue Alters Feeding Behavior and the Development of Obesity in Rats [pp. 393-396]
A Critical Period for Acoustic Trauma in the Hamster and Its Relation to Cochlear Development [pp. 396-398]
Suprachiasmatic Nuclear Lesions Do Not Abolish Food-Shifted Circadian Adrenal and Temperature Rhythmicity [pp. 398-399]
Fright Posture of the Plesiopid Fish Calloplesiops altivelis: An Example of Batesian Mimicry [pp. 400-401]
The Development of Language-Like Communication Without a Language Model [pp. 401-403]
Relative Fecundity and Parental Effort in Communally Nesting Anis, Crotophaga sulcirostris [pp. 403-405]
Back Matter [pp. 407-416]

M I N D , B R A I N , A N D E D U C A T I O N

Promoting Math Talk
in Adult–Child Interactions
Through Grocery Store Signs
Erinn Hanner1, Emily J. Braham1, Leanne Elliott1, and Melissa E. Libertus1

ABSTRACT— Young children have better math abilities
when their parents engage in more math-related conversa-
tions with them. Yet, previous studies have found that math
talk occurs only very infrequently in everyday interactions.
In the present study, we sought to promote adult–child con-
versations about math in a naturalistic context using mini-
mal instructions. We observed 179 adult–child dyads while
they shopped in grocery stores with signs prompting them
to engage in math-related conversations (math condition),
signs prompting them to talk about other topics (general
language condition), or without any signs (baseline condi-
tion). In the math condition, more adults talked about math
compared to the general language or the baseline condi-
tion, and this finding could not be explained by demographic
characteristics of the dyad or the overall amount of con-
versations. This study demonstrates that cost-effective signs
placed in everyday contexts can promote math-related con-
versations and potentially provide math learning opportuni-
ties for children.

Some academic skills, like math, develop through talk and
play with caregivers before formal schooling begins (Elliott
& Bachman, 2018; Huntsinger, Jose, & Luo, 2016; Lefevre
et al., 2009; Niklas & Schneider, 2014; Ramani, Rowe, Eason,
& Leech, 2015; Zippert & Ramani, 2017). In one of the first
longitudinal studies examining parental talk about numbers
in the home, Levine, Suriyakham, Rowe, Huttenlocher,
and Gunderson (2010) video-recorded naturally occurring

1Department of Psychology, Learning Research and Development Cen-
ter, University of Pittsburgh

Address correspondence to Melissa E. Libertus, Department of Psy-
chology and Learning Research and Development Center, University
of Pittsburgh, 607 LRDC, 3939 O’Hara Street, Pittsburgh, PA 15260;
e-mail: libertus@pitt.edu

parent–child interactions for 90 min every 4 months when
the children were between 14 and 30 months of age. They
found marked variability in parents’ use of number words
during these interactions; while one of the parents only
produced four number words over the course of the 7.5 h of
observation, another parent produced 257 number words
(mean = 90.8 number words). Importantly, parents who
used more number words when children were between
14 and 30 months of age had children who had a better
understanding of the cardinal meaning of number words at
46 months. Other recent work found that children exposed
to more conversations about math broadly (i.e., math talk)
tend to score higher on a standardized test of mathematical
ability one year later (Susperreguy & Davis-Kean, 2016).
In addition, parental labeling of quantities (i.e., talking
about cardinality) when children are 3 years old is a bet-
ter predictor of math achievement in preschool and first
grade than parental identification of numerals or counting
(Casey et al., 2018). Finally, previous work has separated
parental elicitations of math talk (e.g., “How many pennies
are there?”) and statements about math (e.g., “You have
three pennies.”), but neither seem to separately predict
children’s later math abilities (Casey et al., 2018). Thus,
these studies highlight the importance of parental math
talk for young children’s math abilities, though the overall
frequency of parental math talk in everyday contexts is fairly
low and there might be differences between different aspects
of math talk.

To determine whether certain types of activities may
increase parents’ math talk, a few studies have exam-
ined math talk within the context of specific activities.
For example, Vandermaas-Peeler et al. (2009) compared
parental math talk during book reading and during free play
with a set of toys related to the story. Math talk occurred
more frequently during free play compared to book reading,
suggesting that certain contexts more readily lend them-
selves to eliciting math-related learning opportunities than
others. Similarly, Anderson (1997) found a wide range of

https://orcid.org/0000-0002-6461-1156

http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1111%2Fmbe.12195&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-04-23

Erinn Hanner et al.

math talk between parents and children, depending on the
task they were completing. Even when parent–child dyads
read the same books together or play the same board game,
parents differ dramatically in their amount of math talk
(Anderson, Anderson, & Shapiro, 2004; Bjorklund, Hubertz
& Reubens, 2004).

