Academic literature on the topic 'Youth with mental disabilities Victoria Attitudes'

Attitudes and selected attributes of youth soccer coaches (N = 82, 18 women, 63 men, and one person who did not identify his/her gender) toward coaching a player with mild mental retardation (MMR) were assessed by Coaches’ Attitudes Toward Players With Disabilities (CAP-S) survey. Intereorrelations among 11 variables were reported. The highest were r = .72 between belief and attitude, and r = .57 between belief and intention. Results from a stepwise selection multiple regression procedure showed that as perceived soccer coaching competence increased, beliefs about coaching a player with MMR showed greater agreement. Results also indicated that, as perceived soccer coaching competence increased, attitudes and intention toward coaching a player with MMR improved. Perceived soccer coaching competence explained only a small amount of the variance for beliefs, attitudes, and intentions.

The paper presents the results of an empirical study of affective factors in the manifestation of discriminatory attitudes of a person in behavior. The analysis revealed the following facts. As an affective basis for discriminatory behavior, negative emotional reactions towards people with non-traditional sexual behavior and politicians are expressed. Positive and/or altruistic emotions are associated with pensioners, children, adolescents, people with disabilities, handicapped people, representatives of other ethnic groups and religions, victims of crime, members of the opposite sex, physically unattractive people and people with low income. In relation to persons of no fixed abode and people with mental disorders, conflicting affective reactions are manifested: from sympathy and pity to anxiety and disgust. The strength of prejudice has a broad affective determination for the following social groups: migrants, representatives of other ethnic groups, physically unattractive people, representatives of another social community and youth subcultures. However, only in relation to representatives of youth subcultures, broad affective determination is the real basis for the increase in the strength of discriminatory attitudes and the manifestation of discriminatory behavior associated with the restriction of their activity.

Physical activity is very important for early childhood, especially outdoor activities that add a lot of new experiences. This study aims to check the relationship of children's outdoor activities and parenting styles and children's social skills. The participants are 125 parents of early childhood who attend kindergarten. The research method is a descriptive study using the relational screening model. The results showed that there was a relationship between outside play and parenting style on the social skills of children in their childhood. Democratic parenting styles are found to promote children's social skills, while authoritative parenting styles have a negative correlation with interpersonal skills, the ability to express verbally, self-control, listening skills, emotional management and adaptation to change. In the sub-dimensions of anger management and adaptation to changing skills is a significant difference between authoritative parenting styles and not permissive parenting with children's social skills. Keywords: Early Childhood Social skills, Outdoor Activities, Parenting Styles Reference: Azlina, W., & S., Z. A. (2012). A Pilot Study: The Impact of Outdoor Play Spaces on Kindergarten Children. Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences, 38(December 2010), 275–283. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.sbspro.2012.03.349 Bento, G., & Dias, G. (2017). The importance of outdoor play for young childrenʼs healthy development. Porto Biomedical Journal, 2(5), 157–160. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.pbj.2017.03.003 Beyer, K., Bizub, J., Szabo, A., Heller, B., Kistner, A., Shawgo, E., & Zetts, C. (2015). Development and validation of the attitudes toward outdoor play scales for children. Social Science and Medicine, 133, 253–260. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.socscimed.2014.10.033 Boxberger, K., & Reimers, A. K. (2019). Parental correlates of outdoor play in boys and girls aged 0 to 12—A systematic review. International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, 16(2). https://doi.org/10.3390/ijerph16020190 Coleman, W. L., & Lindsay, R. L. (1992). Interpersonal disabilities: Social skill deficits in older children and adolescents: Their description, assessment, and management. Pediatric Clinics of North America, 39(3), 551–567. https://doi.org/10.1016/S0031-3955(16)38344-4 Cui, M., Janhonen-Abruquah, H., Darling, C. A., Carlos Chavez, F. L., & Palojoki, P. (2019). Helicopter Parenting and Young Adults’ Well-Being: A Comparison Between United States and Finland. Cross-Cultural Research, 53(4), 410–427. https://doi.org/10.1177/1069397118802253 Fjørtoft, I., & Sageie, J. (2000). The natural environment as a playground for children. Landscape description and analyses of a natural playscape. Landscape and Urban Planning, 48(1–2), 83–97. https://doi.org/10.1016/S0169-2046(00)00045-1 Ghanbari-Azarneir, S., Anbari, S., Hosseini, S.-B., & Yazdanfar, S.-A. (2015). Identification of Child-friendly Environments in Poor Neighborhoods. Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences, 201(February), 19–29. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.sbspro.2015.08.114 Giedd, J. N. (2012). The Digital Revolution and Adolescent Brain Evolution. Journal of Adolescent Health, 51(2), 101–105. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jadohealth.2012.06.002 Hinkley, T., Brown, H., Carson, V., & Teychenne, M. (2018). Cross sectional associations of screen time and outdoor play with social skills in preschool children. PLoS ONE, 13(4), 1–15. https://doi.org/10.1371 Johnson, J. E., & Christie, J. F. (2009). Play and digital media. Computers in the Schools, 26(4), 284–289. https://doi.org/10.1080/07380560903360202 Junot, A., Paquet, Y., & Martin-Krumm, C. (2017). Passion for outdoor activities and environmental behaviors: A look at emotions related to passionate activities. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 53, 177–184. