International Perspectives, Volume 20 (Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities)

INTERNATIONAL PERSPECTIVES ADVANCES IN LEARNING AND BEHAVIORAL DISABILITIES Series Editors: Thomas E. Scruggs and Mar...

Author: Thomas E Scruggs | Margo A Mastropieri

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INTERNATIONAL PERSPECTIVES

ADVANCES IN LEARNING AND BEHAVIORAL DISABILITIES Series Editors: Thomas E. Scruggs and Margo A. Mastropieri Recent Volumes: Volume 14:

Edited by Thomas E. Scruggs and Margo A. Mastropieri

Volume 15:


Volume 16:


Volume 17:


Volume 18:


Volume 19:


ADVANCES IN LEARNING AND BEHAVIORAL DISABILITIES VOLUME 20

INTERNATIONAL PERSPECTIVES EDITED BY

THOMAS E. SCRUGGS George Mason University, Fairfax, USA

MARGO A. MASTROPIERI George Mason University, Fairfax, USA

Amsterdam – Boston – Heidelberg – London – New York – Oxford Paris – San Diego – San Francisco – Singapore – Sydney – Tokyo JAI Press is an imprint of Elsevier

JAI Press is an imprint of Elsevier Linacre House, Jordan Hill, Oxford OX2 8DP, UK Radarweg 29, PO Box 211, 1000 AE Amsterdam, The Netherlands 525 B Street, Suite 1900, San Diego, CA 92101-4495, USA First edition 2007 Copyright r 2007 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher Permissions may be sought directly from Elsevier’s Science & Technology Rights Department in Oxford, UK: phone (+44) (0) 1865 843830; fax (+44) (0) 1865 853333; email: [email protected]. Alternatively you can submit your request online by visiting the Elsevier web site at http://elsevier.com/locate/permissions, and selecting Obtaining permission to use Elsevier material Notice No responsibility is assumed by the publisher for any injury and/or damage to persons or property as a matter of products liability, negligence or otherwise, or from any use or operation of any methods, products, instructions or ideas contained in the material herein. Because of rapid advances in the medical sciences, in particular, independent verification of diagnoses and drug dosages should be made British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978-0-7623-1440-9 ISSN: 0735-004X (Series) For information on all JAI Press publications visit our website at books.elsevier.com Printed and bound in the United Kingdom 07 08 09 10 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

CONTENTS ix

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

WORKING MEMORY AND EARLY MATHEMATICS: POSSIBILITIES FOR EARLY IDENTIFICATION OF MATHEMATICS LEARNING DISABILITIES Evelyn H. Kroesbergen, Bernadette A. M. Van de Rijt and Johannes E. H. Van Luit

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READING DEVELOPMENT AND READING DISABILITIES: FOCUS ON NORWAY Solveig-Alma H. Lyster

21

ECOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVES ON STUDENT BEHAVIOUR: WHY TEACHERS IN TRAINING NEED TO SEE THE BIGGER PICTURE Julian G. Elliott

57

READING COMPREHENSION INSTRUCTION FOR STUDENTS WITH LEARNING DISABILITIES Sheri Berkeley

79

GOAL ORIENTATIONS AND CLASSROOM GOAL STRUCTURES AS PREDICTORS OF CLASSROOM BEHAVIORS FOR GREEK STUDENTS WITH AND WITHOUT LEARNING DIFFICULTIES: CLARIFYING THE DIFFERENTIAL ROLE OF MOTIVATIONAL ORIENTATIONS Georgios D. Sideridis v

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vi

CONTENTS

PARENTING STRESS IN FAMILIES OF CHILDREN WITH ATTENTION-DEFICIT/HYPERACTIVITY DISORDER: THE IMPACT OF ADHD SUBTYPE AND OPPOSITIONAL DEFIANT DISORDER COMORBIDITY Ana Miranda, Rafaela Marco and Dolores Grau THE PROBLEM OF MEASURING SOCIO-CULTURAL LEVEL IN PSYCHOLOGICAL RESEARCH Alessandra Coscarelli, Giulia Balboni and Roberto Cubelli

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163

STUDENTS WITH MATHEMATICAL DISABILITIES IN BELGIUM: FROM DEFINITION, CLASSIFICATION AND ASSESSMENT TO STICORDI DEVICES Annemie Desoete

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ADHD AT FIVE: A DIAGNOSIS-INTERVENTION PROGRAM Anna Maria Re and Cesare Cornoldi

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EVALUATION OF SOCIAL ABILITIES IN EDUCATIONAL CONTEXTS: A CHALLENGE FOR STUDENTS WITH COMMUNICATION DIFFICULTIES Mońica Elisabeth Castilla

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FOCUS ON INTERNATIONAL SCHOOLS: SERVING STUDENTS WITH LEARNING DISABILITIES Beverly D. Shaklee

265

Contents

THE DEVELOPMENT OF NUMERICAL INTELLIGENCE IN PRESCHOOL CHILDREN WITH COCHLEAR IMPLANTS: A HYPOTHESIS ON MATHEMATICAL, VERBAL, AND NON-VERBAL COGNITIVE COMPETENCE Daniela Lucangeli, Elisabetta Genovese, Marco Gubernale, Silvia Cabrele and Daniele Manzoni CO-TEACHING IN INCLUSIVE CLASSROOMS: RESULTS OF QUALITATIVE RESEARCH FROM THE UNITED STATES, CANADA, AND AUSTRALIA Kimberly A. McDuffie, Thomas E. Scruggs and Margo A. Mastropieri SUBJECT INDEX

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285

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Giulia Balboni

University of Valle d’Aosta, Aosta, Italy

Sheri Berkeley

College of Education and Human Development, George Mason University, Fairfax, VA, USA

Silvia Cabrele

Department of Developmental Psychology, University of Padova, Padova, Italy

Mońica Elisabeth Castilla

Universidad Nacional de Cuyo, Mendoza, Repu´blica Argentina

Cesare Cornoldi

Department of General Psychology, University of Padova, Padova, Italy

Alessandra Coscarelli

University of Valle d’Aosta, Aosta, Italy

Roberto Cubelli

Department of Cognitive Sciences and Education, University of Trento, Rovereto, Italy

Annemie Desoete

Department of Clinical Psychology, Ghent University & Arteveldehogeschool, Ghent, Belgium

Julian G. Elliott

School of Education, Durham University, Durham, UK

Elisabetta Genovese

University of Modena, Modena, Italy

Dolores Grau

Catholic University S.Vicente Ma´rtir, Valencia, Spain

Marco Gubernale


Evelyn H. Kroesbergen

Utrecht University, Utrecht, The Netherlands ix

x

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Daniela Lucangeli


Solveig-Alma H. Lyster

Department of Special Needs Education, Faculty of Education, University of Oslo, Blindern, Oslo, Norway

Daniele Manzoni

University of Modena, Modena, Italy

Rafaela Marco

Facultad de Psicologı´ a, University of Valencia, Valencia, Spain

Margo A. Mastropieri


Kimberly A. McDuffie

Eugene T. Moore School of Education, Clemson University, Clemson, SC, USA

Ana Miranda

Facultad de Psicologı´ a, University of Valencia, Valencia, Spain

Anna Maria Re

General Psychology Department, University of Padova, Padova, Italy

Thomas E. Scruggs


Beverly D. Shaklee

Center for International Education, College of Education and Human Development, George Mason University, Fairfax, VA, USA

Georgios D. Sideridis

Department of Psychology, University of Crete, Crete, Greece

Bernadette A. M. Van de Rijt

Utrecht University, Utrecht, The Netherlands

Johannes E. H. Van Luit

Utrecht University, Utrecht, The Netherlands

WORKING MEMORY AND EARLY MATHEMATICS: POSSIBILITIES FOR EARLY IDENTIFICATION OF MATHEMATICS LEARNING DISABILITIES Evelyn H. Kroesbergen, Bernadette A. M. Van de Rijt and Johannes E. H. Van Luit ABSTRACT At the beginning of children’s school careers, large differences already exist between children in their mathematical skills and knowledge. Preparatory math skills such as counting and Piagetian operations are important predictors of later math learning disabilities. However, little research has been conducted on the underlying processes that could explain or predict these preparatory math skills. Traditionally, intelligence has been viewed, next to language (vocabulary), as an important predictor of school success in general and math performance in specific. However, recent studies suggest that other, more fluid, domain-general cognitive processes, such as working memory and executive functions, are better predictors than traditional IQ scores. This chapter reports on two studies in which the relations between early mathematics and different International Perspectives Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 20, 1–19 Copyright r 2007 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(07)20001-1

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EVELYN H. KROESBERGEN ET AL.

working memory components are investigated. In the first study, the relations between the Early Numeracy Test (ENT) and five working memory aspects have been studied in a correlational study with 240 kindergartners. The following working memory components can be distinguished: the central executive controlling system, the phonological component, and the visuospatial component. In this study, three distinctive executive functions were measured: inhibition, shifting, and planning. The results show that phonological working memory, shifting, and planning are highly related to children’s early math competence. Together, these functions can explain 50% of the total variance in early math. In a second study under 111 kindergartners, it was found that the scores on the ENT are moderately related to the executive function planning. Contrary to the expectations, intelligence was more related to preparatory math skills than planning. However, in a short training study with 15 low performing children, it was found that children’s planning scores could better predict their improvement than intelligence: children low in planning did not profit as much from the training as children with higher planning capacities. The results of these studies emphasize the need for further research on the relations between working memory processes and preparatory math skills. These processes seem to play an important role in the origin of math learning difficulties. The results of the second study also suggest that remediation of early math learning difficulties should be adapted according to children’s cognitive profiles regarding working memory and executive functions.

Mathematics is one of the basic skills that a child is supposed to learn during his/her school career. However, already in kindergarten, large differences between children’s math performance can be detected (Van de Rijt & Van Luit, 1998). Previous research does not provide a satisfactory explanation for this variability (Geary, 2004). Individual differences are often attributed to differences in intelligence. However, evidence shows that intelligence, as measured with traditional tests such as WISC, can explain only 9–25% of the variance in children’s math achievement (Resing, Ruijssenaars, & Bosma, 2002). Recent studies indicate that other domaingeneral cognitive abilities, more specifically executive functions (EF) and working memory (WM), may provide better explanations for variability in early math learning (with explained variance up to 75%; see Bull & Scerif, 2001; Kroesbergen, Van Luit, & Naglieri, 2003). The focus of this study is

Working Memory and Early Mathematics

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on the role of working memory processes in young children’s mathematics performance. It is assumed that weaknesses in these processes could cause delays or deficits in preparatory math skills, which in turn are important predictors of later mathematical learning disabilities (Kavkler, Tancig, & Magajna, 2003). The working memory has been described as an active information processor responsible for storing and processing information for a short time (Baddeley, 1986, 1997). It includes at least three components: a central executive controlling system (CE), which is considered primarily responsible for coordinating the activities of the phonological component (PWM) and the visuospatial component (VSWM), but it also draws resources from longterm memory (Baddeley & Logie, 1999). The phonological working memory (PWM) is responsible for temporarily storing and rehearsing linguistic information. The visuospatial working memory (VSWM) is considered to process, store, and manipulate visual and spatial information. A number of studies (e.g., Alloway, Gathercole, Willis, & Adams, 2004; Gathercole, Pickering, Ambride, & Wearing, 2004; Swanson, 2006) confirmed the existence of Baddeley’s model of working memory. In our study, the focus is on the CE and executive functions. In the recent research literature, different definitions are used for executive functions. In general, the concept is used as an umbrella term for different higher-order functions such as planning, inhibition, and attentional shifting (e.g., Barry, Lyman, & Klinger, 2002). Executive functions are necessary for adequate execution of complex goaldirected activities (Welsh, 2002). Following Baddeley’s model, one of the tasks of the CE is to coordinate the functions of the phonological and the visuospatial short-term memory systems, necessary for keeping information temporarily available for processing in working memory (Bull & Scerif, 2001). Another task is the retrieval of information from long-term memory, such as memorized mathematical facts. Although executive functions have received much attention in recent research literature, studies on executive functions in young children are relatively scarce. According to Welsh (2002), this is partly due do the idea that executive functions are not fully developed before the age of 12. However, she also shows that precursors of executive functions as inhibition and working memory are already manifested at the age of eight months and that from the age of two, planning capacities can be measured. Recent studies (e.g., Espy, Kaufmann, McDiarmid, & Glisky, 2001; Gathercole et al., 2004) suggest that executive functions are already functional and differentiated in children aged two to three years, but that they mature relatively late and continue to develop well into adolescence.

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Several studies have shown empirical evidence suggesting that the different working memory components (especially CE functions such as planning) are involved both in learning early numeracy (Kroesbergen, Van Luit, Naglieri, Franchi, & Taddei, 2006; Kyttala, Aunio, Lehto, Van Luit, & Hautama¨ki, 2003) and in acquiring mathematical skills and knowledge (Bull & Scerif, 2001; Gathercole, Pickering, Knight, & Stegmann, 2004). Furthermore, several studies that compared groups of mathematically disabled children to normally developing groups have found evidence that poor arithmetic performance in children is related to poor working memory ability (Gathercole & Pickering, 2000; Kroesbergen et al., 2003). Differences between children with and without math learning disabilities were found both in the slave systems of PWM and VSWM (e.g., D’Amico & Guarnera, 2005), and in the executive functions inhibition (e.g., Bull, Johnston, & Roy, 1999; McLean & Hitch, 1999), planning (e.g., Sikora, Haley, Edwards, & Butler, 2002), and shifting (e.g., McLean & Hitch, 1999). This study focuses on children’s knowledge of preparatory math skills. Adequate mastery of preparatory math skills will enhance the development of mathematical knowledge in later grades, when children receive formal math instruction (Kavkler et al., 2003; Van de Rijt & Van Luit, 1998). And reversed, children who do not master the preparatory skills adequately before formal math instruction begins are at great risk to develop math learning disabilities. However, preparatory math instruction receives too little attention both in schools and at home. Nevertheless, researchers’ attention for preparatory mathematics has grown in the last decade, both in the area of instruction and remediation (see Kroesbergen & Van Luit, 2003 for an overview) and concerning the evaluation of kindergartners’ math knowledge (e.g., the Early Numeracy Test (ENT); Van Luit, Van de Rijt, & Pennings, 1994; Van de Rijt, Van Luit, & Pennings, 1999, which has been translated and standardized in several countries from different parts of Europe). Children should have developed two schemas for understanding and operating on numbers. The first for verbal counting and the second for global quantity comparison (Fuchs, Fuchs, & Karns, 2001). The starting point is an innate sensitivity to quantity (Gallistel & Gelman, 1992) that matures through experience. At the age of about two, children show their first awareness of number in social play or in their own little songs or rhymes. At the age of about four, children begin to count, mostly asynchronously. They begin to realize that numbers can be used to count objects, but they are not yet able to point to one object while enumerating one number. When they can count and point to objects at the same time, they count


5

synchronously. One way to count synchronously is to arrange the objects while counting. At the age of about four and a half, children begin to demonstrate different options for arranging objects. At the age of five, children reach the stage of resultative counting. This means that they are becoming aware of the fact that counting has to begin with the number one, that every object has to be counted once, and that the last number gives the total amount of objects. In this phase, the fact that the children discover the oneto-one-relation between object and number is important. After resultative counting, children begin to use another strategy: shortened counting. From a number of objects they recognize the representation of, for example, the five on the dice, and they count on from this number: five, y six, seven, etc. Children at the age of about six should be able to deal with shortened counting as an optimal starting point for formal mathematical education. To use counting effectively, the child must master the cardinal and ordinal aspect of number (Geary, 1994). This means that the child knows that by counting an amount of objects, the last number named in the count (the cardinal number) represents the total number of counted objects. In addition, the child has to learn to order the numerals in the correct sequence and that the numerals represent a place in this sequence (ordinal number). The different counting skills and the skills measured by Piagetian tasks can be operationalized in different components of one overall construct called early numeracy (Van de Rijt & Van Luit, 1998). In this view, four Piagetian tasks can be distinguished: (a) concepts of comparison, such as greater, most, and less; (b) classification, or the ability to arrange objects in a class or subclass; (c) seriation, or the ranking of objects; and (d) correspondence, or the comparison of quantities by making a one-to-one relation. In the Netherlands, 97% of the children enter kindergarten soon after their fourth birthday. In Dutch kindergartens, especially in the second year, mathematics is integrated into their daily education. Much attention is given to preparatory academic skills. Many schools even use a curriculum method for activities to teach the prerequisites for math. The Dutch curriculum is based on constructivist principles (e.g., Cobb, Gravemeijer, Yackel, McClain, & Whitenack, 1997). Prerequisite math skills are a variety of counting skills, building with blocks, and discussions of questions involving quantities. These activities, which are playful and interactive, are necessary for the later curricula, which require some basics in math concepts, understanding of numbers, and knowledge of the sequence of numbers (Van Luit & Schopman, 2000). Dutch children thus get used to tasks such as counting and Piagetian operations.

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The aim of this study was to investigate the relationship between working memory and early mathematics. Because working memory is related to later mathematics performance, it is hypothesized that working memory is also related to preparatory mathematics skills. When children at risk for math learning disabilities can be identified at young ages, interventions can start relatively early and the impact of the learning disabilities can thus be weakened. This study is also meant to provide better starting points for interventions with children at risk for math learning disabilities. It is assumed that in preparatory mathematics, the same working memory processes are important as in more advanced mathematics. For example, PWM is necessary for learning number words and the counting row. VSWM processes are used in tasks that are administered visually, for instance when children have to compare pictures of different sizes. Inhibitory processes play a role when children have to focus on a specific part of the task, for instance, when they have to order objects like toy cars, they have to focus on the size or the colour, and not on the objects themselves. Planning is necessary in almost every academic task, to execute different parts of the task in the right order and in an adequate way, for example in counting objects. The child has to make a plan on how to arrange the objects (e.g., take away after counting, or place them in a long row) and control the process of counting and pointing objects simultaneously. In this chapter, it is first studied how the different working memory processes (VSWM, PWM, and CE) are related to preparatory mathematics. Second, it is tested if the executive function planning explains more variation in early math scores than IQ does. The third question is concerned with the effects of training in a specific area of early mathematics, namely seriation. Former research have shown that eight- to ten-year-old children with math learning disabilities do not all profit in the same way from different forms of instruction, while these differences could not be explained by factors like intelligence, socio-economic background, ethnicity or sex (Kroesbergen et al., 2003). It is hypothesized that individual differences in executive functions have an additive value in predicting remediation effectiveness. Naglieri and Gottling (1997) have shown that older children low in planning and mathematics do profit from a training focused on planning capacities in mathematics, while children performing low on mathematics but high on planning, did not profit from this training. This paper reports on a small study in which the relation between children’s planning capacities and the effectiveness of a seriation training was examined.