This individual variability demonstrates that simply pro-
viding parents with materials that lend themselves to math
talk may not be sufficient to elicit frequent use of it. Instead,
it may be necessary to specifically ask parents to incorpo-
rate math-related content into their interactions. To this
end, Vandermaas-Peeler, Ferretti, and Loving (2012) gave
parent–child dyads a board game to play. In addition to the
game, half of the parents were also given a list of numeracy
activities to incorporate into the game at their own discre-
tion. Parents who received these math-related suggestions
incorporated almost twice as much math talk into the game
play compared to parents who only received the game. These
findings suggest that implementing activities occurring in
children’s daily lives can be used to enhance children’s expo-
sure to math talk, but parents may need explicit guidance
on how to do so. Another study used a similar structure
in the context of cooking (Vandermaas-Peeler, Boomgar-
den, Finn, & Pittard, 2012). Parents were assigned to either
the control condition in which they completed the cooking
activity with no specific guidance or the math condition in
which they received a list of instructions on how to incor-
porate math concepts into the cooking activity. Unlike the
previous study, the cooking task had more naturally occur-
ring opportunities for math talk because of the need to talk
about units of measurement and quantities of ingredients.
Nonetheless, most parents did not spontaneously provide
extensive or advanced math-related input without a list of
instructions (Vandermaas-Peeler, Boomgarden, et al., 2012).
Finally, Berkowitz et al. (2015) used a tablet-based applica-
tion to engage parents and children in math-related discus-
sions within the context of a story. Even when parents and
children interacted with the application as little as once a
week, children still showed an increase in their math ability
by the end of the school year. Thus, providing parents with
explicit guidance on how to talk about math with their chil-
dren during typical home-based activities led to increased
parental math talk and potentially more opportunities for
children to learn math.

Children’s exposure to math talk in home settings is
extremely important, but children also learn from their
parents in other environments. Braham, Libertus, and
McCrink (2018) examined the malleability of math-related
parent–child interactions in a children’s museum. Half
of the parents were asked to play in the pretend-grocery
store exhibit of the museum and shop for a healthy meal
that included items from each food group, while the other
half of the parents were asked to shop for a meal on a $20

budget. As expected, parents who pretended to shop on a
budget used significantly more number words while talking
to their children than parents who pretended to shop for a
healthy meal. Interestingly, children who shopped with their
parents on a budget showed significantly greater sponta-
neous focus on numerical information on a subsequent task
compared to children who shopped for a healthy meal. Such
spontaneous focus on number has previously been linked
to children’s math abilities (Hannula, Lepola, & Lehtinen,
2010), suggesting that creating learning situations that
incorporate number into play may help with children’s later
mathematical abilities.

One issue with previous studies aimed at increasing math
talk is that they require guidance and instructions from
a researcher, and in some instances, like the tablet-based
application, access to expensive materials. In addition, activ-
ities such as playing a board game often do not take place as
part of families’ daily routines and thus require setting aside
time to engage in these activities. Ridge, Weisberg, Ilgaz,
Hirsh-Pasek, and Golinkoff (2015) tried to overcome simi-
lar issues while attempting to increase adult–child conver-
sations generally to boost young children’s language skills.
They displayed signs around grocery stores that encour-
aged adults to talk about a variety of topics with their chil-
dren. When signs were placed in grocery stores in low
socioeconomic status (SES) neighborhoods, the amount of
adult–child conversations significantly increased compared
to when no signs were displayed. Importantly, the quantity
and quality of the interactions were around the same level as
those observed in mid- to high-SES grocery stores with and
without signs. The authors argue that this low-cost interven-
tion promotes increases in conversations between adults and
children and in turn may provide children with important
opportunities to improve their language skills.