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jenvp.2017.07.011 Kemple, K. M., Oh, J. H., Kenney, E., & Smith-Bonahue, T. (2016). The Power of Outdoor Play and Play in Natural Environments. Childhood Education, 92(6), 446–454. https://doi.org/10.1080/00094056.2016.1251793 Kol, S. (2016). The Effects of the Parenting Styles on Social Skills of Children Aged 5-6. Malaysian Online Journal of Educational Sciences, 4(2), 49–58. Kozina, Z., Repko, O., Kozin, S., Kostyrko, A., Yermakova, T., & Goncharenko, V. (2016). Motor skills formation technique in 6 to 7-year-old children based on their psychological and physical features (Rock climbing as an example). Journal of Physical Education and Sport, 16(3), 866–874. https://doi.org/10.7752/jpes.2016.03137 Larson, L. R., Szczytko, R., Bowers, E. P., Stephens, L. E., Stevenson, K. T., & Floyd, M. F. (2019). Outdoor Time, Screen Time, and Connection to Nature: Troubling Trends Among Rural Youth? Environment and Behavior, 51(8), 966–991. https://doi.org/10.1177/0013916518806686 Lindsey, G., Maraj, M., & Kuan, S. C. (2001). Access, Equity, and Urban Greenways: An Exploratory Investigation. Professional Geographer, 53(3), 332–346. https://doi.org/10.1111/0033-0124.00288 Louv, R. (2008). Last child in the woods: Saving our children from nature-deficit disorder. Chapel Hill, NC: Algonquin Books. Maynard, T., & Waters, J. (2007). Learning in the outdoor environment: A missed opportunity? Early Years, 27(3), 255–265. https://doi.org/10.1080/09575140701594400 Moreland, A. D., & McRae-Clark, A. (2018). Parenting outcomes of parenting interventions in integrated substance-use treatment programs: A systematic review. Journal of Substance Abuse Treatment, 89(August 2017), 52–59. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jsat.2018.03.005 Moriguchi, Y., Zelazo, P. D., & Chevalier, N. (2016). Development of Executive Function During Childhood. https://doi.org/10.3389/978-2-88919-800-9 Mullenbach, L. E., Andrejewski, R. G., & Mowen, A. J. (2019). Connecting children to nature through residential outdoor environmental education. Environmental Education Research, 25(3), 365–374. https://doi.org/10.1080/13504622.2018.1458215 Norðdahl, K., & Einarsdóttir, J. (2015). Children’s views and preferences regarding their outdoor environment. Journal of Adventure Education and Outdoor Learning, 15(2), 152–167. https://doi.org/10.1080/14729679.2014.896746 Pinquart, M. (2016). Associations of Parenting Styles and Dimensions with Academic Achievement in Children and Adolescents: A Meta-analysis. Educational Psychology Review, 28(3), 475–493. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10648-015-9338-y Riany, Y. E., Cuskelly, M., & Meredith, P. (2016). Cultural Beliefs about Autism in Indonesia. International Journal of Disability, Development and Education, 63(6), 623–640. https://doi.org/10.1080/1034912X.2016.1142069 Riany, Y. E., Meredith, P., & Cuskelly, M. (2017). Understanding the Influence of Traditional Cultural Values on Indonesian Parenting. Marriage and Family Review, 53(3), 207–226. https://doi.org/10.1080/01494929.2016.1157561 Saltali, N. D., & Arslan, E. (2012). Parent ’ s Attitudes as a Predictor of Preschoolers ’ Social Competence and Introverted Behavior. Elementary Education Online, 11(3), 729–737. Schoeppe, S., Vandelanotte, C., Bere, E., Lien, N., Verloigne, M., Kovács, É., … Van Lippevelde, W. (2017). The influence of parental modelling on children’s physical activity and screen time: Does it differ by gender? European Journal of Public Health, 27(1), 152–157. https://doi.org/10.1093/eurpub/ckw182 Shi, Y. (2017). Explore Children’s Outdoor Play Spaces of Community Areas in High-density Cities in China: Wuhan as an Example. Procedia Engineering, 198(September 2016), 654–682. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.proeng.2017.07.118 Strasburger, V. C., Jordan, A. B., & Donnerstein, E. (2012). Children, Adolescents, and the Media:. Health Effects. Pediatric Clinics of North America, 59(3), 533–587. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.pcl.2012.03.025 Victoria J. Rideout, Foehr, M. A. U. G., & Roberts, D. F. (2010). GENERATION M2 Media in the Lives of 8- to 18-Year-Olds. In Theresa Boston (Ed.), Henry J. Kaiser Family Foundation. Boston: Henry J. Kaiser Family Foundation. Wang, S. hua, Zhang, Y., & Baillargeon, R. (2016). Young infants view physically possible support events as unexpected: New evidence for rule learning. Cognition, 157, 100–105. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cognition.2016.08.021 Waters, J., & Rekers, A. (2019). Young Children ’ s Outdoor Play-Based Learning. 1–7. Webster-Stratton, C., Reid, J., & Hammond, M. (2001). Social skills and problem-solving training for children with early-onset conduct problems: Who benefits? Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry and Allied Disciplines, 42(7), 943–952. Retrieved from http://ovidsp.ovid.com/ovidweb.cgi?T=JS&PAGE=reference&D=emed5&NEWS=N&AN=2001380196 Wilkie, H. J., Standage, M., Gillison, F. B., Cumming, S. P., & Katzmarzyk, P. T. (2018). The home electronic media environment and parental safety concerns: relationships with outdoor time after school and over the weekend among 9-11 year old children. BMC Public Health, 18(1), 456. https://doi.org/10.1186/s12889-018-5382-0 Zajenkowska, A., Jankowski, K. S., Lawrence, C., & Zajenkowski, M. (2013). Personality and individual differences in responses to aggression triggering events among prisoners and non-prisoners. Personality and Individual Differences, 55(8), 947–951. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.paid.2013.07.467

Who Are Carers? A carer is any individual who provides unpaid care and support to a family member or friend who has a disability, mental illness, drug and/or alcohol dependency, chronic condition, terminal illness or who is frail. Carers come from all walks of life, cultural backgrounds and age groups. For many, caring is a 24 hour-a-day job with emotional, physical and financial impacts, with implications for their participation in employment, education and community activities. Carers exist in all communities, including amongst Aboriginal communities, those of culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds, amongst Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender, Intersex communities, and throughout metropolitan, regional and rural areas (Carers NSW). These broad characteristics mean that caring occurs across a wide variety of situations and care responsibilities can impact an even wider group of people. The ubiquitous nature of informal care warrants its consideration as a major social issue, as well as the potential impacts that these roles can have on carers in both short and long term contexts. Caring for a loved one is often an unseen component of people’s domestic lives. As will be outlined below, the potentially burdensome nature of care can have negative influences on carers’ wellbeing. As such, factors that can enhance the resilience of carers in the face of such adversity have been widely investigated. This being said, individual differences exist in carers’ responses to their caring responsibilities. The caring experience can therefore be argued to exist on a continuum, from the adversity in relation to stressful challenges through to prosperity in light of their caring responsibilities. By considering the experience of care as existing along this continuum, the place of resilience within people’s domestic spaces can be viewed as a mechanism towards identifying and developing supportive practices. Negative Impacts of Care A significant body of research has identified potential negative impacts of caring. Many of the most commonly cited outcomes relate to negative effects on mental health and/or psychological functioning, including stress, anxiety and depression (e.g. Baker et al.; Barlow, Cullen-Powell and Cheshire; Cheshire, Barlow and Powell; Dunn et al.; Gallagher et al.; Hastings et al.; Lach et