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METHOD Participants and General Procedure In this chapter, the results of two related studies are reported. In the first study, the early math competence and working memory functions of 240 second-year kindergarten children were measured in individual sessions of maximum 20 min each. The children were randomly selected within the 15 participating schools (from different areas of the country) and are therefore assumed to form a representative sample. The children were aged five to seven (M ¼ 5.89, SD ¼ 0.42). A total of 113 girls and 127 boys participated. The mean IQ score was 101.05 (SD ¼ 13.65). In the second study, 111 children (49 boys, 62 girls) from five different schools participated. Their mean age was 5.97 years (SD ¼ 0.32). Children’s early math competence and planning capacities were measured in two sessions of 20–30 min each. Fifteen of the children (Mage ¼ 5.65) who scored below average on the ENT participated in a training in seriation. They received five 20-min training sessions in groups of five children. All testing and training sessions took place in the morning hours. Materials The ENT (Van de Rijt et al., 1999) was used to measure early numeracy. In study 1, several tasks were used to measure different aspects of working memory. In study 2, the Tower of London (ToL) was used to measure children’s planning abilities. In addition, Raven’s coloured progressive matrices were administered in study 2. Early Numeracy Test The ENT is a task-orientated test that measures the level of early mathematical competence. The test has been developed for kindergarten and grade 1 of the primary school. The ENT consists of eight parts; the tasks are spread over these parts in groups of five. Concepts of comparison. The comparison of quantitative or qualitative characteristics of objects is assessed with these items. The questions evaluate whether children master concepts that are frequently used in comparisons, especially in mathematical education, such as ‘the most’, ‘the least’, ‘higher’, and ‘lower’.

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Classification. These items evaluate the child’s skill at grouping objects in classes or subclasses based on criteria. The classification task determines if children are able to determine similarity or differences among objects and group them according to different attributes. Correspondence. The comparison of amounts by making a one-to-onerelation is used to determine if children are able to make a one-to-one-relation between different objects. For example: ‘‘Are there as many chickens as there are eggs’’? Other items determine if children understand that six blocks is as many as six points on a dice. Seriation. The ranking of objects in class or subclass based on order is evaluated by these items. Terms used in the tasks are from high to low, from more to less, from thin to thick, and from small to broad. Children also have to make a series of their own by means of drawing lines from, for example, a big rabbit to a big carrot and from a small rabbit to a small carrot. Using counting words. The child’s skills in counting forwards and backwards as well as using the cardinal and ordinal numbers are evaluated. This task also determines if the child knows how to use cardinal and ordinal numbers up to 20. Structured counting. These items help determine if the child can correspond numbers with numbers of objects. Children are asked to point to the objects with their fingers while counting. Other items include automatic recognition of number of points on each side of a dice. Resultative counting. Counting structured and unstructured quantities as well as counting hidden quantities are assessed. With this set of items it is determined whether children are capable of determining the total number of objects up to 12 from both structured and unstructured collections. While counting they are not allowed to use their fingers for pointing to the objects in the collection. General knowledge of numbers. Being able to use knowledge of the number system in a simple problem situation is also evaluated. Items determine if children are able to use numbers under 20 in simple daily problem situations. Working Memory To measure PWM, the subtests Word Series and Sentence Repetition from the Cognitive Assessment System (CAS; Naglieri & Das, 1997; Dutch translation: Van Luit & Kroesbergen, 1998) were administered. Word Series is a verbal subtest that exists of repeating a series of one-syllable words, increasing from two to nine words per series. Sentence Repetition is a


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subtest by which the child has to repeat nonsense sentences (sentences in which all verbs and nouns are replaced by colours, like ‘yellow greened the blue’). Cronbach’s alpha of the combined scale is 0.81. To measure VSWM, the subtest Figure Memory from the CAS was administered. In this subtest a page with a two- or three-dimensional figure is shown for 5 s. Subsequently, the child has to find the original figure when it is presented imbedded within a larger more complex geometric pattern. For inhibition, Expressive Attention was administered, an analogue version of the Stroop test (Stroop, 1935) with pictures of animals. The task requires the child to name the real-life size (big or small) of an animal, while ignoring the size of the drawing. The child has to suppress a logical (automatized) answer to be able to give the right answer. For shifting, Children’s Colour Trail Test (CCTT; Llorente, Williams, Satz, & D’Elia, 2003) was used. In this test, children have to connect pink and yellow numbers from 1 to 15. They have to switch from the pink 1 to the yellow 2 to the pink 3, etc. Finally, two planning subtests from the CAS were administered (a ¼ 0.65): In the subtest Matching Numbers the children have to find two numbers that are the same in each of eight rows on a page. The length of these numbers ranges from single digit numbers to eight digits. The subtest Planned Codes consists of two pages with letters (A, B, C, and D) with an empty space under each letter where the child must fill in a given code, each letter has its own code. On the first page the letters appear in columns (in the first column the A’s, in the second the B’s, etc.), on the second page the letters appear in a diagonal pattern. Tower of London The ToL is a spatial puzzle, which requires planning, an executive function, along with the ability to adhere to a set of rules to solve it successfully. The ToL consists of three coloured balls (blue, yellow, and red), which must be arranged on three sticks to match the target configuration on a picture while only one ball can be moved at a time (Shallice, 1982). The test consists of 20 trials, which gradually increase in the number of required moves. Raven-Coloured Progressive Matrices Raven’s Progressive Matrices (Raven, Court, & Raven, 1986) are used to measure non-verbal intelligence: the capacity to reason by analogy, form

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comparisons, and think logically. The Coloured Progressive Matrices (CPM) is the 36-item version of the test used with children aged 5–12. The 36 problems are divided into three sets (A, AB, and B), each containing 12 problems. The child has to complete a matrix by choosing the missing part from six alternatives given at the bottom of the page, then has to induce a relation on the completed part of the matrix and apply that relation to the incomplete part. Training in Seriation The training in seriation consists of different seriation tasks and feedback given to the children after completing an individual item. Different dimensions were used in the training: Materials. Concrete materials but also pictures were used. Actions. Recognition of a series, inserting objects into an existing series and making seriations themselves. Aspects. Seriation on a single aspect and seriation on several aspects. Kind of Aspects. Height, length, colour, number, width, etc. Feedback was given in the way Siegler and Svetina (2002) have described it in their study: after each given answer feedback is given to the child and the child is asked why he or she thinks the answer is correct. If the answer is not correct, the test assistant says: ‘‘no, I would choose this one’’! After that, the child is asked why the answer of the test assistant is correct. Despite the answer that follows, the test assistant gives positive feedback by saying ‘‘ok’’. The effectiveness of this kind of feedback was shown by the study of Siegler and Svetina (2002), in which the group trained with feedback as described above, showed more progress compared with a control group. By following these procedures, the children learn to think about the task and learn to make and evaluate plans for conducting such tasks. The training thus asks from the children that they use their planning skills. In the study presented here, the training consisted of five meetings in which each time different aspects of seriation were combined, becoming more difficult each time.

RESULTS Results of Study 1 The first study was meant to investigate the relations between working memory functions and early numeracy. In Table 1, the mean scores on the


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ENT and the working memory tasks are presented. The results show that the sample is representative for the population. Table 2 shows the correlations between the working memory functions and the ENT subtests. In general, VSWM, shifting, and planning show the highest correlations with early numeracy. The subscale use of counting words is most related to working memory components, in specific to the PWM, shifting, and planning. The VSWM task shows the highest correlation with seriation. The correlations between the ENT subtests and inhibition are relatively low. Furthermore, a regression analysis was conducted to investigate the

Table 1.

Mean Scores on ENT Scales (Score 1–5) and WM Components (M ¼ 10, SD ¼ 3).

Comparison Classification Correspondence Seriation Counting words Structured counting Resultative counting Number knowledge Total ENT PWM VSWM Inhibition Shifting Planning

Table 2.

M

SD

Range

4.66 4.37 4.01 3.34 3.54 3.13 2.47 3.43 3.62 10.05 11.73 11.19 9.13 9.61

0.63 0.75 1.00 1.29 1.29 1.19 1.23 1.34 0.75 2.71 3.21 2.50 3.21 2.27

1–5 2–5 0–5 0–5 0–5 0–5 0–5 0–5 0.9–4.9 4–18.5 5–18 4–19 1–19 4.5–15.5

Correlations between WM Components and ENT (N ¼ 240).

Comparison Classification Correspondence Seriation Counting words Structured counting Resultative counting Number knowledge Total

PWM

VSWM

Inhibition

Shifting

Planning

0.218 0.247 0.248 0.296 0.355 0.209 0.187 0.174 0.321

0.220 0.365 0.377 0.507 0.461 0.295 0.375 0.413 0.558

0.228 0.207 0.255 0.224 0.191 0.146 0.216 0.285 0.355

n.s. 0.197 0.360 0.351 0.531 0.349 0.349 0.389 0.500

0.231 0.243 0.286 0.366 0.414 0.310 0.299 0.358 0.490

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Table 3.

(Constant) VSWM Shifting Planning

Results of Linear Regression on ENT Scores (R2 ¼ 0.50). B

Std. Error

Beta

t

p

32.798 1.253 1.251 1.310

4.198 0.310 0.332 0.478

0.312 0.324 0.234

7.813 4.042 3.761 2.739

0.000 0.000 0.000 0.007

combined effect of the working memory components. Inhibition and the PWM did not significantly contribute to the explanation of variation in early numeracy. They were therefore excluded from the regression analysis. The remaining factors such as VSWM, shifting, and planning (see also Table 3) together explain 50% of the total variance in early math scores.

Results of Study 2 In study 2, the relations between the ToL and the Ravens’s CPM with early numeracy were investigated. Table 4 shows the mean scores of the total sample and the selected sample for the seriation training. The training sample performed lower than the other children in the sample on all tasks, F(10,91) ¼ 4.44, po0.01. First of all, the correlations between planning and early numeracy and between intelligence and early numeracy were investigated. Contrary to our expectations, the correlations between the CPM and early numeracy were higher than between ToL and numeracy (see Table 5). Both planning and intelligence can explain part of the variance in early numeracy. The results of a regression analysis show that the two tests together accounted for 51.6% of the variance in early numeracy (see also Table 6). Furthermore, it was studied if the CPM or the ToL test could predict children’s learning during a training. In the seriation training, low performing children received 5 20 min training in seriation. At the end of each training, they completed a parallel version of a seriation test with 10 items. To compare groups of children who performed average or below or above average, the children were categorized into three (equal) categories, based on their scores on the ToL test. Fig. 1 shows the mean scores for the three groups over the five training sessions. The children with average or high planning skills, improve, especially in sessions 3–5. The children with low planning skills show little improvement in the first two lessons, but in the third session, a plafond effect seems to become visible. Multivariate analysis


Table 4.

13

Mean Scores on ENT Scales, Planning (M ¼ 15, SD ¼ 5), and CPM (0–36). Total Sample (N ¼ 111)

Comparison Classification Correspondence Seriation Counting words Structured counting Resultative counting Number knowledge Total Planning Raven’s CPM

Table 5.

Training Sample (n ¼ 15)

M

SD

Range

M

SD

Range

4.69 4.41 3.98 3.94 3.91 3.14 2.88 3.60 3.82 14.42 23.42

0.67 0.75 0.89 1.22 1.06 1.27 1.30 1.21 0.66 2.48 4.69

2–5 2–5 2–5 0–5 1–5 0–5 0–5 1–5 2–5 8–19 12–34

4.20 3.87 3.27 3.67 2.93 2.13 1.93 2.93 3.12 13.47 19.93

1.01 0.92 0.80 1.29 1.16 1.25 1.22 1.39 0.54 2.53 4.77

2–5 2–5 2–4 1–5 1–5 0–4 0–4 1–5 2–3.9 8–16 12–26

Correlations between ToL, CPM, and ENT (N ¼ 102).

Comparison Classification Correspondence Seriation Counting words Structured counting Resultative counting Number knowledge Total

ToL

CPM

0.258 0.304 0.252 0.296 0.375 0.285 0.332 0.239 0.446

n.s. 0.426 0.385 0.370 0.349 0.399 0.381 0.451 0.578

Table 6. Results of Linear Regression on ENT Scores.

(Constant) CPM ToL

B

Std. Error

Beta

t

p

33.087 0.899 1.247

6.941 0.280 0.483

0.472 0.380

4.767 3.210 2.582

0.000 0.003 0.016

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EVELYN H. KROESBERGEN ET AL. 10 low average high

8

6

4

2

0 1

Fig. 1.

2

3

4

5

Improvement during Intervention for Children with Low, Average, or High Levels of Planning Competence.

of variance showed a significant main effect of group on a combination of the five training sessions, Wilks l ¼ 0.09, p ¼ 0.01. Univariate analyses showed that this effect was only found at the last session, in which the group who performed relatively low on the ToL, showed lower scores on the seriation test than the other two groups, F(2,12) ¼ 7.919, p ¼ 0.006. It appears that these children did not profit as much from the training as the children with average or high planning capacities. The same procedure was used to investigate the predictive value of Raven’s CPM (see Fig. 2). Although the intelligence scores are reflected in the math scores at session 1, all groups showed improvement in seriation skills and reached the same level at the end of the training. This was confirmed by the analyses, in which no multivariate effects between the groups were found. At the end of the training, the groups did not differ in performance on the seriation test.

DISCUSSION This study was aimed to investigate the relationship between early mathematics and working memory, because of the important role of working memory processes in math learning disabilities. In this study, three working


15

10 9

low average

8

high

7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0 1

Fig. 2.

2

3

4

5

Improvement during Intervention for Children Performing Low, Average, or High on Raven’s CPM.

memory components were distinguished: VSWM, PWM, and executive functions. The results show that significant correlations exist between the three working memory components and early mathematics, although the correlation between PWM and early math performance was relatively low (r ¼ 0.32). This could be explained by the fact that most tasks of the ENT are visually presented to the children. This is supported by the finding that the PWM is most related to the task in which children are asked to use counting words. Apparently, PWM is most important in verbal counting, and less important in the other tasks of the ENT. The findings of this study support the hypothesis that working memory processes in kindergarten already play an important role in the acquisition of (preparatory) mathematical skills. In this study, the executive component was divided into three parts: inhibition, shifting, and planning. The latter two functions showed the highest correlations with early math. The relatively low correlations between inhibition and early math (r ¼ 0.36) could be explained by the simplicity of the tasks. The items in the ENT are less complex than mathematical tasks in grade 1 and further on. It can be expected that inhibition is especially important in more complex tasks and less important in more easy tasks that are included in the ENT. This is confirmed by the studies of Bull et al. (1999)

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and McLean and Hitch (1999), who demonstrated that inhibition is related with mathematical performance in older children. The results show that the VSWM, shifting, and planning together can explain 50% of the variance in children’s early math performance. It can be concluded that working memory functions provide better explanations for variability in early math learning than traditional IQ measures, which explain at most half of this percentage (Resing et al., 2002). However, the correlations found in this study were not as high as expected based on former research. It was even found that planning alone did not explain as much variance as Raven’s CPM, a more traditional measure of IQ. It should be noted, however, that the CPM measures fluid intelligence, which is more related to executive functions than crystallized intelligence, as measured with a more regularly used IQ test like the WISC III (cf. Ackerman, Beier, & Boyle, 2005). That the correlations found in this study are lower than expected, may be attributed to the tests that were used. Only few valid and reliable tasks are available that could measure working memory in general and executive functions in specific in young children (cf. Van der Ven & Kroesbergen, 2006). Further research should therefore focus on pure measures of the different working memory components. In addition to the correlational study, an experimental study was conducted to investigate the predictive value of planning versus traditional intelligence. A small sample (N ¼ 15) of children performing low at preparatory math skills received a training in seriation. The training stimulated the children to think about the task and thus asked for planning skills. Owing to the small number, the results should be interpreted with caution. However, it seemed that the children’s planning scores at the beginning of the training could partly predict their improvement during the five-sessions training, more than IQ scores could. Children with limited planning capacities could not profit as much from the training as their peers with average or above average planning capacities. It seems that the latter groups have adequately learned to use their planning skills in working on seriation tasks. However, children with lower planning skills, may need another kind of instruction. It can be concluded that children’s executive functioning have implications for their instructional needs. Further research is necessary to investigate if training in executive functions (planning) could help the lowest performing children to profit from instruction, or if instruction for these children can be designed in such a way that a minimum of planning capacities is required. In general, it can be concluded that working memory processes do play an important role in the acquisition of early mathematical skills. Although further research is necessary to get deeper insight in how these processes


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exactly influence math development, it can be stated that working memory and executive functions are related to early math performance. The study has yielded promising findings for the field of learning disabilities, both for early identification and for remediation of learning disabilities. It has been shown that the relations between working memory and math skills found at later ages are already apparent in 5-year-old children. The findings give direction to alternative screening procedures at young ages to select children at risk for learning disabilities. Children who show deficits in preparatory math skills are at risk for later math learning disabilities. However, when these children also have deficits in executive functions and working memory processes, the risk for serious delays or deficits in later mathematical development is even higher. Children, who perform low both at preparatory mathematics and executive functions, should therefore receive special attention already in kindergarten. It is recommended to start intervention already in kindergarten and first grade to remediate and/or compensate their weaknesses. Interventions should then be focused both on mathematical skills and on the more domain-general executive functions.

REFERENCES Ackerman, P. L., Beier, M. E., & Boyle, M. O. (2005). Working memory and intelligence: The same or different constructs?. Psychological Bulletin, 131, 30–60. Alloway, T. P., Gathercole, S. E., Willis, C., & Adams, A. (2004). A structural analysis of working memory and related cognitive skills in young children. Journal of Experimental Child Psychology, 87, 85–106. Baddeley, A. D. (1986). Working memory. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Baddeley, A. D. (1997). Human memory: Theory and practice. Hove: Psychology Press. Baddeley, A. D., & Logie, R. H. (1999). Working memory: The multiple component model. In: A. Miyake & P. Shah (Eds), Models of working memory (pp. 28–61). New York: Cambridge University Press. Barry, T., Lyman, R. D., & Klinger, L. (2002). Academic underachievement and attentiondeficit/hyperactivity disorder: The negative impacts of symptom severity on school performance. Journal of School Psychology, 40, 259–283. Bull, R., Johnston, R. S., & Roy, J. A. (1999). Exploring the roles of the visual-spatial sketch pad and central executive in children’s arithmetical skills: Views from cognition and developmental neuropsychology. Developmental Neuropsychology, 15, 421–442. Bull, R., & Scerif, G. (2001). Executive functioning as a predictor of children’s mathematics ability: Inhibition, switching, and working memory. Developmental Neuropsychology, 19, 273–293. Cobb, P., Gravemeijer, K., Yackel, E., McClain, K., & Whitenack, J. (1997). Mathematizing and symbolizing: The emergence of chains of signification in one first-grade classroom. In: D. Kirshner & J. A. Whitson (Eds), Situated cognition theory: Social, semiotic, and neurological perspectives (pp. 151–233). Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum.