Following the study design by Ridge et al. (2015), we
sought to determine whether posting grocery store signs
specifically encouraging conversations about math might
get more adults and children to talk about math. Thus, the
present study consisted of three different conditions: a base-
line condition in which no signs were displayed, a math-sign
condition in which math-specific prompts were displayed on
various signs throughout the store, and a general language
sign condition in which general prompts were displayed.
We observed adult shoppers with young children and coded
the occurrence of different types of math and non-math
talk. Following previous work, we separated statements of
math-related concepts from elicitations and separated car-
dinality, counting, and calculations (Casey et al., 2018). The
general language sign condition was included to ensure
that any observed differences in math talk were a result of
math-related prompts and not merely a result of posting any
signs. We hypothesized that both sign conditions would yield
greater occurrences of adult–child conversations, but that

Volume 13—Number 2 111

Promoting Math Talk in Grocery Stores

Table 1
Observed Demographics of the Groups of Shoppers, N = 179

Variable N Math signs
General language

signs Baseline

Group structure
One adult and one child 106 29 41 36
One adult and multiple children 30 7 9 14
Multiple adults and one child 37 21 10 6
Multiple adults and multiple children 6 2 0 4

Target child gender
Male 71 26 24 21
Female 108 33 36 39

Target child age
Two 35 8 12 15
Three 34 13 9 12
Four 48 18 15 15
Five 62 20 24 18

Target child race/ethnicity
Asian 7 2 0 5
Black 81 25 29 27
White 88 32 30 26
Hispanic/Latino 3 0 1 2

Target adult gender
Male 52 24 12 16
Female 127 35 48 44

Target adult race/ethnicity
Asian 5 2 0 3
Black 80 25 29 26
White 92 32 30 30
Hispanic/Latino 2 0 1 1

Note. All demographic variables were judged from visual appearance by the observers. No information was collected from any of the participating shoppers.

the math-sign condition would specifically promote more
shoppers to talk about math.

METHOD

Participants
One of two trained research assistants observed 179 groups
of shoppers that included at least one child between the ages
of 2–5 years, based on the observers’ estimate, and any
accompanying adults or other children. Data were originally
collected from 180 observations, but one observation was
excluded from analyses due to missing data from observer
error. When the group of shoppers included more than one
child in the appropriate age range, the observer chose one
child as the target child. Additionally, the adult who talked
to the target child the most was designated as the target
adult. Older children were never chosen as the target adult.
Other adults in the group and older children who were over
the target age range were included in the coding of conversa-
tional turns, but were not included in the coding of any other
variables. Demographic information for our sample is shown
in Table 1.

Procedure
In all conditions, a sign stating, “Talking to your child is
important for preparing them for school!” was placed at all
entrances of each of the stores (Figure 1). In the baseline
condition, no additional signs were placed in the store. In
the math sign and general language sign conditions, addi-
tional signs were placed in areas of the store where common
foods are purchased (i.e., milk, eggs, and bread). The math
signs encouraged conversation about topics involving num-
bers and math, while the general language signs encouraged
conversation about topics other than math (Figure 1). On
each sign, we included two types of prompts that differed
according to the level of abstraction, or complexity, of the
question (Blank, Rose, & Berlin, 1978; Uscianowski, Almeda,
& Ginsburg, 2018). The first prompt in each of the signs was
a lower-level question that was designed to elicit more basic
conversations (i.e., questions that could be answered with
a single word or one sentence), while the second prompt
was a higher-level question that was designed to elicit more
complex conversations (i.e., a longer explanation). The ratio-
nale for including these two types of prompts was that we
expected the first prompt to be more appropriate for younger
children in our age range while the second prompt would be
more appropriate for older children.

112 Volume 13—Number 2

Erinn Hanner et al.

Fig. 1. Images of the signs placed in each area of the stores for each condition.

All observations were conducted on weekend days at one
of two store locations. The two stores were located in differ-
ent neighborhoods in Philadelphia, PA, USA. Time of day,
sign condition, area (i.e., milk, eggs, or bread), and store
were counterbalanced across observations. Ten groups of
shoppers were observed in each area for each condition in
each store. Amount of time spent observing the shoppers in
each condition at each store greatly differed by location and
day, but generally ranged between 1 and 4 hr. Observations
took place at only one area of the store per day in order to
avoid coding the same group of shoppers more than once.
In each area, observers started coding the interaction when
the shoppers entered the aisle and were able to be both seen
and heard. Any shopper with at least one child in the desired
age range was observed. Observers stopped coding once the

shoppers left the aisle. The observers acted as though they
were customers shopping in the store and accessed a cod-
ing sheet on Qualtrics, an online survey system, using smart
phones. The accessibility of coding on a phone allowed for
natural observer behavior. Shoppers’ conversations were not
recorded.