al.; Singer; Sörensen et al.; Vitaliano, Zhang and Scanlan; Whittingham et al.; Yamada et al.). These feelings can be exacerbated when caring responsibilities become relentlessly time consuming, as demonstrated by this comment from a carer of a person with dementia: “I can’t get away from it” (O'Dwyer, Moyle and van Wyk 758). Similarly, emotional responses such as sorrow, grief, anger, frustration, and guilt can result from caring for a loved one (Heiman; Whittingham et al.). Negative emotional responses are not necessarily a direct result of caring responsibilities as such, but an understanding of the challenges faced by the person requiring their care. The following quote from the carer of a child with autism exemplifies the experience of sorrow: “It was actually the worst day of our lives, that was the day we came to terms with the fact that we had this problem” (Midence and O’Neill 280). Alongside these psychological and emotional outcomes, physical health may also be negatively impacted due to certain demands of the caring role (Lach et al.; Sörensen et al.; Vitaliano, Zhang and Scanlan). Outcomes such as these are likely to vary across individual caring circumstances, dictated by variables such as the specific tasks required of the carer, and individual personality characteristics of both the carer and the person for whom they care. Nevertheless, an awareness of these potential outcomes is particularly important when considering the place of resilience in the domestic space of individuals caring for a loved one. This conceptualisation of caring as being a burdensome task reflects many publicly held perceptions. If caring is widely viewed as compromising carers’ wellbeing, then there is likely to be an increased likelihood of carers viewing themselves as victims. This is particularly true amongst children and adolescents with caring responsibilities, since young people are most susceptible to having their personal identities shaped by others’ perceptions (Andreouli, Skovdal and Campbell). Resilience in Caring Adversity Despite the widely acknowledged potential for caring to have negative consequences for carers, it must be noted that the occurrence of these outcomes are not inevitable. In fact, much of the research that has identified increased stress amongst carers also finds that the majority cope well with the demands of their role (Barnett et al.). These carers have been considered by many researchers to demonstrate resilience (e.g. Barnett et al.; O'Dwyer, Moyle and van Wyk). The ability to respond positively despite exposure to risk or adversity is a key feature of most definitions of resilience (Luthar, Cicchetti and Becker; Masten and Obradović; Zauszniewski, Bekhet and Suresky). Resilience in this context can thus be defined as a psychological process that facilitates healthy functioning in response to intense life stressors (Johnson et al.). Since caring experiences are likely to continue for an extended period of time, resilience is likely to be necessary on an ongoing basis, rather than in response to a single traumatic event. A resilient carer is therefore one who is able to effectively and adaptively cope with extenuating pressures of caring for a loved one. This involves the presence of personal, social, familial, or institutional protective factors that enable carers to resist stress (Kaplan et al.). For example, support from health professionals, family, or community has been found to effectively support carers in coping with their role (Bekhet, Johnson and Zauszniewski; Gardiner and Iarocci; Heiman; Whittingham et al.). The benefit of support networks in assisting carers to cope in their role is widely reported in the associated research, reinforced by many examples such as the following from a carer of a person with dementia: “It’s a social thing, like, I’ve got friends on there… I find that is my escape” (O'Dwyer, Moyle and van Wyk 758). At an individual level, those who demonstrate resilient in the face of adversity demonstrate optimistic or hopeful outlooks (Ekas, Lickenbrock and Whitman; Lloyd and Hastings; Whittingham et al.), while simultaneously holding realistic expectations of the future (Rasmussen et al.; Wrosch, Miller, et al.; Wrosch, Scheier, et al.). Such attitudes are particularly significant amongst people caring for family members or friends with disabilities or illnesses. The following attitude held by a carer of a child with cerebral palsy exemplifies this optimistic outlook: “I look at the glass half full and say that “well, it’s only his walking, everything else is fine”. “So, get over [it] and deal with it” (Whittingham et al. 1451). Those who cognitively process information, rather than reacting in a highly emotion way have also been found to cope better (Bekhet, Johnson and Zauszniewski; Heiman; Monin et al.; Pennebaker, Mayne and Francis), as have those with a greater sense of self-efficacy or an internal locus of control (Bekhet, Johnson and Zauszniewski; Kuhn and Carter). However effective these coping strategies prove to be, this is unlikely to provide the full picture of caring experiences, or the place of resilience within that space. Associating resilience with adversity presumes a consensus on what constitutes adversity. Taking the typical approach to investigating resilience amongst carers risks making undue assumptions of the nature of individual carers’ experiences – namely, that caring equates to adversity. The following paragraphs will outline how this is not necessarily the case. And furthermore, that the concept of resilience still has a place in considering informal caring, regardless of whether adversity is considered to be present. Benefits of Care While a great deal of evidence suggests that caring for a loved one can be a stressful experience, research has also demonstrated the existence of positive impacts of care. In many instances, carers not only cope, but also thrive in their caring roles (Turnbull et al.). Elements such as positive relationships within caring relationships can both challenge and strengthen individuals – factors that only exist due to the specific nature of the individual caring role (Bayat; Heiman). Such positive elements of the caring experience have been reflected in the literature, illustrated by quotes such as: “In some sense, this makes our family closer” (Bayat 709). Rather than viewing carers from a perspective of victimisation (which is particularly prominent in relation to children and young people with caring responsibilities), recognising the prevalence of positive wellbeing within this population provides a more nuanced understanding of the lived experiences of all carers (Aldridge). Reported benefits of caring tend to revolve around personal relationships, particularly in reference to parents caring for their children with special needs. Reflective of the parental relationship, carers of children with disabilities or chronic illnesses generally report feelings of love, joy, optimism, strength, enjoyment, and satisfaction with their role (Barnett et al.; Heiman). The views of such carers do not reflect an attitude of coping with adversity, but rather