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D’Amico, A. D., & Guarnera, M. (2005). Exploring working memory in children with low arithmetical achievement. Learning and Individual Differences, 15, 189–202. Espy, K. A., Kaufmann, P. M., McDiarmid, M. D., & Glisky, M. L. (2001). New procedures to assess executive functions in preschool children. Developmental Neuropsychology, 15, 46–58. Fuchs, L. S., Fuchs, D., & Karns, K. (2001). Enhancing kindergartners’ mathematical development: Effects of peer-assisted learning strategies. Elementary School Journal, 101, 495–510. Gallistel, C. R., & Gelman, R. (1992). Preverbal and verbal counting and computation. Cognition, 44, 43–74. Gathercole, S. E., & Pickering, S. J. (2000). Assessment of working memory in six- and sevenyear-old children. Journal of Educational Psychology, 92, 377–390. Gathercole, S. E., Pickering, S. J., Ambride, B., & Wearing, H. (2004). The structure of working memory from 4 to 15 years of age. Developmental Psychology, 40, 177–190. Gathercole, S. E., Pickering, S. J., Knight, C., & Stegmann, Z. (2004). Working memory skills and educational attainment: Evidence from national curriculum assessments at 7 and 14 years of age. Applied Cognitive Psychology, 18, 1–16. Geary, D. C. (1994). Children’s mathematical development. Washington, DC: APA. Geary, D. C. (2004). Mathematics and learning disabilities. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 37, 4–15. Kavkler, M., Tancig, S., & Magajna, L. (2003). Longitudinal study of children with very low mathematical competence in preschool years. Paper presented at the EARLI2003, Padova, Italy, 25–30 August. Kroesbergen, E. H., & Van Luit, J. E. H. (2003). Mathematics interventions for children with special educational needs: A meta-analysis. Remedial and Special Education, 24, 97–114. Kroesbergen, E. H., Van Luit, J. E. H., & Naglieri, J. A. (2003). Mathematical learning difficulties and PASS cognitive processes. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 36, 574–582. Kroesbergen, E. H., Van Luit, J. E. H., Naglieri, J. A., Franchi, E., & Taddei, S. (2006). A cross-cultural study of PASS-processes and preparatory mathematics. Manuscript submitted for publication. Kyttala, M., Aunio, P., Lehto, J. E., Van Luit, J. E. H., & Hautama¨ki, J. (2003). Visuospatial working memory and early numeracy. Educational and Child Psychology, 20, 65–76. Llorente, A. M., Williams, J., Satz, P., & D’Elia, L. F. (2003). Children’s color trail test. Lutz: Psychological Assessment Resources. McLean, J. F., & Hitch, G. J. (1999). Working memory impairments in children with specific arithmetic learning difficulties. Journal of Experimental Child Psychology, 74, 240–260. Naglieri, J. A., & Das, J. P. (1997). Cognitive assessment system. Illinois: Riverside. Naglieri, J. A., & Gottling, S. H. (1997). Mathematics instruction and PASS cognitive processes: An intervention study. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 30, 513–520. Raven, J. C., Court, J. H., & Raven, J. (1986). Coloured progressive matrices. London: H. K. Lewis & Co. Resing, W. C. M., Ruijssenaars, A. J. J. M., & Bosma, T. (2002). Dynamic assessment: Using measures for learning potential in the diagnostic process. In: G. M. Van der Aalsvoort, W. C. M. Resing & A. J. J. M. Ruijssenaars (Eds), Advances in cognition and educational practice (Vol. 7, pp. 29–64). New York: Elsevier Science. Shallice, T. (1982). Specific impairments of planning. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London (Biology), 298, 199–209. Siegler, R. S., & Svetina, M. (2002). A microgenetic/cross-sectional study of matrix completion: Comparing short-term and long-term change. Child Development, 73, 793–809.


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Sikora, D. M., Haley, P., Edwards, J., & Butler, R. W. (2002). Tower of London test performance in children with poor arithmetical skills. Developmental Neuropsychology, 21, 243–254. Stroop, J. R. (1935). Studies of interference in serial verbal reactions. Journal of Experimental Psychology, 18, 643–662. Swanson, H. L. (2006). Cognitive processes that underlie mathematical precociousness in young children. Journal of Experimental Child Psychology, 93, 239–264. Van de Rijt, B. A. M., & Van Luit, J. E. H. (1998). Effectiveness of the additional early mathematics program for teaching children early mathematics. Instructional Science, 26, 337–358. Van de Rijt, B. A. M., Van Luit, J. E. H., & Pennings, A. H. (1999). The construction of the Utrecht early mathematical competence scales. Educational and Psychological Measurement, 59(2), 289–309. Van der Ven, S. H. G., & Kroesbergen, E. H. (2006). Executive functions and learning arithmetic in seven-year-old children. Manuscript submitted for publication. Van Luit, J. E. H., & Kroesbergen, E. H. (1998). Cognitive assessment system (Dutch adaptation). Utrecht, The Netherlands: Utrecht University. Van Luit, J. E. H., & Schopman, E. A. M. (2000). Improving early numeracy of young children with special educational needs. Remedial and Special Education, 21, 27–40. Van Luit, J. E. H., Van de Rijt, B. A. M., & Pennings, A. H. (1994). Utrechtse Getalbegrip Toets [Early numeracy test]. Doetinchem, The Netherlands: Graviant. Welsh, D. (2002). Development and clinical variations in executive functions. In: D. L. M. V. J. Molfese (Ed.), Developmental variations in learning. Applications to social, executive function, language, and reading skills. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.


READING DEVELOPMENT AND READING DISABILITIES: FOCUS ON NORWAY Solveig-Alma H. Lyster ABSTRACT Literacy research in Norway has focused on many areas. Dyslexia has been one main area for many years. The last years’ many approaches have been taken to understand how reading disabilities can be prevented and to understand the connection between the spoken and written language. A school reform reducing the age of admission to school from seven to six from 1997 has had the effect of stimulating research in the field of reading development. Norwegian orthography is described as semi-transparent. Studies of Norwegian children show that even children with dyslexia break the alphabetic code rather easily. Also, Norway is an advanced, rich country with a clear commitment to equity. These are some reasons why Norway should get good results on international reading achievement tests. The results from different international reading assessments, however, have worried the Norwegian Government. The Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) has clearly stated that Norway has a job to do in terms of equity. In most reading achievement tests, Norway shows a wider spread of outcomes than many other OECD countries. The Norwegian school reform of 1997 has not been a great

International Perspectives Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 20, 21–55 r 2007 Published by Elsevier Ltd. ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(07)20002-3

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SOLVEIG-ALMA H. LYSTER

success in the area of children’s literacy development. The international results and the evaluation of the reform have led to a range of initiatives from the Government and to yet another reform with a new curriculum. In this new curriculum, there is a somewhat clearer focus on benchmarks to be achieved. There is, however, little concentration on what to do when children fall behind their peers for no apparent reason. The school authorities hope, however, that the initiatives that are taken will make a difference.

Special needs education has developed as a response to teaching and training problems in connection with disabled people in school and society. Ever since the establishment of the Norwegian College of Special Needs Education in 1961, reading development and reading disabilities have been primary areas of focus for special education students and their professional development. At the start, special needs education was primarily given to teachers as continued education. A one-year course of study covered many aspects of the field, but reading disabilities (especially dyslexia) and mathematical disabilities were considered to be the most important areas for study. An additional one-year course gave the students the possibility to specialise within fields such as speech therapy, hearing disabilities or visual disabilities. From 1976, postgraduate courses were offered in six different fields of special needs education. The College of Special Needs Education expanded and developed over the years. A doctoral programme in special needs education was founded and the college became part of the University of Oslo and assimilated into the Faculty of Education in 1996. Today, the Department of Special Needs Education at the University of Oslo offers a three-year Bachelor programme and a two-year Master programme with the possibility to specialise within a range of special needs areas including vision, hearing, mental retardation, speech therapy, learning disabilities and psychosocial problems. As a rule, speech therapists, together with educational psychologists and cognitive psychologists, have been the specialists to whom persons with reading disabilities have been referred. People specialising within the field of learning disabilities also have a strong focus on reading and writing disabilities in their work in school psychologist offices and other places within the educational system. Today, both graduate and postgraduate courses in special needs education are offered at many universities and colleges in Norway. For a couple of decades, Norway has also had a Centre for Reading Research, situated in Stavanger. This centre has been given a special responsibility by the

Reading Development and Reading Disabilities

23

Norwegian government to develop tests and provide national standards of measurement for reading development. Today, the National Centre for Reading Education and Research is part of the Faculty of Arts and Education at the University of Stavanger. Even if there are departments and researchers at other Norwegian universities, such as the Department of Psychology at the University of Bergen, as well as University Colleges that have a concentration on reading development and reading disabilities, the main research work on reading disabilities is being done at the Universities of Stavanger and of Oslo. Norwegian researchers in the field of reading and writing focus on topics that most researchers worldwide view as important for the development of our understanding of the field. There is much that is known about how early linguistic awareness, especially phonological and/or phonemic awareness, facilitates reading development, but the focus for research is also on other linguistic and cognitive early markers of dyslexia, as well as other reading problems. New insights into the role of the orthography of different languages are emerging. This has led to a focus on the role that Norwegian orthography and script plays in children’s literacy development (Hagtvet, Helland, & Lyster, 2006; Hagtvet & Lyster, 2003). Even if orthography makes a difference, the activities and teaching in the classroom and especially the role of the teachers, make a great difference. Norwegian studies have shown that the variations between children’s reading performance, between classroom results and between the schools’ results are far larger than desired, and the National Centre for Reading Research called attention to these facts as early as in 1998 (Tønnessen & Solheim, 1998). In Norway, relatively low scores on most reading tasks in international assessments, at least in comparison to results from other Nordic and Western European countries, are also causing concern for the government. In 1997, there was a reform of the Norwegian educational system. Prior to that time, children started school when they were seven years old. Now they start school in August of the year when they turn six. This earlier school start, however, did not lead to better reading abilities. Evaluations of the reform, the curriculum and classroom activities showed that there were too many free-play activities with less focus on the curriculum. Play as an educational tool was less often observed (Hagtvet, 2003). The teaching of reading in the first grade took place in some classrooms and schools, while in other classrooms there was not even any systematic learning of letters. The curriculum was very vague as to what to do and when to introduce the teaching of reading. In most classrooms, however, the children did have linguistic awareness activities and other activities believed to have effect on later reading development.

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Now there has been a recent change in the curriculum, and the Ministry of Education and Research has clearly stated that literacy teaching is to start in the first grade. It is important to view the 1997 school reform and the resulting curriculum with consideration given to the heavy debate that preceded the reform. Some political parties and quite a large percentage of the Norwegian population thought that an earlier school start would deprive the children of part of their childhood. For those working in the field of reading and reading difficulties, it is difficult to say how much one should be concerned by the different performance results. However, since Norway is one of the wealthiest countries in the world and uses more money than many comparable countries concerning reading development, some of the results from international studies are discouraging. These relatively poor results, however, have led to the government investing more money into various kinds of research work and thus helping to develop an understanding, not only why Norway is not at the top of the list when it comes to reading development, but also to understand the complexities of the reading process and why some children really struggle and need special education to cope with written language (OECD, 2004a).

CONTRIBUTORS Usually, when contributors to the field of reading development are mentioned, one thinks of researchers and other people who have written about reading. One seldom thinks of the people who have written the primary reading textbooks that children use on their way to understanding the written language. In the case of Norway, it is important to mention Nordahl Rolfsen, the author who fostered increased awareness of the need to interpret reading as something much broader than simply the act of decoding (see Hagtvet & Lyster, 1997). The language he used in his books was simple compared to the language in other primary reading textbooks and closer to the children’s own language. His stories were also taken from daily life and represented children’s experiences in a much better way than other primary reading textbooks. Thus, using the children’s own language and experience, he provided them with enough background knowledge to understand the content of the texts. The pictures and stories were also designed to stimulate a child’s imagination, helping them to enter into a dialogue with the text. This is an ability that appears to receive too little attention. The government’s concentration on reading and especially the project ‘‘Make room for reading’’ hopefully will make a change. Nordahl Rolfsen’s books are no


25

longer used in the classroom, even if they were used for many decades – the 1950s, 1960s and early 1970s. Of course, the stories from the mid-twentieth century would be strange for many children today and no longer provide them with the best texts for reading comprehension, but books such as Lively Discussions: Fostering Engaged Reading (Gambrell & Almasi, 1996) and others give ideas about how to foster engaged readers, ideas that should be a concern of the teachers. So even if there is no new series of Rolfsen-style primary reading textbooks in Norway, there are research-based ideas throughout the world about how to foster engaged readers. Teachers who understand that the ultimate goal for reading development is to help children to enter into a dialogue with the text (and the author who is not present), will be better equipped to help their pupils developing good reading comprehension strategies. For children who struggle with decoding or word reading speed, for example dyslexic children, it is of utmost importance that they learn to develop good reading comprehension strategies that can help them in various ways to cope with their difficulties. In Norway, as in the rest of the western world, there has been much progress made in understanding the complexities of reading as well as writing, since the Norwegian pioneer Gjessing stressed the need for early identification of poor readers and intervention in the 1950s and 1960s (Gjessing, 1958, 1968). Gjessing was the first Head of the College of Special Needs Education, the institution that underwent several kinds of changes and developments, to become what is currently the Department of Special Needs Education at the University of Oslo. He helped to raise awareness about dyslexia and the idea that even children of normal and high intelligence can develop reading problems, even to a serious degree. Gjessing’s doctoral thesis from 1958 concerning early reading development was considered to be for many years a bible for teachers in special needs education. His focus was very much on children’s auditory and visual perception, as well as on what he called ‘‘emotional dyslexia’’ and ‘‘pedagogic dyslexia’’ (i.e. the failure of the school system). Behavioural factors such as various decoding and spelling errors were diagnosed as symptoms of auditory or visual dyslexia or a mixture of auditory and visual dyslexia. Even if symptoms Gjessing considered to be visually based can be explained from the knowledge we have today as being phonologically based and his diagnostic approaches are now more or less rejected, Gjessing is acknowledged for his work and for the strong focus teachers had on children’s developmental reading difficulties. Gjessing’s methodological approach was well ahead of his time, and much of his work in methodology is still in use. Methods developed both for the teaching of reading and intervention in Norway have also been highly

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influenced by methods from abroad, particularly the United States. Various versions of ‘‘the whole word approach’’ (Smith, 1971, 1973) were for a time warmly welcomed in a large number of classrooms, and even if researchers emphasised that such a method probably did not suit a regular language such as Norwegian, teachers still had the freedom to choose their own methods and approaches. Also Leimar’s (1974) ‘‘Language Experience Method’’, which stresses the use of texts created by the children themselves, has been adopted by many Norwegian teachers. Leimar herself focused on phonology as one important component in her approach, but the practice differed from classroom to classroom as to how explicitly the phonological aspect was given attention. However, most classrooms have had different forms of phonic approaches to the teaching of reading for many years even if linguistic awareness as a concept did not receive attention from the teachers until the late 1990s. Another important contribution to the teaching of reading and writing came from Skjelfjord (1976, 1983, 1987). In the 1970s, his doctoral thesis ‘‘Phonemic Learning in the School’’ (Foneminnlæring i skolen) provided evidence for the importance of articulatory analyses in the teaching of reading and spelling. With his empirical evidence, he emphasises the importance of children’s ability to segment speech sound by sound in a sequential way when learning to spell and read. He argues that phonemic awareness mainly proceeds on an articulatory basis. A study by Lie (1991) supports Skjelfjord’s findings and hypothesis. First-grade children, who learn to segment speech into articulatory units in a sequential way (while also listening to the phonological structure of the words), develop better literacy skills in grade 1 than children following a phonologically-based programme with no focus on articulation. Other studies have also found support for the importance of focusing on the articulatory position of sounds and the articulatory sequence of a phonological sequence (i.e. a spoken word). Castiglioni-Spalten and Ehri (2003) have, for example, shown that articulatory sequential instruction enhances processes that enable children to read words. This was not the case for children being trained ‘‘by ear’’ only. Still, some studies do not have results that give support to articulatory awareness as an important component in developing phonemic awareness (Wise, Ring, & Olson, 1999). It could be, however, that articulatory awareness plays a more important role in more regular languages, such as Norwegian, where the words to a large extent are written the way they are pronounced. The focus on reading for the past 10–15 years has resulted in more reading and dyslexia research at the universities and colleges in Norway. The National Centre for Reading Research with Torleif Hoien as its first Director


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has also called attention to the importance of doing research in the field of reading. Today, there are more contributors to the reading research field than just a few years ago.

THE CHALLENGES OF THE NORWEGIAN SCRIPT To understand children’s reading development and children’s reading failure, it is important to understand the challenges they meet when learning how their spoken language is represented in the script they are learning. It is important for both the teacher and researcher to know and understand these challenges in order to achieve the goals of developing effective methods for teaching reading and preventing reading failure. The Norwegian script is described as fairly transparent, even though it is not as transparent as in Finnish, Spanish or Italian (Elley, 1992; Hagtvet et al., 2006). Norwegian is a Germanic language and is closely related to the other two Scandinavian languages (i.e. Swedish and Danish), such that speakers of the three languages can generally understand each other. Modern Scandinavian languages developed from Old Norse language, which was spoken in the area of what is now Denmark, Sweden and Norway. The Norwegian phonetic system is similar to the Swedish and Danish systems. However, while Swedish is fairly close to Norwegian concerning transparency, Danish has a much less transparent script system. This difference is important to remember when interpreting international reading results. The Scandinavian countries look upon themselves as being very similar in their approach to schooling, various social issues, ways of living and a range of cultural aspects. Differences between children’s reading development in Denmark and Norway may therefore, at least partly, be explained by differences in the transparency of the two written languages. Even though the difference between the number of phonemes and graphemes in Norwegian is fairly small compared with those in French, for example, which has 30 phonemes represented by approximately 130 graphemes, there are still many pitfalls, both phonologically and morphologically, when Norwegian children decode and spell words. First, there are many consonant clusters in Norwegian. Consonant clusters are found in words such as oftest (most often), strikk (rubber band), lengst (the longest) and nifst (scary). These can be very difficult for young children. In addition to the challenges presented by consonant clusters, there are different orthographic rules that cause the written word to differ from its pronunciation, with exceptions to each of these rules.