The two observers simultaneously observed and coded 27
of the 179 groups of shoppers in order to establish reliability.
The groups were observed across two conditions (math sign
and general language sign), two store locations, and the three
different store areas. The coders had 100% agreement on
all coded variables included in the analyses, including child
age, gender, race/ethnicity, as well as math talk and price-,
product-, and sign-related coding.

Volume 13—Number 2 113

Promoting Math Talk in Grocery Stores

Table 2
Descriptions and Examples of Types of Math Talk Between Adults and Children

Type Eliciting math talk description Eliciting math talk example Using math talk description Using math talk example

Cardinality Prompting or asking for a
number word or number of
items in a set.

“How many gallons of milk
do we have in our cart?”

Stating any number word or
number of items in a set.

“We have two gallons of
milk in our cart.”

Counting Prompting or asking to count. “Let’s count together how
many pieces of bread
there are!”

Reciting counting words,
counting objects in a set.

“In this bag, there are 1,
2, 3, 4 … 12 slices of
bread.”

Calculation Prompting or asking for
performance of calculations
like addition, subtraction,
multiplication, or division.

“How many eggs would we
have left?”

Verbally performing
calculations like addition,
subtraction,
multiplication, or division.

“There are twelve eggs in
a carton and if I ate one
and you ate one there
would be 10 eggs left!”

Coding
General Information
Observers estimated the age, gender, and ethnicity of the
target child and adult. In addition, observers coded who
initiated the conversation and the valence of the overall
adult–child interaction on a 5-point scale (1 = very nega-
tive; 5 = very positive) based on verbal and non-verbal emo-
tional expressions. The observers also estimated the number
of conversational turns, which was defined as the number
of times the adults and children in the group took turns
speaking. Every utterance from the target child counted as
a single conversational turn. An utterance could be a single
word, a sentence, or a few sentences that were not inter-
rupted or broken by another speaker. If an adult or older
child in the group said something directed toward the tar-
get child, it was counted as a conversational turn. If the
adults or older children in the group were only convers-
ing among themselves and did not include the target child,
these interactions were not coded as conversational turns.
Non-verbal gestures, like responsive head nods or shakes,
were also included as conversational turns. The overall num-
ber of conversational turns was coded in ranges, that is, 0, 1,
2–5, 6–9, 10+ because pilot testing revealed that exact cod-
ing of the number of conversational turns was too difficult
given the other codes that needed to be observed. Note that
unlike conversational turns, all of the other codes described
below were coded in a binary fashion (i.e., code present or
absent) and were recorded separately for the target adult and
target child.

Product-Related Coding
We coded for several ways that target adult and child may
have interacted with the products mentioned in the signs
(i.e., eggs, milk, or bread). Specifically, we coded whether
they put the product in their cart as well as whether they
conversed about the product. If either the target child
or adult said the product name or did simple gestures

like pointing to or picking up the product, the presence
of product-related interaction was recorded (i.e., “simple
product interaction”). If the conversation included further
information about the product such as a description of its
physical or non-physical features or follow-up questions
about the product were asked, those were coded as well (i.e.,
“product description”). We included these codes because we
wanted to see whether there were differences between sign
conditions, for example in the frequency with which shop-
pers purchased the product displayed on our signs.

Price-Related Coding
We also coded for the presence of interactions about
the price. If the target adult or child said the price of the
product, pointed to the price tag, or discussed the price
it was coded as presence of price-related interaction. The
price of the product was separated from math talk because
it was considered to be related to the product, not the signs
promoting specific conversations and we wanted to ensure
that the use of math talk was prompted by our signs.

Sign-Related Coding
In the math-sign condition and general language sign con-
dition, we also coded the extent to which the shoppers dis-
cussed the characters on the sign, pointed to the sign, read
the questions on the sign, answered the questions posed
on the sign, or elaborated and explained the questions fur-
ther. Presence of “sign-related interaction” was coded if
the target adult or child engaged in any of these behaviors.

Math Talk
Since math talk was our primary measure of interest,
the occurrence of a variety of different math talk categories
was coded. Descriptions and examples of each type of math
talk are provided in Table 2. We distinguished between
elicitations of math talk and uses of math talk as well as

114 Volume 13—Number 2

Erinn Hanner et al.

conversations about cardinality (i.e., statements with a
single number word in the absence of counting), counting,
and calculation.