a perspective that considers their children to be positive contributors to carers’ quality of life and the wellbeing of the wider family (King et al.). This point of view suggests an additional dimension to resilience; in particular, that resilience in the relative absence of risk factors, can cause carers to flourish within their caring role and relationships. In addition to benefits in relationships, carers may also prosper through their own personal growth and development in the course of their caring (Knight). This includes factors such as the development of life skills, maturity, purpose, social skills, a sense of responsibility, and recognition – particularly amongst young people in caring roles (Earley, Cushway and Cassidy; Early, Cushway and Cassidy; Jurkovic, Thirkield and Morrell; Skovdal and Andreouli; Stein, Rotheram-Borus and Lester; Tompkins). Recognition of the potential personal benefits of caring for a loved one is not intended to suggest that the view of carers coping with adversity is universally applicable. While it is likely that individual caring situations will have an impact on the extent to which a carer faces adversity (e.g. intensity of caring responsibilities, severity of loved one’s impairment, etc.), it is important to recognise the benefits that carers can experience alongside any challenges they may face. Circumstances that appear adversarial may not be thought of as such by those within that context. Defining resilience as an ability to cope with adversity therefore will not apply to such contexts. Rather, the concept of resilience needs to incorporate those who not only cope, but also prosper. Carers who do not perceive their role as burdensome, but identify positive outcomes, can therefore be said to demonstrate resilience though contextually different from those coping with adversity. This is not to suggest that resilience is the sole contributing factor in terms of prospering in the caring role. We must also consider individual circumstances and nuances differ between carers, those they care for, interpersonal relationships, and wider caring situations. Continuum of Care Awareness of the range of impacts that caring can have on carers leads to a recognition of the broad spectrum of experience that this role entails. Not only do caring experiences exhibit large variations in terms of practical issues (such as functional capacities, or type and severity of illness, disability, or condition), they include carers’ diverse personal responses to caring responsibilities. These responses can reflect either positive or negative dimensions, or a combination of both (Faso, Neal-Beevers and Carlson). In this way, caring experiences can be conceptualised as existing along a continuum. At one end of the spectrum, experiences align with the traditional view of caring as a struggle with and over adversity. More specifically, carers experience burdens as a result of their additional caring responsibilities, with negative outcomes likely to occur. At the other end of the spectrum, however, carers prosper in the role, experiencing significant personal benefits that would not have been possible without the caring role. This continuum makes a case for an expanded approach to stress and coping models of resilience to include positive concepts and a benefit-orientated perspective (Cassidy and Giles). In contrast to research that has argued for a progression from stress and coping models to strengths-based approaches (e.g. Glidden, Billings and Jobe; Knight), the continuum of care acknowledges the benefits of each of these theoretical positions, and thus may prove more comprehensive in attempting to understand the everyday lived experiences of carers. The framework provided by a representation of a continuum allows for the individual differences in caring situations and carers’ personal responses to be acknowledged, as well as accounting for any changes in these circumstances. Further, the experience and benefits of resilience in different contextual spheres can be identified. The flexibility afforded by such an approach is particularly important in light of individual differences in the ways carers respond to their situations, their changing caring contexts, and their subsequent individual needs (Monin et al.; Walsh; Whittingham et al.). As the caring experience can be dynamic and fluctuate in both directions along the continuum, resilience may be seen as the mechanism by which such movement occurs. In line with stress and coping models, resilience can assist carers to cope with adversarial circumstances at that end of the continuum. Similarly, it may be argued that those who prosper in their caring role exhibit characteristics of resilience. In other words, it is resilience that enables carers to cope with adversity at one end of the continuum and also to prosper at the other. Furthermore, by supporting the development of resilient characteristics, carers may be assisted in shifting their experiences along the continuum, from adversity to prosperity. This view extends upon traditional approaches reported in the stress and coping literature by contending that caring experiences may progress beyond positions of coping with adversity, to a position where caring is not understood in terms of adversity at all, but rather in terms of benefits. The individual circumstances of any carer must be taken into consideration with this framework of resilience and the continuum of care. It is unrealistic to assume that all caring situations will allow for the possibility of reaching the end point of this continuum. Carers with particularly high demands in terms of time, resources, effort, or energy may not reach a stage where they no longer consider their caring role to involve any personal burden. However, the combination of a coping and strengths-based approach suggests that there is always the possibility of moving away from perceptions of adversity and further towards an attitude of prosperity. Implications for Supportive Practice From the perspective of this continuum of care, the protective factors and coping strategies identified in previous literature provide a valuable starting point for the facilitation of resilience amongst carers. Enhancing factors such as these can assist carers to move from situations of adversity towards experiences of prosperity (Benzies and Mychasiuk). Research has suggested that carers who are less analytical in their thinking and less optimistic about their personal situations may find particular benefit from support systems that assist them in redirecting their attention towards positive aspects of their daily lives, such as the benefits of caring outlined earlier (Monin et al.). The principle of focusing on positive experiences and reframing negative thoughts is thought to benefit carers across all levels of functioning and adaptive experience (Monin et al.). While those entrenched in more burdensome mindsets are likely to experience the greatest benefit from supportive interventions, there is still merit in providing similar supports to carers who do not appear to experience the similar experiences of burden, or