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The reason why some words are not written the way they are spoken is primarily etymological. Many of the exceptions may quite often be explained morphemically. Stygt (/stykt/, neutral-gender adjective meaning ‘‘ugly’’), for example, is spelled with a g and not with a k, as it sounds, because the root morpheme is stygg (added to the root morpheme is the suffix t, signifying the neutral gender). Hagtvet et al. (2006) have made a broader presentation of the Norwegian orthographic system with a discussion of the pitfalls awaiting the young learner. Since many of these pitfalls are morphologically based, both spelling and word decoding could be more fluent if children became aware of how words are built from morphemes. Norwegian dyslexic children seem to be able to crack the alphabetic code easily and read accurately. They still struggle with reading, but this struggle seems to arise from their slowness in reading (Hagtvet & Lyster, 2003). Giving these children an early insight into the morphological structure of their language therefore seems to be a good suggestion. Elbro (1990) points to the fact that the role of morphological decomposition in the decoding process is a controversial issue, but he also suggests that morphological analysis may be used as a coping strategy by dyslexic readers. In one study, Elbro and Arnbak (1996) found that dyslexic adolescents rely more on morphological word structure than younger typical readers do with a similar level of word decoding ability. Treiman and Cassar (1997) suggest that although sound is important in children’s spelling, so is morphological information. Vygotsky (1962) emphasised strongly the importance of the teaching of grammar in developing literacy skills. The focus on morphology presented by researchers, such as Elbro and Arnbak (1996), Henry (1993) and Lyster (1995, 1998, 2002), has led to a broader focus on grammar in the early grades in the Norwegian school system. The Ministry of Education and Research published an instructional book for teachers in 1997 that covered not only the importance of focusing on phonological awareness in the early grades, but also the necessity of including other kinds of language activities, such as working with morphemes. Since this book has also been included in the syllabus for many of the teachers colleges, it can be expected that the morphological/grammatical issue will receive more attention, at least to some extent, when children are being taught to read and write.

International Student Assessment – the Case of Norway For various reasons, there has been a strong focus on reading development and reading disabilities in Norway for the past 15–20 years. One of the


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primary reasons that the government is directing such huge attention to the subject of reading and its teaching is the standing that Norway has received in various international assessments of reading ability. Norway has taken part in several international tests of student performance. In the IEA Reading Literacy Study in 1991, 9-year-olds and 14-year-olds participated (Elley, 1992). The results for the nine-year-old Norwegian readers were satisfactory with an overall mean score for the reading of narrative prose, expository prose and documents above the international mean. The results for the 14-year-olds, however, were not that satisfactory. The Norwegian students performed consistently below the scores predicted by the Norwegian Composite Development Index (CDI) score, a combination of scores for economic, health and literacy factors. These indicators of national development were chosen because they are believed to indirectly facilitate the advancement of literacy levels in schools. Switzerland and Sweden came out as number 1 and 2 on this index, and as number 3 and 7 on the reading assessment result list. Norway ranked third on the CDI scale, but had a mean reading score for the 14-year-olds that gave them the ranking of 17 on the list (Elley, 1992). This relatively poor result worried politicians and school authorities and resulted in a growth in interest concerning the best practices for teaching reading and writing and for preventing failure. New standardised tests were developed by the Centre for Reading Research in Stavanger. Findings from a range of studies including the Hagtvet (1996) and Lyster (1995, 2002) studies and the theoretical perspectives behind them became a topic of discussion. This led to a much broader focus on early intervention as a means of preventing disabilities in the field of reading and on the necessity of focusing on linguistic awareness both before the child has cracked the alphabetic code and then alongside further reading instruction. The results from the OECD assessments of 15-year-olds’ reading performance in 2000 (Lie, Kjernsli, Roe, & Turmo, 2001), however, did not reveal any great changes in the Norwegian students’ level of reading ability. The results were not as expected on the basis of CDI-ranking and other factors that should have facilitated development in Norway, for example, the amount of resources that are channelled into the education system. There is a large variation in the Norwegian results in comparison with, for example, Sweden and Finland. Also the largest difference in the Norwegian results is related to gender. The difference between boys’ and girls’ reading results are even larger than previously observed. The Norwegian results do not follow a normal distribution curve as in most countries. There is a large group of good readers, as in many other countries with good results. On the

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other hand, and this is what makes Norway different from comparable countries (e.g., Sweden), there is a much larger group of poor readers than what is found in most other countries. Teachers have claimed that many more exceptional children have been included in the assessment due to the Norwegian educational system’s widespread practice of mainstreaming. The OECD reports, however, focus on factors as more important for explaining the excellent Finnish results. The teachers have also claimed that the positive results in Finland can be partly explained by the fact that the Finnish school system has very few children from Third World countries. This is not a good argument, however, since Sweden has more groups with larger numbers of minority-language-speaking children than any other Nordic country. Sweden has also done extremely well in the most recent international assessments. Sweden has, however, had many years of experience dealing with large groups of immigrants and refugees. There are more families who have reached a third-generation level as well as a greater number of parents who have completed at least nine years of obligatory schooling, or even higher education in Sweden. In Norway, there are still a large number of people from Pakistan, for example, that for longer periods, send their children to schools in Pakistan. Many families also still travel to Pakistan to find husbands or wives for their children, which means there is a steady influx of people with no knowledge of Norwegian culture or language in the relatively established Pakistani community in Norway. Thus, many children in that community grow up with at least one parent who knows little Norwegian and knows little about how to help their children develop into good Norwegian readers. Questions connected to facts of this type often surface when Norwegian reading results are discussed. Norwegian school administrators and even teachers have been flocking to Finland to try to uncover the secrets behind their good performance. There are indications, according to Norwegian teachers, that the Finnish teachers use methods that appear to be old-fashioned, but also that children at risk seem to get help early, before problems develop (OECD, 2005). The teaching of the alphabetic system is systematic (even if most children know a lot of the system prior to the start of school). The teaching of the complex Finnish grammatical system is also systematic. The Norwegian government has focused on the fact that teacher education in Finland is a five-year-long university study. So, one of the next steps in Norway may be to consider changing to a five-year education of teachers. Currently, students have to study four years to be qualified to teach in primary and lower secondary school (grades 1–10).


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PISA 2003 was the second survey in OECD’s Programme for International Student Assessment. It was conducted in the 30 OECD countries and 11 partner countries (OECD 2004a, 2004b, 2004c, 2005). One of the primary areas of focus is reading. In 2003, the performance of the Norwegian students was somewhat above the OECD mean in reading. Once more, gender differences, however, based on the much better reading performance for girls, were much larger in Norway than in most OECD countries and the standard deviation for the Norwegian results was larger than for most OECD and partner countries. The picture does not change if we include the 2001 results from PIRLS (Progress in International Reading Literacy Study). Among the 35 participating countries, at that time, 8 were part of the European Union and 12 were candidate or EEA (European Economic Area) countries, such as Norway. PIRLS is an international assessment exercise conducted by the International Study Centre (ISC) at Boston College and the International Association for the Evaluation of Educational Achievement (IEA). PIRLS measured reading literacy achievement of fourth-grade students (aged 9 and 10). The material assessed a range of reading comprehension skills. There was a concentration on both reading as a literary experience and reading as a means of acquiring information. Sweden achieved excellent results while Norway was placed at the opposite end of the scale together with Turkey, Cyprus and Slovenia. The contrasting results obtained by two Nordic countries such as Norway and Sweden are surprising. The results from PISA and PIRLS have worried the Norwegian government and school authorities even more, perhaps, than the relatively poor results from the 1991 IEA study. This concern has resulted in the development of a range of reading projects all over the country under the slogan ‘‘Make room for reading’’. These projects, financed by the Ministry of Education and Research, were not research projects, but they were based on experience gathered from earlier projects. To a large extent, these projects were headed or supported in various ways by researchers in the field of reading and reading disorders, however, and some evaluation will take place. The government has provided generous financial support for projects like these, a new curriculum with greater concentration on literacy development from grade 1 has been developed, and more hours are now being devoted to the study of literacy teaching in teachers colleges and other settings. So at the moment, school authorities, teachers and others interested in the Norwegian school system and the teaching of reading are currently waiting in suspense for the next round of national and international assessments.

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RECENT AND CURRENT NORWEGIAN PROJECTS Norwegian Longitudinal Reading Studies With the background of international longitudinal studies as well as intervention studies and the somewhat discouraging Norwegian ranking in the international student assessment studies of reading performance, several longitudinal studies of reading development have been conducted in Norway. Hagtvet (1996) describes the linguistic and cognitive development of a group of 74 randomly selected Norwegian children from the age of four until the age of nine. This study also follows the children’s literacy development over the same period of time. In accordance with many other studies, the results indicate that phonological and especially phonemic awareness at ages 5 and 6 predicts later word decoding abilities. Significant correlations were also revealed between oral language skills as measured by the Reynell Developmental Language Scales (Hagtvet & Lillestølen, 1985) at age 4 and written language skills at ages 7 and 8. Finally, a positive correlation was revealed between language skills and psychosocial skills to the extent that the children who were described as slow readers at age 9 were more emotionally charged at ages 6 and 8, while children who were described as early readers were emotionally relaxed at the same age. Lyster (1997, 1998, 2002) followed approximately 270 children and their reading development from their final preschool year and until grade 10. The children’s spelling development was also monitored during the early period. An intervention study was conducted in the children’s final preschool year, but after the intervention and the post-test, the children’s reading development was followed without any kind of intervention. The primary aim of this study was to investigate the long-term effects of two different linguistic training programmes in kindergarten on reading (and spelling) development, namely phonological awareness training and morphological awareness training. The intervention activities were based on what has come to be considered good intervention activities on the basis of earlier intervention studies, such as Lundberg, Frost and Petersen’s study from Bornholm (Lundberg, Frost, & Petersen, 1988) as well as Bradley and Bryant’s widely cited study from England (Bradley & Bryant, 1983). However, since there had been no intervention studies covering the effect of morphological training in preschool on reading development, this programme had to be developed based upon the knowledge available at the time of the connection between morphological awareness/knowledge and reading development. One experimental group received a programme focusing on phonological awareness. The ultimate


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goal for the training was the development of the children’s phonemic awareness. It was also designed to give the children some insight into the idea that letters (or rather graphemes) are the written symbols for the sounds in spoken language. By itself, this training could not be considered as literacy teaching, but for example, when playing the traditional Norwegian game ‘‘My ship is loaded with something starting with the sound y’’, letters were also shown. The teacher draws a ship on the blackboard or flip-over with a letter for a specific sound to be used in the game written on the ship. The children then supply words that start with that sound and these words are then written on the picture of the ship, so that the children can see that all the words listed start with the same letter, for example S, if the given sound was /s/. All the sounds that were focused on early in the year were continuants so that the children could continually pronounce the sound, having the opportunity to feel the sound in an articulatory way and thus be aided to identify it in other places in words as well (Skjelfjord, 1987). The second experimental group received a programme focusing on morphology. Torneús (1987) and Elbro (1990) each conducted studies in Sweden and Denmark, respectively, where morphological awareness was focused. Ideas from these studies, as well as from Berko (1958), were used when developing tests and intervention elements. Working with prefixes, suffixes and other morphological items that can be recognised in the language of 5- and 6-years old children, this group was also exposed to print to the same extent as the phonological group. When identifying the Norwegian plural ending for nouns, for example, they would also see that the letter sequence -er was added to the end of the word gutt (boy) – gutter (boys) on the flip-over or blackboard. So far, the results appear to emphasise the importance of working with children’s morphological awareness and knowledge, in order to prevent reading and writing failure and to facilitate reading and writing development (Lyster, 1998). Long-term effects of preschool morphological training seem to be stronger within the Norwegian preschool and school context than the effects of intervention programmes that focus on phonological awareness. However, a smaller group of children with a weekly-developed phonological awareness at the beginning of the intervention period profited clearly from phonological awareness training in terms of a better reading development in grade 1 than similar groups of children in the morphological group or the control group. Children with well-developed phonological awareness profited the most from morphological awareness training. Thus, the results underline that it seems to be necessary to have developed phonological awareness to a certain level before morphological awareness training has a clear effect on early reading development (Lyster, 1998).

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Perhaps one reason for the relatively moderate effect of phonological awareness training, especially the lack of clear long-term effects is that phonological awareness seems to outlive its role at a relatively early stage of reading development in the Norwegian context (Hagtvet & Lyster, 2003; Hagtvet et al., 2006). One reason for this may be the fairly regular orthography and the relatively strong focus on phonology and phonics in literacy teaching. Researchers at Department of Special Needs Education (Hagtvet et al., 1999) have conducted a longitudinal study of young children of dyslexic parents. The purpose of the study was to explore the developmental links between early linguistic, cognitive and emotional factors and later problems with written language in this group of children. Findings suggest that the heredity component is considerable and that the children developing reading difficulties have subtle language problems in preschool difficult to detect in everyday verbal interactions. Receptive language as measured by Reynell Developmental Scale at age 2 was found to be one crucial predictor of text reading at age 9. Phonological awareness, on the other hand, did only influence reading development within a short period of time. At school start, phonological awareness had a clear impact on the development of decoding abilities, but there was no direct link between phonological awareness in preschool or at school start and text reading at age 9 (Hagtvet, Hagtvet, & Lyster, 2007). This result suggests that other abilities than phonological awareness take over the role as predictors of text reading relatively early in the process of reading development. One factor that at the end of grade 1 seems to play an early and important role in predicting text reading comprehension, in the group in question, is the speed by which words are identified. (The children should within a time limit identify the words in word/ pseudo-homophone pairs.) This finding is in line with findings from other studies uncovering word reading speed as one of the most important factors for efficient reading comprehension (Torgesen, Rashotte, & Alexander, 2001), but since even children at risk for dyslexia develop word decoding abilities in a relatively easy way in Norwegian, it might be that the speed by which words are identified plays an important role from an early age.

READING DEVELOPMENT IN NORWAY: ONE FOLLOW-UP AND ONE LONGITUDINAL STUDY As found in studies throughout the world (Bradley & Bryant, 1983; Cunningham, 1990; Hatcher, Hulme, & Ellis, 1994; Lundberg et al., 1988),


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Norwegian studies also show that early intervention to a large extent can prevent reading failure from happening and hinder the development of serious levels of reading difficulties (Hagtvet, 1996; Lyster, 1998, 2002). However, there is still a need to understand more about the broad spectres of factors that facilitate or hinder reading development. A large body of research has demonstrated that reading skill is linked to an incredibly wide range of verbal and cognitive abilities such as vocabulary, syntactic knowledge, verbal short-term memory, phonological awareness, memory and verbal fluency (Catts, Fey, Tomblin, & Zhang, 1999; Scarborough, 1990; Snowling, Gallagher, & Frith, 2003). Knowledge about development within these areas will provide a better background for developing good, preventive interventions and literacy programmes. The first study presents a comparison of good and poor readers in grade 6 according to their linguistic and cognitive abilities at the start of school. The second study aims at evaluating the effect of supplementary teacher education on reading development in grade 2.

STUDY 1 Method Subjects One hundred and thirty-two randomly selected children from a group of 273 children assessed in preschool were tested again approximately six years later in grade 6. All the children came from one community near Oslo. At the time of assessment prior to school start, the children ranged in age from 6 years 4 months to 7 years 3 months. Upon starting school, the children in the group were placed in 12 different classes in nine separate schools. Most children belonged to the same class for the entire six-year period but a few children changed to a new class. Children who had moved away from the community were removed from the study. Measures Preschool Measures. Four months prior to school start, the children were tested on a large number of verbal abilities. All tests (Lyster & Tingleff, 2002) were administered in groups and all tests were preceded by practice items. Cronbach’s alpha is reported for scale reliability. I.

Rhyme Recognition. For each item the children were presented with four pictures. The words corresponding to the pictures were also

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presented orally. The children’s task was to mark the one word (picture) that rhymed with the first word (picture) on each line. Reliability (alpha) was 0.92. II. Phoneme Blending. For each item, the children were presented with a row of pictures. Then a word was sounded out with the sounds presented at an interval of approximately 12 s. The children were asked to mark the picture matching the resulting word. Reliability was 0.70. III. Phoneme Counting. Each word was presented orally with pronunciation at normal speed together with an easily recognisable picture. The children’s task was to mark the number of sounds with pencil strokes in an empty box next to the picture. Reliability was 0.78. IV. Deletion of Initial Phonemes. For each item the children were presented a row of three pictures. They were told that if the initial sound was deleted, the resulting word would match one of the pictures in that row. The initial sound was then presented (What is left if you take away/delete the first sound /r/ in rice?). Reliability was 0.70. V. Compound Words. Compound words like brannbil and bilbrann (fire engine and engine fire), blomsterpotte and potteblomst (flower pot and potted flower), etc. are high-frequency words in Norwegian. This task was constructed to assess the children’s knowledge of compound words. Reliability was 0.78. VI. Segmentation of Sentences into Words. The children marked the number of words in orally presented sentences with pencil strokes in empty boxes next to the pictures representing the items. Reliability was 0.78. VII. Syntactic Awareness. The children had to decide whether a sentence was correct or not. If correct, they were to put a mark by a picture of a mother. If not, they were to put a mark by a picture of a child. Reliability was 0.72. VIII. Homophones. For each item the children had to identify two out of four pictures that represented something named by the same phonological codes (e.g., hjul (Christmas) and jul (wheel), which are homophones in Norwegian). There was a time limit for this task. Reliability was 0.85. IX. Listening Comprehension. The children were given sentences with various morphemic elements and syntactic constructions. For each item the children had to identify one picture out of four representing the orally presented sentence. Reliability was 0.75. X. Spelling at School Start. The children were given five regular words to spell. Each sound represented by the correct letter scored one point. Reliability was 0.95.


XI.

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Reading at School Start. The children were given 32, mostly high frequency, words to match with corresponding pictures. Reliability was 0.98.

First-Grade Measures of IQ. The subtests Digit Span, Vocabulary and Similarities from WISC-R and Raven were administered to the children shortly after school start. The following tests were administered at the end of grade 1: I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

Word Reading. Presented with a picture, the children had to pick the matching word among five given words. This is part of an earlier developed standardised test. Test–retest reliability for a larger version of the test is reported to be 0.87. Phonological Coding. The children were presented with 20 non-word/ non-word pairs and the task was to underline the one word in each pair that sounded like a real word. Reliability was 0.89 (see Olson, Kliegel, Davidson, & Foltz, 1985). Orthographic Coding. The children were presented with 20 word/ pseudo-homophone pairs and the task was to underline the word in each pair. The reliability was 0.93 (see Olson, Wise, Connors, & Rack, 1990). Spelling Simple Regular Words. The children had to spell 18 relatively simple words (e.g., leke (play), ring (ring), etc.). Few of these words had consonant cluster. The reliability was 0.94. Spelling Complex Regular Words. The children had to spell nine relatively complex regular words (e.g., straks and elektrisk). One point was given for each correct letter in correct place that represented the correct sound in each given word. The reliability was 0.83. Mathematics. An old standardised test (Tornes, 1968) that has been broadly used and is considered a valid test for assessing early mathematical skills was used. Internal reliability (alpha) for the addition section is reported to be 0.98, for the subtraction section 0.96 and for the practical part 0.88. The questions in the practical part (word problems) were read aloud to the children.

Sixth-Grade Measures of Assessment. Two subtests from a standardised Norwegian test (Nasjonalt læremiddelsenter, 1995a) were used in grade 6: Word Reading (word–picture matching) and Text Reading (a comprehension task with questions to be answered at the end of each paragraph). Reliability for these tests are reported to be 0.97 and 0.94, respectively.