Analysis Plan
We first compared shoppers’ interactions between the three
different conditions. In order to assess whether the con-
ditions varied in valence, we ran an analysis of variance
(ANOVA) with valence of the interaction as the depen-
dent measure. To test whether the conditions elicited dif-
ferent amounts of conversational turns or different amounts
of interaction about the product, price, or sign, we ran a
series of chi-squared analyses. We collapsed across store
areas (i.e., eggs, bread, and milk) for all analyses because pre-
liminary chi-squared analyses revealed no differences in any
of our variables.

To address our main research question, we conducted a
series of analyses to test whether math signs led more adults
to use math talk. Initially we looked at the difference between
the different types of math talk as shown in Table 2. Given
the relative infrequency of some of the specific types of math
talk and the consistent patterns across conditions (such that
all forms of math talk were more frequent in the math-sign
condition), a single variable indicating whether any math talk
occurred was used in all further analyses. To this end, we
first collapsed across all types of math talk and ran a series of
chi-squared tests comparing the percentages of adults who
used math talk across the three conditions. To account for
other factors that may have affected the interactions, such
as the store location, age, gender, and race of the adult and
child, we conducted a series of follow-up logistic regression
models including a set of covariates to predict the odds of
adults’ use of math talk based on condition (math signs, gen-
eral language signs, or baseline, with math signs as the refer-
ence group). Specifically, models included adult gender and
race/ethnicity (White, Black, or other, with White as the ref-
erence group), child gender and estimated age (0 = two or
three years old, 1 = four or five years old), as well as dummy
codes to reflect store location. Importantly, we also included
the rated valence of the interaction, the number of conver-
sational turns (1, 2–5, 6–9, or 10 or more, with 1 as the
reference group as there were no shoppers with zero con-
versational turns), and whether the adult interacted with
the product (either as “simple product interaction” or prod-
uct description), put the product in their cart, discussed the
price of the product, or interacted with the sign as covari-
ates. These variables were treated as dichotomous indica-
tors (0 = no, 1 = yes) to control for the general valence and
length of the interaction. Note that we focused only on adults
for these analyses and could not split cardinality, counting,
and calculation because some of these types of math talk
occurred too infrequently in some of the conditions and were
even more infrequent in children (Table 3).

Table 3
Observed Frequencies of Each Type of Math Talk for Target Adults
and Children Across Conditions

Adult math talk
Math
signs

General language
signs Baseline

Cardinality statement 44% 20% 20%
Cardinality elicitation 31% 2% 2%
Counting statement 17% 2% 2%
Counting elicitation 17% 0% 0%
Calculation statement 14% 0% 0%
Calculation elicitation 7% 0% 0%

Child math talk
Math
signs

General language
signs Baseline

Cardinality statement 34% 2% 8%
Cardinality elicitation 2% 0% 2%
Counting statement 19% 0% 2%
Counting elicitation 2% 0% 0%
Calculation statement 3% 0% 0%
Calculation elicitation 2% 0% 0%

RESULTS

First, we examined whether conversational valence and the
number of conversational turns varied between the three
conditions. A one-way ANOVA revealed no differences
in the valence of interactions observed across conditions,
F (2, 176) = 2.45, p = .090. However, there were significant
differences in the number of conversational turns between
conditions, χ2(6) = 14.13, p = .028. Only 10% of observations
in the math-sign condition included a single conversational
turn compared to 15% and 27% in the general language sign
and baseline conditions, whereas 40% of observations in the
math-sign condition included 10 or more turns compared to
25% and 17% in the general language sign and baseline con-
ditions, respectively. Similarly, differences were seen in how
adults interacted with the products, χ2(2) = 8.91, p = .012,
with more simple product interactions observed in the gen-
eral language sign condition (60%) compared to the math
sign (42%) and baseline (33%) conditions. No differences
were observed in whether adults provided more complex
descriptions of the products, χ2(2) = 4.98, p = .083, put the
products in their cart, χ2(2) = 1.57, p = .457, or discussed
the price of the product, χ2(2) = 4.17, p = .125, across the
three conditions. However, adults were significantly more
likely to interact with the signs in the math-sign condi-
tion (46%) compared to the general language sign condition
(27%), χ2(1) = 4.70, p = .030.