demonstrate greater resilience or adaptation to their situation. The dynamic view of caring situations and resilience suggested by a continuum of care incorporates benefits of stress and coping models as well as strengths-based approaches. This has implications for supportive practice in that the focus is not on determining whether or not a carer is resilient, but identifying the ways in which they already are resilient (Simon, Murphy and Smith). For carers who experience their role through a lens of adversity, resilience may need to be purposefully fostered in order to better enable them to cope and develop through the ongoing stresses of their role. For carers at the other end of the spectrum, resilience is likely to take on a substantially different meaning. Under these circumstances, caring for a loved one is not considered a burdensome task; rather, the positive impact of the role is pre-eminent. This point of view suggests that carers are resilient, not only in terms of an ability to thrive despite adversity, but in prospering to the extent that adversity is not considered to exist. The attitudes and approaches of services, support networks, and governments towards carers should remain flexible enough to acknowledge the wide variety of caring circumstances that exist. The continuum of care provides a framework through which certain aspects of caring and variations in resilience can be interpreted, as well as the type of support required by individual carers. Furthermore, it must be noted that caring circumstances can change – either gradually or suddenly – with the extent to which carers experience adversity, coping or prosperity also changing. Any attempts to provide support to carers or acknowledge their resilience should demonstrate an awareness of the potential for such fluctuation. The fundamental view that carers always have the potential to move towards more positive outcomes has the potential to reframe perceptions of carers as victims, or as simply coping, to one that embraces the personal strengths and resilience of the individual. As such, carers can be supported when faced with adversity, and to flourish beyond that position. This in turn has the potential to safeguard against any detrimental effects of adversity that may arise in the future. References Aldridge, Jo. "All Work and No Play? Understanding the Needs of Children with Caring Responsibilities." Children & Society 22.4 (2008): 253-264. Andreouli, Eleni, Morten Skovdal, and Catherine Campbell. "‘It Made Me Realise That I Am Lucky for What I Got’: British Young Carers Encountering the Realities of Their African Peers." Journal of Youth Studies (2013): 1-16. Baker, Bruce L., et al. "Behavior Problems and Parenting Stress in Families of Three-Year-Old Children with and without Developmental Delays." 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In the last months of his life, 86-year-old Albert Facey became a best-selling author and revered cultural figure following the publication of his autobiography, A Fortunate Life. Released on Anzac Day 1981, it was praised for its “plain, unembellished, utterly sincere and un-self-pitying account of the privations of childhood and youth” (Semmler) and “extremely powerful description of Gallipoli” (Dutton 16). Within weeks, critic Nancy Keesing declared it an “Enduring Classic.” Within six months, it was announced as the winner of two prestigious non-fiction awards, with judges acknowledging Facey’s “extraordinary memory” and “ability to describe scenes and characters with great precision” (“NBC” 4). A Fortunate Life also transformed the fortunes of its publisher. Founded in 1976 as an independent, not-for-profit publishing house, Fremantle Arts Centre Press (FACP) might have been expected, given the Australian average, to survive for just a few years. Former managing editor Ray Coffey attributes the Press’s ongoing viability, in no small measure, to Facey’s success (King 29). Along with Wendy Jenkins, Coffey edited Facey’s manuscript through to publication; only five months after its release, with demand outstripping the capabilities, FACP licensed Penguin to take over the book’s production and distribution. Adaptations soon followed. In 1984, Kerry Packer’s PBL launched a prospectus for a mini-series, which raised a record $6.3 million (PBL 7–8). Aired in 1986 with a high-rating documentary called The Facey Phenomenon, the series became the most watched television event of the year (Lucas). Syndication of chapters to national and regional newspapers, stage and radio productions, audio- and e-books, abridged editions for young readers, and inclusion on secondary school curricula extended the range and influence of Facey’s life writing. Recently, an option was taken out for a new television series (Fraser).A hundred reprints and two million readers on from initial publication, A Fortunate Life continues to rate among the most appreciated Australian books of all time. Commenting on a reader survey in 2012, writer and critic Marieke Hardy enthused, “I really loved it [. . .] I felt like I was seeing a part of my country and my country’s history through a very human voice . . .” (First Tuesday Book Club). Registering a transformed reading, Hardy’s reference to Australian “history” is unproblematically juxtaposed with amused delight in an autobiography that invents and embellishes: not believing “half” of what Facey wrote, she insists he was foremost a yarn spinner. While the work’s status as a witness account has become less authoritative over time, it seems appreciation of the author’s imagination and literary skill has increased (Williamson). A Fortunate Life has been read more commonly as an uncomplicated, first-hand account, such that editor Wendy Jenkins felt it necessary to refute as an “utter mirage” that memoir is “transferred to the page by an act of perfect dictation.” Sidonie Smith and Julia Watson argue of life narratives that some “autobiographical claims [. . .] can be verified or discounted by recourse to documentation outside the text. But autobiographical truth is a different matter” (16). With increased access to archives, especially digitised personnel records, historians have asserted that key elements of Facey’s autobiography are incorrect or “fabricated” (Roberts), including his enlistment in 1914 and participation in the Gallipoli Landing on 25 April 1915. We have researched various sources relevant to Facey’s early years and war service, including hard-copy medical and repatriation records released in 2012, and find A Fortunate Life in a range of ways deviates from “documentation outside of the text,” revealing intriguing, layered storytelling. We agree with Smith and Watson that “autobiographical acts” are “anything but simple or transparent” (63). As “symbolic interactions in the world,” they are “culturally and historically specific” and “engaged in an argument about identity” (63). Inevitably, they are also “fractured by the play of meaning” (63). Our approach, therefore, includes textual analysis of Facey’s drafts alongside the published narrative and his medical records. We do not privilege institutional