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Children with scores in the lowest 20% of the scale on Word Reading and Text Reading were designated respectively as poor decoders and/or poor text readers. Children with a top score on Word Reading (50% of the children) and on Text Reading (30% of the children) were designated as good readers. The subtests were constructed to uncover poor readers and children who needed further assessment. That is why so many of the children have maximum scores. To ensure that the groups were as homogenous as possible, only children with scaled scores between 7 and 13 on both WISC-R subtests, Similarities and Vocabulary, were included in the analyses. The numbers of poor and good word decoders within this range were 16 and 46, respectively and the numbers of poor and good text readers were 17 and 25.

Results Preschool and Grade 1 Differences between Grade 6 Poor and Good Word Readers Even though the poor and good readers were selected from the group of children scoring within what is considered to be the normal range of the WISC-R scaled scores, significant differences were found between the poor and good word decoders on Vocabulary (WISC-R), F(1, 60) ¼ 12.05, po0.01, Similarities, F(1, 60) ¼ 10.73, po0.01 and Raven’s Progressive Matrices, F(1, 60) ¼ 6.75, po0.05. Significant differences were also found between poor and good text readers on the same three measures. No differences were found between poor and good decoders and between the two groups of text readers on Raven when Vocabulary and Similarities were used as covariates. A series of analyses of covariance were conducted to assess the poor and good readers’ performance on the preschool and firstgrade tests. The two WISC-R subtests were entered as covariates to control for the differences in verbal IQ as measured by these two tests. There is some variation in the number of students participating in the different tests due to illness or visits at the dentist on the day of testing and the n reported in Tables 1 and 2 represent the number of students participating in most of the tests. The preschool and first-grade differences between the grade 6 poor and good readers on the word reading task are presented in Table 1. The statistical significances of the differences between the groups as well as partial eta squared (Z2p) and standard errors are reported in the table. As the table shows, the grade 6 good decoders exhibited a significantly better level of performance than the poor decoders on a wide range of

F

p

Z2p

St.e 0.16 0.22 0.33 0.25 0.31 0.25 0.35 0.54 0.49 1.09 1.63

5.65 4.24 0.06 22.62 1.71 0.02 0.18 6.28 9.43 2.94 2.86

o0.05 o0.05 ns o0.001 ns ns ns o0.05 o0.01 ns ns

0.11 0.08 0.00 0.32 0.04 0.00 0.00 0.11 0.17 0.05 0.05

1.16 0.89 0.95 0.66 0.55 4.36

13.40 4.87 6.92 3.87 8.00 1.86

o0.001 o0.05 o0.05 ns o0.01 ns

0.19 0.08 0.11 0.06 0.12 0.04

Assessment Measure

Poor Readers (n ¼ 16)

Good Readers (n ¼ 46)

Preschool measures Rhyme recognition (9) Phoneme blending (9) Phoneme counting (6) Deletion of initial phoneme (9) Compound words (13) Sentence segmentation Syntactic awareness (10) Homophones (16) Comprehension (28) Spelling, school start (20) Reading, school start (32)

Mean 7.84 7.55 2.87 4.34 9.34 3.81 7.51 6.95 21.77 8.94 10.01

St.e 0.30 0.39 0.62 0.45 0.55 0.52 0.66 0.96 0.92 2.01 2.92

Mean 8.69 8.51 3.04 6.90 10.21 3.88 7.84 9.84 25.10 13.02 15.95

16.98 5.85 7.53 11.98 53.33 64.35

2.09 1.60 1.71 1.19 2.79 7.00

26.14 10.08 12.9 14.77 61.78 76.35

First-grade measures Word reading (36) Phonological coding (20) Orthographic coding (20) Spelling simple words (18) Spelling complex words (68) Mathematics (121)


Table 1. Preschool and First-Grade Differences between Poor and Good Grade 6 Word Readers.

With Similarities and Vocabulary from WISC-R as covariates. Estimated marginal means. Numbers in parentheses ¼ maximum score. Listening Comprehension.

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preschool and school measures. The analyses revealed significant differences between the poor and good grade 6 readers on Rhyme Recognition, Phoneme Blending and Deletion of Initial Phoneme in preschool. The effect size, or strength of the relationship between the preschool phonological measures and word reading in grade 6 was stronger, however, for Deletion of Initial Phoneme (Z2p value of 0.32) than that between Rhyme Recognition and Phoneme Blending and grade 6 word reading (Z2p values of 0.11 and 0.08, respectively). It should be noted, however, that no significant preschool differences were found between the two groups on Phoneme Counting, Sentence Segmentation and Syntactic Awareness. The abilities to segment sentences into words and awareness of syntactic irregularities are probably not good predictors of word reading, and the awareness of words in sentences was not very well developed before the children started school. There were significant differences between the groups on Homophones, F(1, 49) ¼ 6.28, po0.05, and Listening Comprehension, F(1, 45) ¼ 9.43, po0.05. The strength of the relationships between these to preschool measures and word reading six years later was somewhat stronger for Listening Comprehension (Z2p value of 0.17) than for Homophones (Z2p value of 0.11). The results, however, clearly show that both the ability to understand the spoken language and the speed by which children can access a word’s phonological code in lexicon, seem to be important predictors for the ability to read words fast and fluently six years later. Even if the error variance also has to be considered since the Z2p is used, it is important to remember that the impact of the abilities measured by Listening Comprehension and Homophones are measured after the impact of Vocabulary and Similarities from WISC-R are controlled for. There were no differences between the groups on the spelling and reading measures at school start. This result is in line with the fact that there had been no teaching of reading and writing. The children who had developed reading and/or spelling abilities had learned this in their homes or by themselves. There were significant differences between the poor and good grade 6 word readers on all grade 1 reading task. The clear and significant result for Orthographic Coding is interesting in that it underlines that the ability to identify a word’s orthographic structure develops early. The ability to use an orthographic strategy when identifying words seems to be a more powerful predictor of reading development (Z2 value of 0.11) than the ability to use an alphabetic or phonological strategy (Z value of 0.08) as early as grade 1 in a Norwegian context. The two groups did not differ on Spelling Simple Regular Words at the end of grade 1 or on Mathematics. Only when the


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orthographic structure became more challenging (contained more consonant clusters) as was the case for Spelling Complex regular Words, did the good word decoders in grade 6 outperform the poor readers in grade 1. This means that phonologically complex words should be used when assessing spelling performance in Norwegian if it is important to differentiate between children who are and who are not at risk for reading disorders. The transparent Norwegian orthography can be handled easily by most children in grade 1 if the phonological structure is not too complex. Even dyslexic children seem to handle such words relatively early in their spelling development (Hagtvet & Lyster, 2003). Preschool and Grade 1 Differences between Grade 6 Poor and Good Text Readers The preschool and school measures for the poor and good text readers are shown in Table 2. The results are to some extent in line with the decoding results, but there are also differences that are important to notice. A series of analyses of covariance were run with preschool and grade 1 measures as dependent variables. The statistical significances of the differences between the groups as well as Z2p and standard errors are reported in the table. Good text readers in grade 6 had significantly higher scores on a range of preschool and grade 1 measures. Some of the differences between the poor and good text readers in grade 6, however, varied from the differences between the groups of poor and good word readers. No preschool differences were found between poor and good text readers on Phoneme Blending and Deletion of Initial Phonemes. Even if a significant difference between the poor and good text readers were found for Rhyme Recognition, the results are in accordance with findings from other studies showing that text reading is only partly dependent on phonological skills. Preschool and grade 1 differences were found, however, on several other tasks. The largest difference between the groups on the pre-test, is on Listening Comprehension, F(1, 31) ¼ 15.07, po0.001, underlining the close connection between listening comprehension and reading comprehension. The Z2p for the preschool differences between the groups was 0.33. This result shows that children’s listening comprehension before they enter school is a powerful predictor of later reading comprehension. The two groups of text readers also differed on the preschool subtest Syntactic Awareness, F(1, 31) ¼ 7.00, po0.05, showing that early awareness of sentence structure predicts reading comprehension. The difference between the groups on Homophones, F(1, 35) ¼ 10.38, po0.01, shows that the speed by which the child can reach the lexicon, is important for reading comprehension. Partial

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Table 2.

Preschool and First-Grade Differences between Grade 6 Poor and Good Text Readers. p

Z2p

St.e 0.23 0.29 0.37 0.37 0.32 0.36 0.44 0.56 0.55 1.45 1.94

4.72 0.74 0.12 0.72 4.68 0.12 7.00 10.38 15.07 3.40 3.75

o0.05 ns ns ns o0.05 ns o0.05 o0.01 o0.001 ns ns

0.12 0.02 0.00 0.02 0.13 0.01 0.18 0.23 0.33 0.08 0.09

1.26 0.91 1.04 0.64 1.89 5.51

15.71 16.03 12.30 5.64 5.35 2.44

o0.001 o0.001 o0.001 o0.05 o0.05 ns

0.29 0.29 0.24 0.13 0.12 0.07

Poor Readers (n ¼ 17)

Good Readers (n ¼ 25)

Preschool measures Rhyme recognition (9) Phoneme blending (9) Phoneme counting (6) Deletion of initial phoneme (9) Compound words (13) Sentence segmentation (6) Syntactic awareness (10) Homophones (16) Comprehension (28) Spelling, school start (20) Reading, school start (32)

Mean 7.56 7.76 2.60 5.63 8.98 3.10 5.21 5.75 20.39 6.24 6.37

St.e 0.35 0.44 0.58 0.55 0.51 0.70 0.75 0.83 0.93 2.02 2.62

Mean 8.51 8.24 2.86 6.25 10.37 3.38 7.64 9.17 24.81 11.09 13.12

17.04 5.12 5.98 11.87 54.55 61.40

1.68 1.18 1.35 0.89 2.44 6.22

25.76 11.37 12.24 14.59 62.03 74.93

First-grade measures Word reading (36) Phonological coding (20) Orthographic coding (20) Spelling simple words (18) Spelling complex words (68) Mathematics (121)

With Similarities and Vocabulary from WISC-R as covariates. Estimated marginal means. Numbers in parentheses ¼ maximum score. Listening Comprehension.


F

Measure


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eta squared for this difference was 0.30. Table 2 also shows that Phonological Coding and Orthographic Coding at the end of grade 1 are stronger predictors of text reading than for Word Reading in grade 6. The grade 1 differences for Word Reading, F (1, 39) ¼ 15.71, po0.001, and Phonological Coding, F(1, 40) ¼ 16.03, po0.001, show that children who have developed the most efficient phonological strategy also are among the best text readers in grade 6. The results also show, however, that the children that have developed a good ability to use an orthographic strategy as early as grade 1 also are among the best text readers in grade 6. A Z2p of 0.24 tells us that a relatively large amount of the variance in Text Reading in grade 6 can be explained by the children’s ability to use an orthographic strategy in grade 1. There may be differences between languages in that children’s orthographic skills may develop differently in different orthographic scripts. A study in Canada (Arab-Moghaddam & Seńećhal, 2001) indicates that there may be differences in how Persian and English bilinguals rely on orthographic skills. On the other hand, it is also suggested that strict stage models provide inaccurate explanations of developmental changes (Martin, Claydon, Morton, Binns, & Pratt, 2003). Developmental theories postulating gradual transitions may be more appropriate explanations for the development of reading accuracy and fluency (Spear-Swerling & Sternberg, 1994), but it could be that such transitions differ from one orthographic system to another. Even if teaching methods make a difference, it is important to underline that the children participating in Study 1 all learned to read and spell by following a phonics approach. Linguistic awareness activities were introduced before and in parallel to the introduction of the alphabetic principle learning the correspondences between sounds and letters.

Comments and Conclusions The results show that poor decoding and text reading can be predicted from a wide range of preschool linguistic and cognitive measures. Some measures only predict text reading ability, while others predict decoding ability. A wider range of linguistic measures appear to predict text reading ability while phonological skills primarily predict decoding but not text reading ability. Reading measures in grade 1 are very strong predictors of both decoding and text reading ability in grade 6. The results show that it is important to focus a wide range of cognitive and linguistic areas long before school starts to prevent reading failure in groups of children at risk. Segmentation abilities such as phonemic segmentation and the awareness of the individual

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component words in compound words do not predict reading development. Such results show that some linguistic awareness skills probably develop as a result of reading instruction. Linguistic awareness skills might facilitate reading development, but probably have the best effect if introduced concurrently with reading instruction. The results from this study suggest that the best way to prevent reading failure may be early intervention focusing a broad aspect of linguistic and cognitive variables to facilitate language development. For various reasons, early intervention is important for both the typical poor readers and for children at risk for developing dyslexic problems. Bishop (1997) has put forward important questions in the field of language development, questions and suggestions which also appear to make important contributions to teaching and clinical practice in the field of reading and reading development. If Listening Comprehension in the preschool years is as important for reading development as was found in this study, grammar and sentence comprehension should receive more focus in the preschool years, especially if we are working with children who for different reasons are at risk for developing reading disabilities.

STUDY 2 The aim of this study was to evaluate the effect of supplementary teacher training in the area of reading on children’s reading development. A cohort of third-grade children in a community outside Oslo was assessed after their teachers had finished a year of continuing education courses and practical assignments. The children’s reading results were compared with standard results and the results from the previous third-grade assessment in the same community.

Method Subjects All second-grade teachers from 16 schools in a community outside Oslo participated in the study together with other representatives for their schools. The second-grade teachers were responsible for teaching reading to all children in grade 2, N ¼ 303, in that community. The students belonged to 22 different classes. Norway had for a period few standardised reading tests. For this study, the cohort of third graders was selected because there was a standardised test battery including both word decoding and reading


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comprehension tasks. The Central Bureau of Statistics selected the cohort of second graders that participated in the Norwegian standardisation. This standardisation made it possible, at least to some extent, to investigate the effect of an innovation aimed at the continuing education of primary school teachers in the field of reading development and metalinguistic awareness. Most of the children in the present study had attended preschool groups focusing on metalinguistic awareness training. The same kind of training had also been given to children in previous years. At the time when the present cohort of children started school, there was also a concentration on linguistic awareness in the school system, just as there had been in the previous couple of years. Procedure At the time of the study, phonological and morphological approaches to linguistic awareness had been used in most preschool groups and in many classrooms for several years. This means that preschool teachers and schoolteachers had some experience helping the children to develop their linguistic awareness. The school administration and the school psychologists’ office decided to offer courses about reading development and reading disabilities to all schools in the community. All schools were supposed to send a minimum of two teachers to a six-day course that extended throughout the school year. One of the teachers was to be responsible for the teaching of reading in grade 2 the following year. The course introduction took place when the children had reached the end of first grade. In between lectures, the teachers attending the course were supposed to share what they had learned by giving lectures to their colleagues in their own schools, in addition to completing various types of homework assignments. The experimenter and speech therapists responsible for the training of the preschool teachers in Lyster’s 1995 training study were also responsible for lecturing and counselling. This kind of continuing education for teachers differed from the earlier practise, in that the amount of time devoted to continuing education was far more extensive than the one-day courses normally offered to the teachers during the school year. The agenda for the six-day course included many things, including new developments in literacy teaching, in the area of phonological and morphological awareness as well as other linguistic areas. Central dimensions in reading such as phonemic awareness, decoding, vocabulary, reading fluency and reading comprehension strategies as well as, assessment and intervention were focused. The teachers also had different homework assignments.

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When the teachers had finished the continuing education courses, their students’ word reading and text reading comprehension were assessed. Measures of Assessment The only test used in Study 2 was Kartlegging av leseferdighet, 2.klasse [Assessment of Reading Ability, Second Grade] (Nasjonalt læremiddelsenter, 1995b). The test consists of seven different decoding and text reading tasks and was administered as a group test. Split-half reliabilities are reported to be from 0.97 to 0.74. Lowest reliabilities are reported for the text reading tasks and the instruction task. There was a time limit for all subtests. The subtests were constructed to uncover poor readers who need further assessment. The standardisation gives a cut-off point for all the subtests. This cut-off point leaves, for all subtests, approximately 20% of the children under what is decided to be critical limit. Results from the community where Study 2 took place show that they follow the results from the standardisation with very few and very small differences. The test battery consists of the following subtests: I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

Word–picture matching. This test was a word-decoding task consisting of 30 words. Each word was included in a box with a row of four pictures attached. The children had to silently read the printed words and mark the matching pictures. Picture–word matching. This task was the reverse of the first one. Four words were attached to a picture. The children had to mark the word that matched the picture. The task consisted of 30 items. Analysing compound words. This test consisted of 20 compound words each made up of two root morphemes. The children’s task was to draw a line separating the two root morphemes. Sentence reading. This test consisted of 23 sentences. The children had to mark the one out of four attached pictures that matched each of the 23 sentences. Text reading A – cloze tasks. This task is a cloze task requiring the children to pick the correct word out of three given words in order to fill in the gap in six different places in the text. Text reading B – answering questions. This test consisted of small multiple-choice comprehension questions with four possible answers for each question. The children’s task was to mark the correct answer. Following instructions. Ten different instructions were attached to a map or picture. The children’s task was to follow the instructions on the map using their pencil (e.g. draw a line from the school to the bank).


Table 3.

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Percentages of Children under Critical Limit. Results from the Innovation and from the Standardisation.

Measure

Word–picture matching Picture–word matching Analysing compound words Sentence reading Text A – cloze tasks Text B – answering questions Text C – following instructions

Number of Items and Maximum Score

Critical Limit

Percent of Students under Critical Limit

Percent of Students under Critical Limit in the 1998 Standardisation

30 30 20 23 6 5

14 15 9 13 2 1

8.3 15.5 12.2 10.2 9.2 9.2

20 19 20 21 20 18

10

7

12.2

20

According to the makers of the test, the school should consider further assessment if children

have scores under the critical limit with no apparent reason. The critical limit is chosen such that about 20% of the population is expected to have a score under that limit. The figures refer to the percentage of children under the critical limit in the standardisation. Following written instructions.

Results Table 3 shows the results on the different subtests for the entire population of 303 second graders in the community as well as the results from the standardisation population. The table shows that the percentage of students under the critical limit for all tests was much smaller than expected based on the standardisation. For many of the tests, the percentage of children at risk was less than 50% of what could be expected from the testing of 1,400 students in the standardisation procedures. The test was designed to find children at risk, so no comparisons could be made in relation to the average and good readers.