The number of adults who used math talk varied sig-
nificantly across conditions, χ2(2) = 15.27, p < .001, as 53% of adults used math talk when math signs were displayed compared to 23% of adults when general language signs or no signs were displayed (Figure 2). To test whether the

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Promoting Math Talk in Grocery Stores

Fig. 2. Percentages of parents using math talk by sign condition.

differences in the numbers of adults who used math talk
across conditions persisted when controlling for other fac-
tors in these interactions, logistic regression models were
estimated predicting overall math talk (Table 4). Consistent
with the chi-squared analyses, the logistic regression models
indicated that significantly more adults used math talk when
math signs were displayed compared to the other condi-
tions. Controlling for the set of covariates (i.e., store location,
child and adult gender, adult race, child age, conversational
valence, number of conversational turns, adult interactions
with and conversations about the product, price, or sign),
adults who saw the math signs had 3.92 times higher odds
of using math talk than adults who saw the general language
signs and 3.96 times higher odds than the adults in the
baseline condition. For interpretation, these odds ratios
imply that the predicted probability of using math talk when
the math signs were displayed for shoppers in the reference
group (i.e., a White male adult shopping with a male two- or
three-year-old, who did not interact with the product or sign
at all, etc.) was 68%, whereas the predicted probability of a
comparable shopper using math talk was 35% when the gen-
eral language signs or no signs were displayed. Importantly,
these condition effects were detected when controlling for
conversational turns and therefore reflect increases in math
talk, instead of mere increases in conversation.

DISCUSSION

The main goal of this study was to test the efficacy of a
cost-effective intervention to promote the occurrence
of math-related conversations between adults and children
during everyday activities in a naturalistic context. Specifi-
cally, we found that putting up signs in a grocery store that
prompt adult–child conversations about math increased
the number of adults who used math talk with their child
compared to no signs or signs that prompted conversations

Table 4
Logistic Regression Results Predicting Use of Math Talk Across
Sign Conditions, N = 179

Predictor Math talk

Sign condition
General language 0.26** (0.12)
Baseline 0.25** (0.13)

Store dummy code 2.77* (1.13)
Target child is female 0.63 (0.25)
Target adult is female 0.93 (0.43)
Target adult race

Black/African American 0.38* (0.17)
Other 2.70 (2.63)

Target child is four or five years old 0.72 (0.31)
Conversational valence 1.07 (0.25)
Conversational turns

2–5 0.34† (0.22)
6–9 0.40 (0.30)
10+ 0.65 (0.50)

Target adult interacts with product 1.17 (0.52)
Target adult describes product 2.38† (1.12)
Target adult puts product in cart 0.48† (0.20)
Target adult discusses price 2.07 (1.08)
Target adult interacts with sign 1.62 (0.88)
Intercept 2.14 (2.21)

Note. Values in each cell are odds ratios and their standard errors. The reference
group in these analyses is observations from the math-sign condition with one
conversational turn in which both the target adult and child were male, adults
were White, and target children were two or three years old.
†p < .10. * p < .05. ** p < .01.

about non-math-related topics. Importantly, these findings
could not be explained by an overall increase in conver-
sational turns, increased interactions with the product or
sign, merely talking about the price of the product, or any
demographic factors associated with the shoppers.

Our study demonstrates that by simply posting signs
with math-related prompts in grocery stores, more adults
use math talk with their children. In general, parental
math talk occurs infrequently in everyday contexts
(Levine et al., 2010), but previous studies demonstrate
that parents can increase their math talk when given
instructions and explicit suggestions for math activi-
ties to do with their children (Berkowitz et al., 2015;
Braham et al., 2018; Vandermaas-Peeler, Boomgarden,
et al., 2012; Vandermaas-Peeler, Ferretti, & Loving, 2012;
Vandermaas-Peeler & Pittard, 2014). In children’s museums,
signs help caregivers recognize what and how children learn
through playing in exhibits (Song et al., 2017). Here, we
used signs to promote math talk in the context of a grocery
store that does not require adults to set aside the extra time
that may be needed for playing a board game or visiting a
children’s museum. Importantly, we were able to promote
math talk without explicit instructions and the presence of
a researcher.

116 Volume 13—Number 2

Erinn Hanner et al.