records as impartial but rather interpret them in terms of their hierarchies and organisation of knowledge. This leads us to speculate on alternative readings of A Fortunate Life as an illness narrative that variously resists and subscribes to dominant cultural plots, tropes, and attitudes. Facey set about writing in earnest in the 1970s and generated (at least) three handwritten drafts, along with a typescript based on the third draft. FACP produced its own working copy from the typescript. Our comparison of the drafts offers insights into the production of Facey’s final text and the otherwise “hidden” roles of editors as transformers and enablers (Munro 1). The notion that a working man with basic literacy could produce a highly readable book in part explains Facey’s enduring appeal. His grandson and literary executor, John Rose, observed in early interviews that Facey was a “natural storyteller” who had related details of his life at every opportunity over a period of more than six decades (McLeod). Jenkins points out that Facey belonged to a vivid oral culture within which he “told and retold stories to himself and others,” so that they eventually “rubbed down into the lines and shapes that would so memorably underpin the extended memoir that became A Fortunate Life.” A mystique was thereby established that “time” was Albert Facey’s “first editor” (Jenkins). The publisher expressly aimed to retain Facey’s voice, content, and meaning, though editing included much correcting of grammar and punctuation, eradication of internal inconsistencies and anomalies, and structural reorganisation into six sections and 68 chapters. We find across Facey’s drafts a broadly similar chronology detailing childhood abandonment, life-threatening incidents, youthful resourcefulness, physical prowess, and participation in the Gallipoli Landing. However, there are also shifts and changed details, including varying descriptions of childhood abuse at a place called Cave Rock; the introduction of (incompatible accounts of) interstate boxing tours in drafts two and three which replace shearing activities in Draft One; divergent tales of Facey as a world-standard athlete, league footballer, expert marksman, and powerful swimmer; and changing stories of enlistment and war service (see Murphy and Nile, “Wounded”; “Naked”).Jenkins edited those sections concerned with childhood and youth, while Coffey attended to Facey’s war and post-war life. Drawing on C.E.W. Bean’s official war history, Coffey introduced specificity to the draft’s otherwise vague descriptions of battle and amended errors, such as Facey’s claim to have witnessed Lord Kitchener on the beach at Gallipoli. Importantly, Coffey suggested the now famous title, “A Fortunate Life,” and encouraged the author to alter the ending. When asked to suggest a title, Facey offered “Cave Rock” (Interview)—the site of his violent abuse and humiliation as a boy. Draft One concluded with Facey’s repatriation from the war and marriage in 1916 (106); Draft Two with a brief account of continuing post-war illness and ultimate defeat: “My war injuries caught up with me again” (107). The submitted typescript concludes: “I have often thought that going to War has caused my life to be wasted” (Typescript 206). This ending differs dramatically from the redemptive vision of the published narrative: “I have lived a very good life, it has been very rich and full. I have been very fortunate and I am thrilled by it when I look back” (412).In The Wounded Storyteller, Arthur Frank argues that literary markets exist for stories of “narrative wreckage” (196) that are redeemed by reconciliation, resistance, recovery, or rehabilitation, which is precisely the shape of Facey’s published life story and a source of its popularity. Musing on his post-war experiences in A Fortunate Life, Facey focuses on his ability to transform the material world around him: “I liked the challenge of building up a place from nothing and making a success where another fellow had failed” (409). If Facey’s challenge was building up something from nothing, something he could set to work on and improve, his life-writing might reasonably be regarded as a part of this broader project and desire for transformation, so that editorial interventions helped him realise this purpose. Facey’s narrative was produced within a specific zeitgeist, which historian Joy Damousi notes was signalled by publication in 1974 of Bill Gammage’s influential, multiply-reprinted study of front-line soldiers, The Broken Years, which drew on the letters and diaries of a thousand Great War veterans, and also the release in 1981 of Peter Weir’s film Gallipoli, for which Gammage was the historical advisor. The story of Australia’s war now conceptualised fallen soldiers as “innocent victims” (Damousi 101), while survivors were left to “compose” memories consistent with their sacrifice (Thomson 237–54). Viewing Facey’s drafts reminds us that life narratives are works of imagination, that the past is not fixed and memory is created in the present. Facey’s autobiographical efforts and those of his publisher to improve the work’s intelligibility and relevance together constitute an attempt to “objectify the self—to present it as a knowable object—through a narrative that re-structures [. . .] the self as history and conclusions” (Foster 10). Yet, such histories almost invariably leave “a crucial gap” or “censored chapter.” Dennis Foster argues that conceiving of narration as confession, rather than expression, “allows us to see the pathos of the simultaneous pursuit and evasion of meaning” (10); we believe a significant lacuna in Facey’s life writing is intimated by its various transformations.In a defining episode, A Fortunate Life proposes that Facey was taken from Gallipoli on 19 August 1915 due to wounding that day from a shell blast that caused sandbags to fall on him, crush his leg, and hurt him “badly inside,” and a bullet to the shoulder (348). The typescript, however, includes an additional but narratively irreconcilable date of 28 June for the same wounding. The later date, 19 August, was settled on for publication despite the author’s compelling claim for the earlier one: “I had been blown up by a shell and some 7 or 8 sandbags had fallen on top of me, the day was the 28th of June 1915, how I remembered this date, it was the day my brother Roy had been killed by a shell burst.” He adds: “I was very ill for about six weeks after the incident but never reported it to our Battalion doctor because I was afraid he would send me away” (Typescript 205). This account accords with Facey’s first draft and his medical records but is inconsistent with other parts of the typescript that depict an uninjured Facey taking a leading role in fierce fighting throughout July and August. It appears, furthermore, that Facey was not badly wounded at any time. His war service record indicates that he was removed from Gallipoli due to “heart troubles” (Repatriation), which he also claims in his first draft. Facey’s editors did not have ready access to military files in Canberra, while medical files were not released until 