Discussion The results in Study 2 must be interpreted with great care. There are many factors that could have caused the good results. It is possible that the sample of children was not representative for second-grade children in that their socio-economic background was not assessed. The children might also have

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had higher than average intelligence. However, since all second-grade classes in an entire community were involved, and since the number of subjects was large, the probability that these factors explain the results appears to be unlikely. The information from the Statistical Year Book, 1996, supports this interpretation. The best answer to and explanation of the good results in Study 2 is most likely explained by the extensive continuing education provided to both preschool teachers (separate courses) and primary school teachers in the area of linguistic awareness, reading and spelling development. If similar results are found in another grade 2 testing, this would provide support for that argument. This testing can take place when the one-year younger group of students become second graders. To achieve stable results over a period of years, however, it would be necessary to continue the continuing education of both preschool teachers and primary school teachers at various intervals. The best tool for preventing reading disability is teacher competence. The more a teacher knows about risk factors and how to prevent them from flourishing, the better students will be supported through their various phases of development towards the achievement of adequate reading abilities. A post-test-only design with no control group and no pre-test is of course a weak design. When results from the samples of second-grade students from the three previous years in the same community, however, closely matches the standardisation results, the standardisation results indicate relatively clearly what results to expect from the present sample of children. The size of the sample also matches the sizes of the previous samples of second graders: approximately 300 students (see Shadish, Cook, & Campbell, 2002, for discussions of post-test-only designs). On the whole, the results indicate that in-service education is important to ensure sustained implementation of new methods and student achievement. The report of the National Reading panel (2000) found little research, however, on how teachers can be supported over the long term and they state that much more must be known about the best ways to assess the effectiveness of teacher education and professional development. Teacher education in Finland is supposed to be qualitatively very good. Even if more factors than teacher education can explain, for example, the PISA and PIRLS results, teacher education in Finland is believed to make a difference (OECD, 2005). This interpretation is in accordance with the OECD (2005) understanding of the outstanding Finnish results from the PISA. Finland outperformed all other countries on the PISA reading tests in 2000 and 2003, despite Finland’s GDP per capita, ranking 17th out of 30 countries. The reading results in Finland are also not in accordance with


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Finland’s unemployment rate which is somewhat high by European standards (10%). The same high results for reading were uncovered in an earlier IEA study where Finnish 9-year-olds and 14-year-olds were ranked as the best readers in their age groups among the 28 and 32 countries that were studied (Elley, 1992). A partial explanation given by the OECD for these good results is the high quality of teacher training in Finland. Schoolteachers must have a university education with a Masters degree. At the moment, the teaching profession in Finland is the most popular occupation goal among upper secondary school students and there is a competitive selection process with only approximately 10% of applicants gaining entrance to teacher training programmes (OECD, 2005). Assisted by a mentor, student teachers in Finland are given experience in the classroom which provides the students with the ability to cope with a variety of classroom issues, even special education issues. Some of the examples given in the OECD report include the special needs of immigrant children and even more difficult cases such as foetal alcohol syndrome and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). Thus, Finnish teachers graduate from the university as independent professionals who are able to cope with a range of pedagogical and special needs issues. The special needs teachers in the schools also have the basic five-year university teacher training programme. In addition, they take a one-year course of study covering various learning problems and special education. Another explanation offered by the OECD for the unique PISA results in Finland is a series of practices that reinforce equality of outcomes, practices that could be more widely adopted in other countries. The OECD presented different strategies used by the Finnish school system to achieve equity. The first line of attack against inequity is the individual teacher’s responsibility for identifying students who are falling behind their peers or grade norms. Teachers work with these students one-to-one as soon as they are identified. The second line of attack is the use of a teacher’s assistant who works under the teacher’s direction, and the third line of attack is the special needs teacher. In cooperation with the class teacher, the special needs teacher works one-to-one or in small groups with students who have not received sufficient help from the first two lines of attack. The special needs teacher concentrates on language (Finnish or Swedish) and on math. If a student’s weak progress is associated with wider home or social problems, a multidisciplinary team is used. This team consists of the class teacher, the special needs teacher, the school’s counsellor and several experts from outside the school. These approaches are thought to be among the main reasons for the Finnish school system’s ability to minimise the number of students falling

50


behind their peers or grade norms. There is more time provided to keep struggling students on track and to help them maintain the same rate of progress as their peers. Other good explanations for these positive results may include the continuing educating of teachers as described in the above Study 2 and the concentration on the necessity of early intervention. Attention should be given to children who lag behind their peers within the area of linguistic awareness when they start school. If a child lags behind when learning the correspondence between sounds and letters, he or she should be given immediate intensive assistance. If automatisation of word decoding is not established at the expected time, the focus should be on helping the child to speed up word decoding through repeated reading exercises or other methods designed to aid the child to gain more fluency in reading. During the year of the continuing education course described above, there was a focus on these strategies. It can easily be said that the results gained were worth far more than the initial investment. There were approximately 50% fewer children under the so-called critical score level than there were on previous assessments in the community. In addition, there were 50% fewer children under this critical level compared to the Norwegian norms. Caution must be exercised in interpreting results from a study using a post-test-only-design. This is a weak design if important variables are not kept under control. Previous results on the second-grade assessments, the national norm and the large group of students, however, lend support to the validity of the results and the possible direct effect on students reading achievement of educating the teachers. Since this teacher training included the emphasis on the need for immediate intervention when a child falls behind and the necessity of intensive training for many children, more than one component or variable may have had an impact on the results. However, as long as the approach on the whole has had its desired effect, the teacher training is the important factor when an approach like this is to be evaluated.

FUTURE CHALLENGES The Norwegian school reform of 1997 has not been a great success in the area of children’s literacy development. The evaluation of the reform has led to a range of initiatives from the Government and to yet another reform with a new curriculum. In this new curriculum, there is a somewhat clearer focus on benchmarks to be achieved. There is, however, little concentration on what to do when children fall behind their peers for no apparent reason.


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There is also little focus, if at all, on special needs education. Many ideas have been put forward to explain the relatively poor results on PISA, PIRLS and other assessments of reading achievement in Norway, but too little has been done to improve the quality of teacher education and to ensure that children who lag behind are helped in the early phases of their struggle. The Norwegian Government has provided grants for a large number of projects – the big question is whether these funds will be granted to projects that can give us new insight as to how poor achievers can best be helped to develop according to their potential. In the OECD report, Equity in Education – Thematic Review (Norway Country note, 2004a), the authors clearly state that Norway has a job to do in terms of equity. In the case of science literacy, for example, the report concludes clearly that Norway ‘‘performs rather poorly’’. In most reading achievement tests, Norway also shows a wider spread of outcomes than Finland, Sweden and many other OECD countries. Given that Norway is an advanced, rich country with a clear commitment to equity, such results are disappointing. Therefore, it is justifiable to ask if all the money that Norway invests in its school system is spent in a way that facilitates equity. The OECD (2004a) clearly points to weaknesses that should be addressed. One of the issues they focus is that ‘‘The time devoted to multicultural, bilingual and special education issues in teacher education should be increased’’. Another issue mentioned is that ‘‘y research should be undertaken into ways of supporting the early teaching of disadvantaged pupils in danger of underachieving’’. There is a lot of knowledge from international as well as Norwegian studies about the prevention of reading disabilities and about best practices for teaching reading to dyslexic and underachieving students (Hagtvet, 1996; Lyster, 1998; National Reading Panel, 2000; Torgesen, 1998; Torgesen et al., 2001). There is much knowledge to be found in the schools about linguistic awareness and how to integrate activities in this field with the teaching of reading today. Some efforts have been taken to educate the teachers about the knowledge that has accumulated in the field of reading the past decades. On the other hand, there have been disagreements as to how to provide the best support to children who fall behind. For a large group of special needs teachers and researchers, some approaches in the debate have been identified as very ideological. According to these ideologists, special needs education in a one-to-one situation or in smaller groups will lead to segregation and inequity (see Backmann & Haug, 2006). Such strategies designed to help children keep up with their peers are more damaging than anything else according to this group of ‘‘experts’’ – that is, experts from fields outside of special needs education. These ideas are very much in disagreement with the

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experiences from Finland where special needs education has one important goal in creating ‘‘an environment that brings out the best in students, and is surely part of the reason for the strong results of Finnish education’’ (OECD, 2005, p. 13). Norwegian school authorities should also closely examine other paragraphs about special needs education in the OECD report from 2004(c). The report about Finland states that the various approaches taken in Finland ‘‘to minimize students falling behind display two features: intensification, or providing more time by more instructors; and alternative approaches (rather than ‘more of the same’), particularly in efforts of special needs teachers and the multidisciplinary teams’’ (p. 20). Students do not suffer exclusion from the social context in a school system because of special needs teaching in a one-to-one situation or in small groups for part of the school day or part of the week. More importantly, if intensive special needs education comes early enough, it may lead to a situation when the student does not need further special needs education. This may be very much the case for reading disabilities. Even if there is no quick fix for dyslexia, severe dyslexics can reach their normal grade level if given proper special needs education. Many of these students will be permanently behind if they do not receive assistance from special needs teachers who are able to perform good assessments and develop well-adapted lesson plans and methods to tackle the dyslexic symptoms and develop good coping strategies for decoding and reading comprehension. Last but not least, some dyslexic students need such intensive reading practice over a period of time that the class teacher would have great difficulty fulfilling the student’s needs within the framework of the normal classroom. In the case of these students and others with special needs, Norwegian school authorities should look to Finland. To some extent they have done just that. There is a debate about extending the Norwegian teacher education to a five-year course of study at the Master level. On the other hand, the Finnish strategies against inequity and their methods for supporting children falling behind, seem to interest Norwegian school authorities less. The belief in a vision that all children can get support for their individual special needs within the framework of the normal classroom is so strong in some groups within the Norwegian school system that it may be a threat to some children who need to have some one-to-one lessons to keep up with their peers or with their own capabilities. Thus the greatest challenge in Norway within the field of special needs education is to have the school system adopt more of the knowledge that has been accumulated about special needs education and especially to open up for more research about how special needs education can best be practiced and organised to keep children from falling behind and losing confidence in their own learning progress.


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Hagtvet, B. E. (1996). Fra tale til skrift. Om prediksjon og utvikling av leseferdighet i fire- til A˚ttea˚rsalderen [From the spoken to the written language. About prediction and development of reading competence from four to eight years of age]. Oslo: Cappelen Akademisk Forlag. Hagtvet, B. E. (2003). Skriftspra˚kstimulering i første klasse: Faglig innhold og didaktiske angrepsma˚ter [Stimulating literacy in grade 1: Subject content and didactics]. In: K. Klette (Ed.), Evaluering av reform 97 [Evaluating reform 97] (pp. 173–223). Oslo: UiO/Norges Forskningsra˚d. Hatcher, P., Hulme, C., & Ellis, A. (1994). Ameliorating early reading by integrating the teaching of reading and phonological skills: The phonological linkage hypothesis. Child Development, 65, 41–57. Henry, M. K. (1993). Morphological structure: Latin and Greek roots and affixes as upper grade code strategies. Reading and Writing: An Interdisciplinary Journal, 5, 227–241. Leimar, U. (1974). La¨sning pa˚ talets grund [Reading based on the spoken language]. Stockholm: Liber. Lie, A. (1991). Effects of a training program for stimulating skills in word analysis in first-grade children. Reading Research Quarterly, 26, 234–250. Lie, S., Kjærnsli, M., Roe, A., & Turmo, A. (2001). Godt rustet for framtida? Norske 15- a˚ringers kompetanse i lesing og realfag i et internasjonalt perspektiv. Oslo: Institutt for lærerutdanning og skoleutvikling/Universitetet i Oslo. Lundberg, I., Frost, J., & Petersen, O. (1988). Effects of an extensive program for stimulating phonological awareness in pre-school children. Reading Research Quarterly, 23, 263–284. Lyster, S. A. H. (1995). Preventing reading and spelling failure: The effects of early intervention promoting metalinguistic abilities. Unpublished doctoral dissertation. University of Oslo. Lyster, S. A. H. (1997). Spelling development and metalinguistic training before school entrance. The effects of different metalinguistic training on spelling development in first grade. In: C. K. Leong & R. M. Joshi (Eds), Cross-language studies of learning to read and spell (pp. 305–330). Dordrecht, The Netherlands: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Lyster, S. A. H. (1998). Preventing reading failure: A follow-up study. Dyslexia, 4, 132–144. Lyster, S. A. H. (2002). The effects of morphological versus phonological awareness training in kindergarten on reading development. Reading and Writing: An Interdisciplinary Journal, 15, 261–294. Lyster, S. A. H., & Tingleff, H. (2002). Ringeriksmaterialet. Kartlegging av spra˚klig oppmerksomhet hos barn i alderen 5–7 a˚r [The Ringerike material. Testing children’s metalinguistic awareness in the age group 5–7 years]. Oslo: Damm forlag. Martin, F., Claydon, E., Morton, A., Binns, S., & Pratt, C. (2003). The development of orthographic and phonological strategies for decoding of words in children. Journal of Research in Reading, 26, 191–204. Nasjonalt læremiddelsenter (1995a). Kartlegging av leseferdighet, 6. klasse [Assessing reading abilities, sixth grade]. Oslo: Nasjonalt læremiddelsenter. Nasjonalt læremiddelsenter (1995b). Kartlegging av leseferdighet, 2. klasse [Assessing reading abilities, second grade]. Oslo: Nasjonalt læremiddelsenter. National Reading Panel (2000). Teaching children to read. An evidence-based assessment of the scientific research literature on reading and its implications for reading instruction. Reports of the subgroups. Rockville, MD: NICHD Clearinghouse. OECD (2004a). Equity in education. Thematic review. Norway – country note. Paris: OECD.


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OECD (2004b). Learning for tomorrow’s world – first measures of cross curricular competencies from PISA 2003. Paris: OECD. OECD (2004c). Learning for tomorrow’s world. First results from PISA 2003. Paris: OECD. OECD (2005). Equity in education. Thematic review. Finland – country note. Paris: OECD. Olson, R., Kliegel, R., Davidson, B. J., & Foltz, G. (1985). Individual developmental differences in reading disability. In: T. G. Waller (Ed.), Reading research: Advances in theory and practice (Vol. 4, pp. 1–64). New York: Academic Press. Olson, R., Wise, B., Conners, F., & Rack, J. (1990). Organization, heritability, and remediation of component reading and language skills in disabled readers. In: T. H. Carr & B. A. Levy (Eds), Reading and its development (pp. 261–322). San Diego, CA: Academic Press. Scarborough, H. S. (1990). Very early language deficits in dyslexic children. Child Development, 61, 1728–1743. Shadish, W. R., Cook, T. D., & Campbell, D. T. (2002). Experimental and quasi-experimental designs for generalized causal inference. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company. Skjelfjord, V. J. (1976). Fonemlæring i skolen [Learning about phonemes in the school]. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget. Skjelfjord, V. J. (1983). Analysetrening i leselæringen. Treningsprogram og lærerveiledning. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget. Skjelfjord, V. J. (1987). Phonemic segmentation. An important subskill in learning to read. Scandinavian Journal of Educational Research, 31, 41–57. Smith, F. (1971). Understanding reading. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston. Smith, F. (1973). Psycholinguistics and reading. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston. Snowling, M. J., Gallagher, A., & Frith, U. (2003). Family risk of dyslexia is continous: Individual differences in the precursors of reading skill. Child Development, 74, 358–373. Spear-Swerling, L., & Sternberg, R. (1994). The road not taken: An integrative theoretical model of reading disability. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 27, 91–103 122. Tønnessen, F. E., & Solheim, R. (1998). Kartlegging av leseferdighet og lesevaner pa˚ 2. klassetrinn [Assessing reading and reading habits in grade 2]. Oslo: Kirke-utdannings og forskningsdepartementet. Torgesen, J. K. (1998). Catch them before they fall. American Educator, 22, 32–39. Torgesen, J. K., Rashotte, C. A., & Alexander, A,W. (2001). Principles of fluency instruction in reading: Relationships with established empirical outcomes. In: M. Wolf (Ed.), Dyslexia, fluency and the brain (pp. 333–355). Timonium, MD: York Press. Tornes, J. (1968). Standpunktprøver I skolen. Matematikk. 1., 2. og 3. klasse [Standardised tests in the school. Mathematics. Grade 1, 2, and 3]. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget. Torneùs, M. (1987). The importance of metaphonological and metamorphological abilities for different phases of reading development. Paper presented at the 3rd World Congress on Dyslexia, Crete. Treiman, R., & Cassar, M. (1997). Spelling acquisition in English. In: C. A. Perfetti., L. Rieben & M. Fayol (Eds), Learning to spell (pp. 61–80). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Vygotsky, L. S. (1962). Thought and language. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Wise, B. W., Ring, J., & Olson, R. K. (1999). Training phonological awareness with and without explicit attention to articulation. Journal of Experimental Child Psychology, 72, 271–304.


ECOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVES ON STUDENT BEHAVIOUR: WHY TEACHERS IN TRAINING NEED TO SEE THE BIGGER PICTURE Julian G. Elliott ABSTRACT Reforms to teacher training in England, undertaken in the 1990s, significantly increased the proportion of time that student teachers spent in classrooms engaged in ‘on the job’ training. While this provides greater opportunity for students to develop practical knowledge, there is an inherent danger that an undue preoccupation with the development of ‘survival skills’ will reduce the fostering of broader and deeper understandings about the role of important historical, sociological and cultural factors upon children’s motivation, behaviour and learning. This chapter draws upon a number of comparative international studies, particularly in Russia and the US, to illustrate the benefits of an ecosystemic analysis of human behaviour in which student behaviour is considered, not only in terms of everyday school-based practices, but also in relation to broader social, economic and historical factors.

International Perspectives Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 20, 57–77 Copyright r 2007 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(07)20003-5

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The reforms to teacher training undertaken in the 1990s, in both England and the United States, reflected recognition that student teachers’ professional learning was often maximised when undertaken within a specific school context (Wang & Odell, 2002). Courses in university departments were widely perceived to be overly theoretical and unrelated to the more basic day-to-day needs of novice teachers. As a result, a variety of different training models have sprung up, with differing degrees of theoretical input, yet common to all is the fact that substantial student time is based in schools where students are given opportunities to observe highly skilled (and sometimes less skilled) practitioners and consider the operation of various strategies and approaches. To some extent there can be a tension between the aims of teacher educators and teachers in training. While the former may have uppermost in their minds the model of the reflective practitioner who can draw upon theoretical knowledge to inform practice, and vice versa (Wilson, Floden, & Ferrini-Mundy, 2001), for many student teachers, the most pressing concern, quite understandably, is to develop broad survival skills (Holligan, 1997). To some extent, student teachers confronted by children exhibiting a wide range of learning and behaviour difficulties may be particularly attracted by a form of training in which the provision of survivalist knowledge and approaches is paramount. However, beyond the inculcation and development of basic skills, issues concerning the education of those with special educational needs, like many others in education, often require a deeper conceptual and theoretical examination that has not always been forthcoming on initial teacher education (preparation) programmes (Garner, 1995). While examining the management of student behaviour in the context of a school may provide many ideas for practice, this may not help broader understandings to emerge. A central thrust of current English educational initiatives geared to improving children’s behaviour is that these must be considered, not in isolation, but rather in terms of learning more generally. In our various writings on student motivation and engagement (e.g., Hufton, Elliott, & Illushin, 2002b; Elliott, Hufton, Willis, & Illushin, 2005), we have argued that one needs to look outside one’s immediate context so that a more complete picture of human behaviour and dynamics emerges. Our theoretical approach has been guided by the work of Bronfenbrenner (1979) who contends that to understand development, one needs to consider all layers of the ecosystem, from the individual, the classroom, the home, the local and national community, through to the broader sociohistorical context. Within the field of work with children with emotional and behavioural difficulties, such an approach has been highlighted by Cooper and Upton

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(1990) and Sellman, Bedward, Cole, and Daniels (2002) as one way to provide more sophisticated analyses of problematic behaviour than simple within-child explanations. Even this approach may lack comprehensiveness if analysis focuses solely upon one’s own ‘system’. Rather, it may only be by looking at the ecosystems of other cultures, in comparative mode, that we can gain the most complete understanding of ourselves. In this paper, I seek to draw upon certain socialisation practices in two countries, the US and Russia, to illustrate the powerful effects of broader factors upon children’s behaviour. I argue, that such analyses are important for teachers whose focus upon the salient issues of the immediate context, in particular, simple ‘cause-effect’ interactions between teachers and students, may obscure recognition of more profound and deep-seated influences (historical, cultural and social) upon behaviour and learning. Such a narrowness of perspective may be particularly problematic for student teachers, such as those in England, whose concern for daily professional survival and the appropriation of simplistic cause-effect understandings is less tempered by academic theorising and reflection than was the case prior to the arrival of school-based training in the early 1990s.