Previous research has shown that the amount of parental
math talk that children are exposed to is related to children’s
math abilities (Benavides-Varela et al., 2016; Elliott, Braham,
& Libertus, 2017; Gunderson & Levine, 2011; Levine et al.,
2010; Ramani et al., 2015; Susperreguy & Davis-Kean, 2016).
These studies found that when parents used more math
talk during everyday interactions, the children had better
math skills. Thus, our findings open up the possibility that
promoting adult–child conversations around math concepts
while shopping is one way to increase children’s opportu-
nities to learn math. However, the current study did not
investigate the mathematical abilities of the children, leaving
it unresolved whether an increase in math talk was related
to increased mathematical ability. This might only occur in
some but not all children and this possibility needs to be
explored in future studies.

Regardless of the content of the observed adult–child con-
versations, we found significant differences in the number of
conversational turns across all conditions. Replicating Ridge
et al. (2015), we observed more conversational turns in the
general language sign condition compared to baseline. In
general, adult–child conversations have been linked to bet-
ter language skills in children (Topping, Dekhinet, & Zeedyk,
2013; Zimmerman et al., 2009), suggesting that prompting
adults to engage in conversations with children while shop-
ping may provide children with opportunities to acquire lan-
guage skills. In addition, the math-sign condition elicited
conversations with more turn taking between adults and
children compared to the general language condition. One
possible reason for these differences is that math conver-
sations may have been more complex and required more
back-and-forth between adults and children. However, since
we did not code the exact content of the conversational turns,
we cannot test this hypothesis in the present study.

We also observed that adults were more likely to interact
with the signs in the math condition than in the other two
conditions. In contrast, we found more simple product inter-
actions in the general language sign condition. It is possible
that the prompts on the math signs led more adults to point
to the signs while the prompts on the general language signs
led more adults to point to or pick up the product. Since mul-
tiple behaviors were coded for both the sign-related codes
and product-related codes, we cannot clearly differentiate
what led to these significant differences. Importantly, these
differences in sign- and product-related interactions could
not explain differences in the number of adults who engaged
in math talk in the three conditions.

Several limitations need to be acknowledged. Due to the
constraints of our naturalistic observations, observers could
not be blind to the conditions. Observations were also only
conducted in two store locations in neighborhoods where
families likely had high levels of income or parental educa-
tion, and so future studies should examine how these signs

operate in a wider variety of stores, particularly stores serv-
ing low-SES families. Ridge et al. (2015) found that gen-
eral language signs only led to more conversational turns in
low-SES neighborhood stores, suggesting that adults shop-
ping in high-SES neighborhood stores may already be talk-
ing to their children frequently. Interestingly, we found that
our math signs led to more conversational turns than the
general language signs suggesting that there is still room to
increase adult–child conversations even among presumably
middle- to high-SES families. Another limitation of our study
is its purely observational nature. This method of data col-
lection severely limited the amount of demographic infor-
mation available as well as the overall level of detail in any of
our variables of interest. This method also limited our knowl-
edge of continual influence on math talk in adult–child inter-
actions after leaving the grocery store. Although we have
shown how math signs prompted more adults to engage
in math talk while shopping, it is unclear whether or not
these interactions have a positive influence on the children’s
overall mathematical ability and to what extent children’s
existing math abilities and interest in math affected adults’
behaviors. We also could not ask parents whether or not
they noticed the signs. In one study in a children’s museum,
only 55% of parents reported noticing the signs posted in an
exhibit (Song et al., 2017). Future studies in grocery stores
could include follow-up analyses in which observations are
combined with additional information obtained afterwards
if shoppers agree to provide it.

Several open questions remain regarding the effectiveness
of these signs. For example, if signs similar to the ones used
in our study were posted around grocery stores permanently,
would adult–child conversations return to baseline after
shoppers had already seen the signs on previous shopping
trips? Or, would these signs continue to elicit adult–child
conversations because they act as a reminder to adults to
engage in meaningful conversations with children? And if
so, could these conversations extend to contexts beyond the
grocery store and help children in other contexts?

In sum, we found that significantly more adults used math
talk while interacting with their child when math-related
prompts were displayed on signs around grocery stores com-
pared to signs encouraging adults to talk about non-math
topics with their children or no signs. Our findings suggest
that it is possible to implement low-cost interventions in
naturalistic settings to support math talk in the hopes to
increase children’s opportunities to acquire math skills.
Future research should broaden the types of data collected
to determine if and how the initial exposure to math-related
prompts in the grocery stores affects interactions over time
and elsewhere.

Acknowledgments—This work was funded by the National
Science Foundation Grant number DUE 1534830 to MEL.

Volume 13—Number 2 117

Promoting Math Talk in Grocery Stores

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