2012. There existed, therefore, virtually no opportunity to corroborate the author’s version of events, while the official war history and the records of the State Library of Western Australia, which were consulted, contain no reference to Facey or his war service (Interview). As a consequence, the editors were almost entirely dependent on narrative logic and clarifications by an author whose eyesight and memory had deteriorated to such an extent he was unable to read his amended text. A Fortunate Life depicts men with “nerve sickness” who were not permitted to “stay at the Front because they would be upsetting to the others, especially those who were inclined that way themselves” (350). By cross referencing the draft manuscripts against medical records, we can now perceive that Facey was regarded as one of those nerve cases. According to Facey’s published account, his wounds “baffled” doctors in Egypt and Fremantle (353). His medical records reveal that in September 1915, while hospitalised in Egypt, his “palpitations” were diagnosed as “Tachycardia” triggered by war-induced neuroses that began on 28 June. This suggests that Facey endured seven weeks in the field in this condition, with the implication being that his debility worsened, resulting in his hospitalisation. A diagnosis of “debility,” “nerves,” and “strain” placed Facey in a medical category of “Special Invalids” (Butler 541). Major A.W. Campbell noted in the Medical Journal of Australia in 1916 that the war was creating “many cases of little understood nervous and mental affections, not only where a definite wound has been received, but in many cases where nothing of the sort appears” (323). Enlisted doctors were either physicians or surgeons and sometimes both. None had any experience of trauma on the scale of the First World War. In 1915, Campbell was one of only two Australian doctors with any pre-war experience of “mental diseases” (Lindstrom 30). On staff at the Australian Base Hospital at Heliopolis throughout the Gallipoli campaign, he claimed that at times nerve cases “almost monopolised” the wards under his charge (319). Bearing out Facey’s description, Campbell also reported that affected men “received no sympathy” and, as “carriers of psychic contagion,” were treated as a “source of danger” to themselves and others (323). Credentialed by royal colleges in London and coming under British command, Australian medical teams followed the practice of classifying men presenting “nervous or mental symptoms” as “battle casualties” only if they had also been wounded by “enemy action” (Loughran 106). By contrast, functional disability, with no accompanying physical wounds, was treated as unmanly and a “hysterical” reaction to the pressures of war. Mental debility was something to be feared in the trenches and diagnosis almost invariably invoked charges of predisposition or malingering (Tyquin 148–49). This shifted responsibility (and blame) from the war to the individual. Even as late as the 1950s, medical notes referred to Facey’s condition as being “constitutional” (Repatriation).Facey’s narrative demonstrates awareness of how harshly sufferers were treated. We believe that he defended himself against this with stories of physical injury that his doctors never fully accepted and that he may have experienced conversion disorder, where irreconcilable experience finds somatic expression. His medical diagnosis in 1915 and later life writing establish a causal link with the explosion and his partial burial on 28 June, consistent with opinion at the time that linked concussive blasts with destabilisation of the nervous system (Eager 422). Facey was also badly shaken by exposure to the violence and abjection of war, including hand-to-hand combat and retrieving for burial shattered and often decomposed bodies, and, in particular, by the death of his brother Roy, whose body was blown to pieces on 28 June. (A second brother, Joseph, was killed by multiple bayonet wounds while Facey was convalescing in Egypt.) Such experiences cast a different light on Facey’s observation of men suffering nerves on board the hospital ship: “I have seen men doze off into a light sleep and suddenly jump up shouting, ‘Here they come! Quick! Thousands of them. We’re doomed!’” (350). Facey had escaped the danger of death by explosion or bayonet but at a cost, and the war haunted him for the rest of his days. On disembarkation at Fremantle on 20 November 1915, he was admitted to hospital where he remained on and off for several months. Forty-one other sick and wounded disembarked with him (HMAT). Around one third, experiencing nerve-related illness, had been sent home for rest; while none returned to the war, some of the physically wounded did (War Service Records). During this time, Facey continued to present with “frequent attacks of palpitation and giddiness,” was often “short winded,” and had “heart trouble” (Repatriation). He was discharged from the army in June 1916 but, his drafts suggest, his war never really ended. He began a new life as a wounded Anzac. His dependent and often fractious relationship with the Repatriation Department ended only with his death 66 years later. Historian Marina Larsson persuasively argues that repatriated sick and wounded servicemen from the First World War represented a displaced presence at home. Many led liminal lives of “disenfranchised grief” (80). Stephen Garton observes a distinctive Australian use of repatriation to describe “all policies involved in returning, discharging, pensioning, assisting and training returned men and women, and continuing to assist them throughout their lives” (74). Its primary definition invokes coming home but to repatriate also implies banishment from a place that is not home, so that Facey was in this sense expelled from Gallipoli and, by extension, excluded from the myth of Anzac. Unlike his two brothers, he would not join history as one of the glorious dead; his name would appear on no roll of honour. Return home is not equivalent to restoration of his prior state and identity, for baggage from the other place perpetually weighs. Furthermore, failure to regain health and independence strains hospitality and gratitude for the soldier’s service to King and country. This might be exacerbated where there is no evident or visible injury, creating suspicion of resistance, cowardice, or malingering. Over 26 assessments between 1916 and 1958, when Facey was granted a full war pension, the Repatriation Department observed him as a “neuropathic personality” exhibiting “paroxysmal tachycardia” and “neurocirculatory asthenia.” In 1954, doctors wrote, “We consider the condition is a real handicap and hindrance to his getting employment.” They noted that after “attacks,” Facey had a “busted depressed feeling,” but continued to find “no underlying myocardial disease” (Repatriation) and no validity in Facey’s claims that he had been seriously physically wounded in the war (though A Fortunate Life suggests a happier outcome, where an independent medical panel finally locates the cause of his ongoing illness—rupture of his spleen in the war—which results in an