INTERNATIONAL DIFFERENCES IN CHILDREN’S BEHAVIOUR IN SCHOOL International visitors to schools around the world would almost inevitably conclude that a widespread belief that children’s behaviour is deteriorating is far from unique to English contexts. Irrespective of the country, teachers everywhere seem to express dissatisfaction with standards of discipline that are believed to compare poorly with those of previous generations. Often, it is considered that the reasons for this lie in a shift of societal standards about what is deemed to be appropriate behaviour and the perceived rights of authority figures (teachers, police and the like) to seek compliance. It should be recognised that here we are largely talking about subjective perceptions that are greatly influenced by localised normative understandings. Thus, even within a given community, what constitutes ‘problem’ behaviour may differ greatly from school to school (and even from teacher to teacher). Thus, while concern about perceived increase in misbehaviour may be a universal phenomenon, we cannot easily make judgements as to its nature across contexts and cultures. Nevertheless, from the evidence available, it would appear that there remain significant differences in absolute behaviour across countries.

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Comparative work that has examined student attitudes and behaviour ranges from very large-scale surveys [Third International Maths and Science Study, (TIMSS), Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA), Progress in International Reading Study (PIRLS)] to detailed examination of a small number of countries (Alexander, 2000; Elliott et al., 2005). More recently, large-scale studies have moved away from a relatively narrow focus upon academic achievement to consideration of various attitudinal and behavioural factors that are considered to play an influential role. A recent large-scale study, PISA 2003 (OECD, 2004) for example, involved more than a quarter of a million 15-year-olds from the 30 OECD member countries and a further 11 countries, including the Russian Federation. The primary focus was upon mathematics performance, surveys of student selfreports about their motivation, attitudes, self-related beliefs and disciplinary climate, together with data collected from teachers and school principals. In examining children’s views of disciplinary climate in mathematics lessons, it is instructive that, in common with an earlier PISA study, conducted in 2000 (OECD, 2003), students in the Russian Federation reported behavioural standards highly conducive to academic activity. Thus, of the 41 countries studied, Russian children, after those from Macao-China, were the least likely to report lessons in which there was noise and disorder, least likely (tying with Japan) to state that students do not start working for a long time after the lesson begins, and, third behind Macao-China and Japan, in stating that teachers did not have to wait long for students to quiet down. On the other two ‘disciplinary climate’ measures, concerning the extent to which students listened to their teachers, and the extent to which they could or could not work well, Russian students also featured as among the most studious youngsters. Perhaps surprisingly, students from the United States reported a disciplinary climate slightly superior to the OECD average. Of course, perceptions as to what constitutes a good disciplinary climate will be subject to local norms and expectations. Like that of the Russian respondents, the US position reflects views obtained for PISA 2000 (OECD, 2003). (Note: The response rate from the United Kingdom was insufficient for inclusion for the PISA 2003 analysis. For PISA 2000, UK scores for disciplinary climate were similar to those of the US.) Figs. 1 and 2 illustrate findings from a number of participating countries. These findings reflect those of other contemporary researchers (e.g., Muckle, 1990; Glowka, 1995; O’Brien, 2000; Alexander, 2000; Laihiala-Kainkainen, 1998). The presence of high levels of discipline and behaviour can be traced back through many generations of Russian schoolchildren. In his many


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observations in Russian schools, 40 years ago, Bronfenbrenner was struck by the positive behaviour of most Soviet youngsters: In their external actions, they are well-mannered, attentive, and industrious. In informal conversations, they reveal a strong motivation to learn, a readiness to serve their society, and – in general – ironically enough for a culture committed to a materialistic philosophy, what can only be described as an idealistic attitude towards life. In keeping with this general orientation, relationships with parents, teachers and upbringers are those of respectful but affectionate friendship. The discipline of the collective is accepted and regarded as justified, even when severe as judged by Western standards y it is apparent that instances of aggressiveness, violation of rules, or other antisocial behaviour are genuinely rare. (Extract from Research Report at the 1963 International Congress of Psychology, reproduced in Bronfenbrenner, 1970, p. 76)

Our own research in St. Petersburg (Elliott, Hufton, Hildreth, & Illushin, 1999, 2001; Hufton, Elliott, & Illushin, 2002a) indicated behaviour and peer

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relationships that strongly echoed those described in Bronfenbrenner’s studies of a very different world operating some three decades earlier. In our observations of multiple classrooms in St. Petersburg, behaviour in class and around the school was overwhelmingly positive and the students we interviewed, both formally (Hufton et al., 2002a) and in corridor conversations, presented accounts in which they were actively pro-learning, prostudy and in which they shared precepts of propriety and due behaviour with the teacher. Where we observed a small proportion of children in class who were seemingly less motivated and engaged than their peers, their typical response was more likely to be cognitive withdrawal than disruption,


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a distinction similarly noted by Glowka (1995) in a comparative study of German and Russian students. There is some evidence to suggest that the Russian tradition does not sit easily with changing beliefs in that country about student–teacher relationships. Thus in PISA 2003, a series of questions to school principals (headteachers) about teacher-related factors affecting the general school climate resulted in a more negative picture. Russian principals were second, only to those of Indonesia, in reporting that excessive strictness on the part of teachers was proving detrimental to student learning. Also, rather surprisingly, given contrasting reports from other sources (e.g., Alexander, 2000), poor student–teacher relations were also seen as more problematic than in most other countries. Again, US figures were much nearer to the OECD average. However, in the US excessive strictness was not seen as problematic. A puzzling phenomenon results from examination of principals’ views concerning students workrates and attitudes to education. A mere 57% of the Russian students involved were considered to work with enthusiasm (compared with 89% in the US and an OECD average of 73%), yet 98% were perceived to value the education they received in the school (US 94%, OECD average 87%) and 97% were seen to take pride in their school (US 95%, OECD 86%). Interestingly, students in the US were far more likely to state that they often felt bored in school (61% US, 27% Russia, OECD average 48%) (Source: OECD, 2002, p. 330). From these figures, a picture emerges of Russian students who are comparatively well-behaved, who complain less of being bored, who value education, yet who, counter to many accounts, tend to be perceived by teachers as working with lower levels of enthusiasm than is reported in US comparisons. Cross-cultural differences are immensely difficult to examine or reconcile where self-reports are the primary source of information. As my colleagues and I have illustrated in our various researches, student and teacher perceptions can vary greatly both within and across cultures (Elliott, Hufton, Illushin, & Lauchlan, 2001; Hufton, Elliott, & Illushin, 2003). In a study of 10-year-olds in St. Petersburg, Russia, Kentucky, USA and Sunderland (Elliott et al., 2001), we asked teachers to rate the behaviour of the children in their classes on a 5-point scale. We then compared this information with the perspectives of the same children who were asked to rate the behaviour exhibited in their class. It was then possible to compare student and teacher perceptions (see Fig. 3). Findings indicated that in all three locations, teachers were generally positive about the behaviour of their students. The least positive were the Russian teachers. When examining the views of the students, however,

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Teacher and Child Ratings of Classroom Behaviour. Originally published by Taylor and Francis. (Source: Elliott et al., 2001a, Reprinted by Permission from the Publisher, See http://www.tandf.co.uk/journals).

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a striking difference of opinion with that of the teachers emerged. As Fig. 3 shows, Sunderland and Kentucky students saw the presence of disruptive behaviour as being far more common than did their St. Petersburg peers. This finding echoed that obtained in an earlier study of adolescents in the same locations (Elliott et al., 1999). In our attempts to make sense of the fact that Russian teachers were less positive about their students’ behaviour than might be anticipated (cf. Elliott et al., 2005), we have suggested that their expectations appear to be higher than their US and English counterparts. However, the picture obtained across surveys is not always consistent, even when the same grouping is concerned (teachers, parents or students). For example, in contrast to the relatively positive PISA account of US classrooms, another large-scale study TIMSS produced findings indicating that teachers in the US were twice as likely as those in the Russian Federation to report that their teaching was extensively limited by students’ disruptive behaviours. The Russian figure (21%) was the fourth lowest of 37 countries reported (see Akiba, LeTendre, Baker, & Goesling, 2002). However, there is some external evidence to support the potentially subjective concerns of American teachers. Videotaped studies of eighth-grade classrooms, undertaken as part of the TIMSS study, showed that, in comparison with Japanese and German classrooms, lessons in the US were frequently interrupted and subject to distraction (Martin & Mullis, 2000).

SOCIALISATION PRACTICES AND STUDENT BEHAVIOUR Given that there appears to be a convincing, meaningful long-standing difference in general classroom behaviour between children in the United States and Russia, it may prove helpful, even to help us understand the workings of our own culture, to examine potentially important explanatory factors. In this paper, I argue that, key to this, are early socialisation practices and experiences. In his classic study of childhood socialisation in the US and the Soviet Union, Bronfenbrenner (1970) describes the ways by which early socialisation experiences impacted upon later behaviour. Between the ages of three and six years, most young children left their home for supervised group activities. As part of these, children learned how to cooperate, to subjugate their own desires to those of the group, and to defer to the authority of adults (Tudge, 1991). This was often a far from a negative experience as

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many children benefited greatly from the warm, nurturing and caring environment that these settings usually provided (Markowitz, 2000). Formal schooling in Russia commences at the age of seven. Having absorbed and internalised the importance of deferring to the needs of the group, Soviet children learned patriotic songs and stories that would underpin both their education and moral upbringing (Markowitz, 2000). For any who found it difficult to accept the behavioural standards expected, the threat of exclusion from youth groups, the Octobrists, and later, the Pioneers, was both real and potent. In general, however, most children were accepted into these organisations, albeit after several recruiting rounds, yet clearly, the threat was still meaningful and influential. Soviet children learned the importance of accepting adult authority. In Markowitz’s ethnographic study of teenagers in the 1990s, it is noted that many informants spoke using the passive tense. Markowitz suggests that this reflects the general sense of powerless felt by young people during the Soviet period: Children learned to be passive recipients of what their elders doled out, and parents in all but the most exceptional cases were in complicity with teachers and the school administration y . Parents knew from experience that if their children were to rebel against the order of things they would risk the worst punishment of all – exclusion from the only game in town. In the main, however, it did not often occur to anyone to rebel. (Markowitz, 2000, p. 50)

Such an adherence to imposed authority, which may explain the tendency of less motivated students generally to withdraw rather than overtly challenge, does not sit lightly within Anglo-American societies. Yet even in cultures that place a premium upon individualism, individual autonomy and selfdetermination, teachers need to impose discipline and avoid the anarchy that would result from a free for all. In his five nation study of primary education, Alexander (2000) describes the tensions evident in the US where student autonomy and empowerment are highly valued, yet these ideals became problematic as teachers sought to maintain order and discipline. Across the five countries studies – England, US, Russia, France and India, Alexander found particularly strong contrast between the US and Russia. In the one context the substantive messages about the nature of knowledge, teaching and learning and about behavioural norms and expectations were unambiguous yet also – bar the occasional brief reminder – tacit; in the other context they were the subject of frequent reminders by the teacher and often intense encounters ranging from negotiation to confrontation. (2000, p. 318)


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Alexander (2004) writes of the tensions he found in American schools where teachers often promoted values that seemed to be in opposition, selffulfilment and altruism, consumerism and environmentalism, cooperation and competition, while, in the wider US, a strong sense of communal commitment was at odds with ‘rampant’ individualism. These tensions were manifested not only in formal education goals, but also in the everyday discourse and actions of both students and teachers. As Bronfenbrenner wrote in 1992, ‘‘We Americans are all the descendants of those who couldn’t stand authority, and of those whom authority couldn’t stand’’ (p. 288). Peer Influences – for Better or Worse An important element of Bronfenbrenner’s (1970) account was geared to examination of differing peer influences in the two cultures. The workings of these are increasingly being highlighted by researchers (Steinberg, 1996; Harris, 1995, 1998; Bishop, 2004) although consideration has been rendered more complex by the multiple types of peer grouping that exist – from oneto-one relationships to small cliques, through to an entire age cohort (Brown, Steinberg, Mounts, & Philipp, 1990). Research suggests that each of these will impact upon student behaviour in school: immediate, close friends (Berndt & Keefe, 1996), broader friendship groupings (Wentzel & Caldwell, 1997) and the larger social group (Kindermann, 1993), although these may have differing forms of influence. Sage and Kindermann (1999), for example, suggest that friends will have more bearing upon socioemotional and personal identity development, whereas wider peer networks may exert greater influence upon classroom behaviour. On the basis of both his observations in the Soviet Union, and a series of experiments, Bronfenbrenner argued that the high standards of student behaviour (with few instances of aggression, violation of rules or other forms of anti-social behaviour) were sustained, in large part by the emphasis upon the collective, whereby students felt responsibility for supporting adults. Thus, Not only does the peer group in the U.S.S.R. act to support behaviour consistent with the values of the adult society, but it also succeeds in introducing its members to take personal initiative and responsibility for developing and retaining such behaviour in others. (2005, p. 228)

Such behaviour contrasted strongly with that in the US. In one comparative study, Bronfenbrenner (1967) found that Russian 12-year-olds were more resistant than Americans to promptings to engage in anti-social behaviour and more responsive to adult standards of behaviour. While Russian peers

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exerted influence in support of such standards, American peers were more likely to encourage deviance from adult norms. While this was particularly true for Russian girls (see also Muckle, 1998), Bronfenbrenner found that boys were also more adult oriented than their counterparts in the other countries that he and his research team studied. Some three decades later, we similarly found Russian students reporting that their classmates exerted pressures in a pro-social fashion: that is, their peers tended to increase the likelihood that they would work hard in school, and resist the temptation to misbehave (Elliott et al., 1999, 2001). Bronfenbrenner (1967) argues that children are more likely to be influenced by other young people to reject adult values and ministrations where the peer group is highly autonomous and separated from the adult world. In the Soviet Union, the strong emphasis within the education process upon upbringing, ‘vospitanie’ and the use of the collective, resulted in the harnessing of powerful peer group influences that supported and maintained existing adult values and objectives. The role of the peer group in the Soviet Union, was not, as in the US, left mainly to chance but rather, was the ‘result of explicit policy and practice’ (p. 206) whereby the peer group was used as an agent of socialisation geared to encouraging identification with societal values. In an intriguing account, Bronfenbrenner (1970) highlights the systematic attention to detail that prevailed in the Soviet Union. To illustrate, he draws from a manual written for teachers and Pioneer leaders that provides direct guidance on appropriate procedures. Here there exist elements of both competition and collaboration. Addressing the children’s very first day in school, for example, the manual notes that instructing them to ‘All sit straight’ does not ‘reach the sensibilities of the pupils and does not activate them’. Rather, the teacher should say, ‘Let’s see which row can sit the straightest’ as it has a number of psychological advantages. The children not only try to do everything as well as possible themselves, but also take an evaluative attitude towards those who are undermining the achievement of the row. If similar measures arousing the spirit of competition in the children are systematically applied by experienced teachers in the primary classes, then gradually the children themselves begin to monitor the behavior of their comrades and remind those of them who forget about the rules set by the teacher, not to forget what needs to be done and what should not be done. The teacher soon has helpers. (Novikova, 1959, cited in Bronfenbrenner, 1970, p. 55)

While the phrasing that the teacher is recommended to use here would not be dissimilar to that observable in Western contexts, it is the deliberate and systemic emphasis upon positive peer relationships that renders its meaning


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very different. Bronfenbrenner goes on to describe the ways by which the power of the collective is utilised. Although the teacher is initially key in setting and maintaining standards, gradually the children are encouraged to take on monitorial roles. In the first grade of primary school, monitors have responsibility for recording teacher evaluations; during the second grade, they are taught to make the evaluations themselves. In the third grade, they are taught to make criticisms publicly. But, more importantly, the children are asked to see if they can enter into competition with the monitors to highlight their own areas for improvement. For some Westerners, this may seem like an Orwellian exercise in mind control; for others it may be construed as a powerful means of inducing self-regulation and self-discipline. A consistent theme in American writings concerns the subtle influence peers exert to undermine student motivation and behaviour (Howley, Howley, & Pendarvis, 1995; Steinberg, 1996). In many US schools, the key pressure is to avoid to be seen to be trying too hard or with too much enthusiasm. Interestingly, academic success generally appears to be acceptable within the peer group as long as it is achieved relatively effortlessly (Damon, 1995; Cheney, 1993). As Bishop (2004) points out, the purpose of harassing high achievers is not to punish them for being ‘smart’ but, rather, to discourage study effort. Akerlof and Kranton (2002) suggest that a student’s primary motivation in school involves the desire to attain an acceptable public identity – one that helps them fit into a high status ‘crowd’. Rarely does this lead to a prolearning stance. Indeed, increasingly detached from home and parental influence, and resistant to teachers’ strictures, the emergence of adolescent culture in the 1950s and 1960s resulted in many US schools becoming ‘‘... one of the most potent breeding grounds of alienation in American society’’ (Bronfenbrenner, 1974, p. 60). It is hard to argue that this situation has been transformed in the intervening three decades. High-status adolescent groupings (jocks, burnouts, party animals, etc.) often have values and codes of conduct that run counter to teacher desires. Achieving and maintaining the right image is paramount, even if this ultimately undermines academic achievement (Covington, 1992). This attitude is neatly illustrated in an interview with one of our Kentucky informants who refers to his classmates: I think it’s part of their image, they’re just trying to be like they don’t care. They don’t want anybody to know that they’re like, some of them, really smart, they just don’t try; so they try to hide this image, like they’re too cool to get good grades or whatever. (Elliott et al., 2005, p. 122)

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Such a phenomenon was largely absent in the Soviet Union where highstatus student groupings were predominantly engineered by adults who acted as gatekeepers to prestigious organisations. When we conducted our interviews in St. Petersburg in the mid-to-late1990s, children’s socialising experiences were no longer heavily underpinned by Soviet ideology or by organised groupings such as the Pioneers. Nevertheless, an adolescent counter-culture in school was still not salient and there is some evidence that orientation to the family continues to be comparatively strong (Stetsenko, 2002). In relation to scholastic performance, high-achieving students were still generally admired and respected (as long as they exhibited desirable personal qualities such as modesty and generosity towards their peers). I think that how a person is studying is less important than what sort of person he is. How he treats others, what sort of relationships he has y The most important thing is that he doesn’t become snobbish. I think that the pupils who have a sort of ‘brain’, who think well are the popular and attractive ones. y They are respected for their cleverness. If a bright student is a nice person, not a snobby one, why should we treat him badly? I respect those who work hard and do well. In our class, there is no envy, we feel positively about (hard-working) students. (Elliott et al., 2005, p. 124)

Successful students in Kentucky ran the risk of being labelled as ‘nerds’ – a term that opens the door to unpopularity and harassment (Bishop, 2004). To avoid such a charge, the high achiever had to show not only a casual approach to academic endeavour, but also a predilection to engage in a full range of other typical teenage activities. While the mass media often focus on the ‘untractable’ problems of American inner city schools, the reality is that students from more advantaged communities are also subject to powerful social pressures to resist the efforts of their teachers. Thus, despite the presence of fewer disruptive students in middle-class schools, peer support for academic disengagement is similarly a common phenomenon. The adolescent peer culture in [middle class] America demeans academic success and scorns students who try to do well in school y . Less than 5 percent of all students are members of a high-achieving crowd that defines itself mainly on the basis of academic excellence y . Of all the crowds, the brains were the least happy with who they are – nearly half wished they were in a different crowd. (Steinberg, 1996, pp. 145–146)

Our cross-cultural researches (Elliott et al., 2005) supported Bronfenbrenner’s (1967) observation that the autonomy of the American adolescent group, and its separation from the world of adults led to greater resistance to the


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strictures of parents and teachers than was the case in the Soviet Union. If our teenage informants in St. Petersburg were influenced by any wider adolescent peer culture, it had not so far, at least on the basis of their interview statements, impacted on their response to schooling. In both Sunderland and Kentucky, however, we found students far more involved in an out of school youth culture. Not only did this reduce students’ commitment to homework, but through its emphases upon youth icons, fashion, consumer activity and recreation, it also widened the gap between teachers and students. While the American high schools provided a range of out of school activities, many centring upon competitive sports, these appeared to have little positive bearing upon academic life. Indeed, at times, the emphasis appeared to be more negative as the broad programme of activities sometimes ate into the academic programme and, through the student and adult preoccupations that resulted, subtly reduced the perceived importance of scholastic achievement.

