ABSTRACT
Dipping my pen in the ink of epistemology as I begin to formulate this essay, I suddenly notice other, peripherally placed sources out of which different patterns rise. As I study the charts of pedagogic theory, episodes and memories from my own life and those of other women I have known begin to unfold. I remember my grandmother. When she was young, her dream was to become a teacher. Her brothers would be receiving education in engineering or accounting or some such field; for her, the dream was to be accepted at the teachers’ seminary. She had prepared for the entrance exam (I believe the brothers helped procure the books) —and she had been accepted! My great-grandmother, however, seems not to have been at all cognizant of these plans. When she found out, her response was to fling the books into the fire. Girls were not to waste time on books, they were to marry: this was the incontestable bottom line.