increased war pension). Facey’s condition was, at times, a source of frustration for the doctors and, we suspect, disappointment and shame to him, though this appeared to reduce on both sides when the Repatriation Department began easing proof of disability from the 1950s (Thomson 287), and the Department of Veteran’s Affairs was created in 1976. This had the effect of shifting public and media scrutiny back onto a system that had until then deprived some “innocent victims of the compensation that was their due” (Garton 249). Such changes anticipated the introduction of Post-Traumatic Shock Disorder (PTSD) to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) in 1980. Revisions to the DSM established a “genealogy of trauma” and “panic disorders” (100, 33), so that diagnoses such as “neuropathic personality” (Echterling, Field, and Stewart 192) and “soldier’s heart,” that is, disorders considered “neurotic,” were “retrospectively reinterpreted” as a form of PTSD. However, Alberti points out that, despite such developments, war-related trauma continues to be contested (80). We propose that Albert Facey spent his adult life troubled by a sense of regret and failure because of his removal from Gallipoli and that he attempted to compensate through storytelling, which included his being an original Anzac and seriously wounded in action. By writing, Facey could shore up his rectitude, work ethic, and sense of loyalty to other servicemen, which became necessary, we believe, because repatriation doctors (and probably others) had doubted him. In 1927 and again in 1933, an examining doctor concluded: “The existence of a disability depends entirely on his own unsupported statements” (Repatriation). We argue that Facey’s Gallipoli experiences transformed his life. By his own account, he enlisted for war as a physically robust and supremely athletic young man and returned nine months later to life-long anxiety and ill-health. Publication transformed him into a national sage, earning him, in his final months, the credibility, empathy, and affirmation he had long sought. Exploring different accounts of Facey, in the shape of his drafts and institutional records, gives rise to new interpretations. In this context, we believe it is time for a new edition of A Fortunate Life that recognises it as a complex testimonial narrative and theorises Facey’s deployment of national legends and motifs in relation to his “wounded storytelling” as well as to shifting cultural and medical conceptualisations and treatments of shame and trauma. ReferencesAlberti, Fay Bound. Matters of the Heart: History, Medicine, and Emotions. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2010. Butler, A.G. Official History of the Australian Medical Services 1814-1918: Vol I Gallipoli, Palestine and New Guinea. 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In the absence of a cure and/or vaccine, the best approach to HIV is to focus on prevention. However, preventative measures that are presently available in Nigeria do not target persons with intellectual disability despite their vulnerability to HIV infection. This study sought to compare the HIV knowledge, attitudes, and sexual practices of mildly/moderately intellectually impaired learners (IIL) and mainstream learners (ML) in Nigeria; to explore the contextual factors informing these, as well as both groups‗ exposure to HIV education. It also tested the relevance of the I-Change Model in predicting sexual abstinence among learners with intellectual disability. Findings can assist in developing tailored HIV prevention education for Nigerian learners with intellectual impairment. This cross-sectional, comparative study utilised mixed methods to investigate HIV knowledge, attitudes, and sexual practices among mildly/moderately IIL and ML in Nigeria. Mildly/moderately IIL (300) and ML (300) within the age range of 12-19 years in special and regular schools completed a questionnaire based on the I-Change Model. Focus group discussions and in-depth interviews were used with learners to explore contextual factors informing their HIV knowledge, risk perception, sexual behaviours and access to HIV education and services. Key informant interviews were used as independent sources of the same information with their teachers. Learners with intellectual impairment were less aware of HIV/AIDS than their non-disabled peers (p < 0.001), had lower HIV knowledge scores (p < 0.001) and lower HIV risk perception scores (p < 0.001). Sexual experience was reported by 79 (26.3%) of the IIL sample compared to 48 (16.0%) of the ML sample (p = 0.002). Girls with intellectual disability were 3.71 times more likely to report a history of sexual abuse than non-disabled girls (p = 0.041). Inconsistent condom use with casual partners (p < 0.001) and non-use of condoms during the last sexual activity (p < 0.001) was higher in IIL. The I-Change Model was most effective in predicting sexual abstinence among IIL, particularly regarding factors related to motivation and intention. Intellectually impaired learners were more vulnerable to HIV infection due to neglect, poverty, sexual abuse/exploitation, stigmatisation, pressure from non-disabled peers, denial of HIV education, and inaccessible HIV-related services. Teachers only provided them with sexuality and HIV education when sexual activity was suspected and/or from age 18. The content of such education comprised mainly warnings, misinformation and corporal punishment to instil fear and desexualise them. Thus, this group of learners was limited in the way they experienced and expressed their sexuality. Unlike with their non-disabled peers, teachers attributed sexual activity among IIL solely to natural urges without emotional involvement. Contrary to teachers‘ opinions, some IIL were involved in symbiotic, loving relationships with their II peers. In addition, those that were not yet in such relationships expressed the desire to find non-discriminatory partners in the future. They explored their sexuality through intimate relationships, sexual intercourse, peeping at the opposite sex, pornography, and masturbation. Condoms were less available to IIL than ML, and they lacked the self-efficacy to use them. They were also less available to II girls than II boys. Female learners with intellectual impairment often had older sexual partners due to sexual abuse/exploitation, unlike their non-disabled peers, who embarked on such relationships for financial/material gains. The findings of this study indicated that IIL were sexual beings, just like their non-disabled peers, and at higher risk of HIV infection than the latter. Stigma and discrimination are the root causes of all the disadvantages/barriers that IIL experience in accessing HIV information, education and related services. Therefore, there is the need to put stigma reduction strategies in HIV response to safeguard the health of IIL. In addition, there is a need for the development of a gender-sensitive, tailored sexuality and HIV/AIDS educational format for learners with intellectual disability in Nigeria.
Thesis (Ph.D.)-University of KwaZulu-Natal, Durban, 2011.