Historical Influences It is important for all educators (not merely student teachers) to recognise the twin influences of sociohistorical and contemporary factors upon student behaviour. In gaining a more sophisticated understanding, we should realise that behaviour may, in part, be a reflection of longstanding traditions and social mores that may stretch back for multiple generations. In a fascinating account of the origins of anti-social behaviour in the dockland region of South-East London, for example, Robson (2000) shows that, contrary to the twin scapegoats – 1960s liberalism and 1980s anomie resulting from socioeconomic marginalisation – authorised transgression, in the form of excess raucousness, disorder and drunkenness had been a particular feature of this community for many centuries. In a detailed review (Elliott et al., 2005), we show that the origins of motivational difficulties on the part of many American students can be traced back through 200 years of regional and national history. In Kentucky, strong traditions of personal freedom, local democracy and resentment of taxation, combined with fears about the effect of education upon the community’s young resulted in ambivalence towards formal education. Too much education (beyond teaching of the basics) was seen by some as taking children away from their responsibilities to assist the family in carrying out chores and might ultimately lead the youngster to feel superior to other members of the family, a charge of ‘... going beyond yer raisin’.

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Perfectly capturing these traditional beliefs, one informant told us, ‘‘Don’t do you to learn all this bunch of gunk, you know you, all you need to learn is to read and write’’ (Elliott et al., 2005, p. 114). Elliott et al. (2005) point out that factors militating against student engagement in US schools exist both within peer networks and beyond. Unlike Russia, where being educated (cultured) is generally something that is a source of great pride throughout society, in the United States, antiintellectualism has long been a feature of many sectors of society (Howley et al., 1995). At around the same time that Bronfenbrenner was first visiting Soviet schools, Coleman (1961) was noting that in American high schools, social and sporting success often represented the pinnacle of achievement. Coleman’s work led him to conclude that important attitudes about the relative importance of schooling appeared to originate not from within the adolescent subculture but, rather, from students’ socialising experiences within the wider community. Thus students were influenced by the community’s commitment to non-intellectual high school activities (e.g., participation in football or cheerleading). As in Russia, such messages carry on through succeeding generations (see Hufton & Elliott, 2000, for an examination of Russian continuity and stability in school life). The notion that low teacher expectations are explanatory causal factors in understanding poor motivation and behaviour reflects a poverty of understanding of the complex interaction between societal (and subcultural) perspectives and school practices. Thus, low expectations may be as much a coping strategy as a cause of underachievement. To illustrate, one way by which some US teachers have sought to minimise disruption from uninterested students is to draw up an ‘implicit bargain’ (Sedlak, Wheeler, Pullin, & Cusick, 1986). Here, teachers and students arrive at an unspoken agreement that few heavy academic demands will be made in return for an acceptable level of compliance. Where demands are low, such a bargain can include the following essential features: y relatively little concern for academic content; a willingness to tolerate, if not encourage, diversion from the specified knowledge to be presented or discussed; the substitution of genial banter and conversation for concentrated academic exercises; improvisational instructional adaptation to student preference for or indifference towards specific subject matter or pedagogical techniques; the ‘negotiation’ of class content, assignments, and standards; and a high degree of teacher autonomy in managing the level of academic engagement, personal interaction, and course content. (Sedlak et al., 1986, p. 7)

While this point is certainly not made in order to legitimise unchallenging, undemanding teaching situations, it is important that student teachers


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understand why and how such practices may be derived and nurtured. In some contexts, low expectations and demands are less a reflection of teacher indolence than of a search for ‘survival’ strategies. In my opinion, it is only when this more complex picture is understood and acknowledged that attempts to raise the level of demand are likely to prove productive.

Contemporary Influences ‘‘The individual’s own developmental life course is seen as embedded in and powerfully shaped by conditions and events occurring during the historical period through which the person lives’’ (Bronfenbrenner, 1995, p. 641). While being sensitive to traditional beliefs and mores, student teachers need similarly to be cognisant of contemporaneous pressures that are likely to influence young people in ways counter to those of previous generations. This interaction between the historical and the contemporary can be highlighted by examination of Russian education during the past decade. As we write elsewhere in greater detail (Elliott & Hufton, 2003; Elliott et al., 2005), radical social and economic transformation in Russian society resulted in many challenges for teachers eager to ensure that children’s orientation towards learning was maintained. During the time of our research studies, in the mid-1990s, societal transformation had appeared to have very little impact upon the education orientations of the young people with whom we worked. At this time it appeared that Russian schools were operating as havens that, during the school day, at least, isolated students (and to some extent, teachers) from the stressors and dislocation experienced in the wider world (Hufton & Elliott, 2000; Alexander, 2000). Yet school walls could only keep out such forces for a finite period, and increasingly during the late 1990s, commentators expressed alarm at the impact of societal transformation upon young people’s attitudes, values and behaviour. y the desanctification of attitudes toward the world and society, the decline of the ideal, exalted, romantic aspect of life, have been accompanied by its banalification, rendering it more bourgeois and susceptible to the laws of the market, converting it into a commodity. The old symbols and imagery, which expressed lofty and oftentimes unattainable ideals are being turned into products of mass spiritual assimilation – but an assimilation that is illusory, limited to audio-visual familiarity. Ideals are being turned into products of mass spiritual consumption rather than assimilation. (Erasov, 1994, p. 217)

As individualism took over from collectivism, instrumentality replaced socialist ideals, and the economic disparity between the majority of the people and visibly affluent ‘New Russians’ increased, the intrinsic value of

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education as an end in itself began to be questioned by students who increasing sought to position themselves more favourably in their rapidly changing world. For some, education became an economic commodity more similar to that of Western societies – a means to gain access to high paying employment in banking, law and commerce. In addition, structural changes in educational provision fuelled such attitudinal change. A massive proliferation of specialist schools, that cater for more able, or more wealthy, students, resulted in the demoralisation of young people and teachers in other, often impoverished, under-resourced schools and, seemingly, this contributed to the rise of an alienated student underclass, many of whom dropped out of schooling altogether. To observe the influence of growing instrumentality and individualism, the increasing tendency for adolescents to be critical of their teachers (Iartsev, 2000), the growth of powerful peer cultures and the concomitant decline of adult influence (Sergeev, 1999) and the physical or intellectual withdrawal of a significant minority of students from schooling, is to witness some of the problems of the Western world being superimposed upon a very different culture and very different traditions. By observing such phenomena, student teachers in Britain and elsewhere may gain greater understanding of their own educational context and culture.

CONCLUSION In this chapter, I have argued that the strength of ‘on the job’ teacher training in relation to the inculcation of managerial and professional skills may, paradoxically also be its weakness. Increased time in classrooms provides valuable opportunities for students to observe and practise a range of procedures and skills, and to consider their differential impact in relation to different groups, classes and schools. However, an overly narrow concentration upon student teachers’ immediate contexts may undermine the development of meaningful understandings about social, historical and cultural factors that play a significant part in contemporary school dynamics. Such latter considerations may be perceived as overly theoretical and an unnecessary luxury when pressure upon training time is so great, but this represents, in my opinion, a failure to understand that teachers need wisdom as well as techniques. In framing my argument I have drawn upon two very different cultures, Russia and the US to demonstrate the importance of utilising an ecosystemic analysis of human development and behaviour. Children’s behaviour


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in school is not merely a consequence of within-child, teacher and whole school factors, but, rather, it reflects and reproduces important forces in contemporary society, which, in turn are influenced by our history and traditional values. It is to be hoped that student teachers will appreciate that professionalism involves understanding the ‘big picture’ as well as the acquisition of practical teaching skills.

REFERENCES Akerlof, G., & Kranton, R. (2002). Identity and schooling: Some lessons for the economics of schooling. Journal of Economic Literature, 40, 1167–1201. Akiba, M., LeTendre, G. K., Baker, D. P., & Goesling, B. (2002). Student victimization: National and school system effects on school violence in 37 nations. American Educational Research Journal, 39, 829–853. Alexander, R. (2000). Culture and pedagogy: International comparisons in primary education. Oxford: Blackwell. Alexander, R. (2004). L’apprentisage, la civilite´ et la culture: Perspectives internationals [Learning, behaviour and culture: International perspectives]. Paper presented at the third DESCO Conference (2003), Paris. Reprinted in A. Christophe (Ed.), L’apprentissage de la civilite´ a` l’Ećole: Regards croise´s (pp. 7–14). Paris: DESCO. Berndt, T. J., & Keefe, K. (1996). Friends’ influence on school adjustment: A motivational analysis. In: J. Juvonen & K. R. Wentzel (Eds), Social motivation: Understanding children’s school adjustment (pp. 248–278). New York: Cambridge University Press. Bishop, J. H. (2004). Drinking from the fountain of knowledge: Student incentive to study and learn – externalities, information problems and peer pressure. Working Paper 04–15. Center for Advanced Human Resource Studies, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY. Bronfenbrenner, U. (1967). Response to pressure from peers versus adults among Soviet and American school children. International Journal of Psychology, 2, 199–207. Bronfenbrenner, U. (1970). The two worlds of childhood. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Bronfenbrenner, U. (1974). The origins of alienation. Scientific American, 231, 53–61. Bronfenbrenner, U. (1979). The ecology of human development. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Bronfenbrenner, U. (1992). Child care in the Anglo-Saxon mode. In: M. E. Lamb, K. J. Sternberg, C. P. Hwang & A. G. Broberg (Eds), Child care in context: Cross-cultural perspectives. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Bronfenbrenner, U. (1995). Development ecology through space and time: A future perspective. In: P. Moen, G. Elder & K. Luscher (Eds), Examining lives in context: Perspectives on the ecology of human development (pp. 619–647). Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Brown, B., Steinberg, L., Mounts, N., & Philipp, M. (1990). The comparative influence of peers and parents on high school achievement: Ethnic differences. In: Ethnic variations in adolescent experience. Symposium conducted at the biennial meeting of the Society for Research on Adolescence, Atlanta, Georgia. Cheney, L. (1993). Hard work, once as American as apple pie. Wall Street Journal, December 5. Coleman, J. (1961). Adolescent society: The social life of the teenager and its impact on education. New York: Free Press.

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Cooper, P., & Upton, G. (1990). An ecosystemic approach to emotional and behavioural difficulties in school. Educational Psychology, 10, 301–321. Covington, M. V. (1992). Making the grade: A self-worth perspective on motivation and school reform. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Damon, W. (1995). Greater expectations. New York: Free Press. Elliott, J. G., & Hufton, N. (2003). Achievement motivation in real contexts. In: L. Smith, C. Rogers, & P. Tomlinson (Eds), Development and motivation: Joint perspectives (pp. 155–172). Monograph Series II: Psychological Aspects of Education, British Journal of Educational Psychology. Leicester, UK: British Psychological Society. Elliott, J. G., Hufton, N., Hildreth, A., & Illushin, L. (1999). Factors influencing educational motivation: A study of attitudes, expectations and behaviour of children in Sunderland, Kentucky and St. Petersburg. British Educational Research Journal, 25, 75–94. Elliott, J. G., Hufton, N., Illushin, L., & Lauchlan, F. (2001). Motivation in the junior years: International perspectives on children’s attitudes, expectations and behaviour and their relationship to educational achievement. Oxford Review of Education, 27, 37–68. Elliott, J. G., Hufton, N., Willis, W., & Illushin, L. (2005). Motivation, engagement and educational performance: International perspectives on contexts for learning. London: Palgrave. Erasov, B. (1994). Social culturology, Part 2. Moscow: n.p. Garner, P. (1995). A special education? The experiences of newly qualifying teachers during initial training. British Educational Research Journal, 22, 155–164. Glowka, D. (1995). Schulen und unterricht im vergleich: Rusland/Deutschland [Schools and teaching in comparison: Russia and Germany]. New York: Waxmann Verlag. Harris, J. R. (1995). Where is the child’s environment? A group socialisation theory of development. Psychological Review, 102, 458–489. Harris, J. R. (1998). The nurture assumption: Why children turn out the way they do. New York: Touchstone Books. Holligan, C. (1997). Theory in initial teacher education: Students’ perspectives on its utility – a case study. British Educational Research Journal, 23, 533–551. Howley, C. B., Howley, A., & Pendarvis, E. D. (1995). Out of our minds: Anti-intellectualism and talent development in American schooling. New York: Teachers College Press. Hufton, N., & Elliott, J. G. (2000). Motivation to learn: The pedagogical nexus in the Russian school: Some implications for transnational research and policy borrowing. Educational Studies, 26, 115–136. Hufton, N., Elliott, J. G., & Illushin, L. (2002a). Motivation to learn: The elusive role of culture: Qualitative accounts from three countries. British Educational Research Journal, 28, 267–291. Hufton, N., Elliott, J. G., & Illushin, L. (2002b). Achievement motivation: Cross-cultural puzzles and paradoxes. In: J. Bempechat & J. Elliott (Eds), Learning in culture and context: Approaching the complexities of achievement motivation in student learning. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Hufton, N. R., Elliott, J. G., & Illushin, L. (2003). Teachers’ beliefs about student motivation: Similarities and differences across cultures. Comparative Education, 39, 367–389. Iartsev, D. V. (2000). Characteristics of the socialisation of today’s adolescent. Russian Education and Society, 42, 67–75. Kindermann, T. A. (1993). Natural peer groups as contexts for individual development: The case of children’s motivation in school. Developmental Psychology, 29, 970–977.


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Laihiala-Kainkainen, S. (1998). Russian pupils in Finnish schools – problems created by differences in pedagogical cultures. Paper presented at the European conference on Educational Research, Slovenia. Markowitz, F. (2000). Coming of age in post-Soviet Russia. Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Martin, M. O., & Mullis, I. V. (2000). International comparisons of student achievement: Perspectives from the TIMSS International Study Centre. In: D. Shorrocks-Taylor & E. W. Jenkins (Eds), Learning from others. London: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Muckle, J. (1990). Portrait of a Soviet school under glasnost. London: Macmillan. Muckle, J. (1998). Review article. (Schulen und Unterricht im Vergleich. By D. Glowka et al., Munster, NY: Waxmann Verlag, 1995.) Russian Education and Society, 16(1), 35–41. O’Brien, D. (2000). From Moscow: Living and teaching among Russians in the 1990s. Nottingham: Bramcote Press. OECD (2002). Education at a glance. Paris: OECD. OECD (2003). Literacy skills for the world of tomorrow: Further results from PISA 2000. Paris: OECD. OECD (2004). Learning for tomorrow’s world: First results from PISA 2003. Paris: OECD. Robson, G. (2000). ‘‘No one likes us, we don’t care’’: The myth and reality of Millwall fandom. New York: New York University Press. Sage, N. A., & Kindermann, T. A. (1999). Peer networks, behavior contingencies, and children’s engagement in the classroom. Merrill-Palmer Quarterly, 45, 143–171. Sedlak, M., Wheeler, C. W., Pullin, D. C., & Cusick, P. A. (1986). Selling students short: Classroom bargains and academic reform in the American high school. New York: Teachers College Press. Sellman, E., Bedward, J., Cole, T., & Daniels, H. (2002). Thematic review: A sociocultural approach to exclusion. British Educational Research Journal, 28, 889–900. Sergeev, S. A. (1999). Youth subcultures in the Republic. Russian Education and Society, 41(10), 74–91. Steinberg, L. (1996). Beyond the classroom: Why school reform has failed and what parents need to do. New York: Touchstone Books. Stetsenko, A. (2002). Adolescents in Russia: Surviving the turmoil and creating a brighter future. In: B. B. Brown, R. W. Larson & T. S. Saraswathi (Eds), The world’s youth: Adolescence in eight regions of the globe. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Tudge, J. R. H. (1991). Education of young children in the Soviet Union: Current practice in historical perspective. The Elementary School Journal, 92, 121–133. Wang, J., & Odell, S. J. (2002). Mentored learning to teach according to standards-based reform. Review of Educational Research, 72, 481–546. Wentzel, K. R., & Caldwell, K. (1997). Friendships, peer acceptance, and group membership: Relations to academic achievement in middle school. Child Development, 68, 1198–1209. Wilson, S. M., Floden, R. E., & Ferrini-Mundy, J. (2001). Teacher preparation research: Current knowledge, gaps, and recommendations (No. R-01-3). Seattle, WA: CTP.


READING COMPREHENSION INSTRUCTION FOR STUDENTS WITH LEARNING DISABILITIES Sheri Berkeley ABSTRACT Reading comprehension is a critical area of instruction for all students, but particularly for students with learning disabilities (LD) that impede their ability to understand what they read. This synthesis includes 30 intervention studies on reading comprehension for students with LD conducted in several countries and all regions of the United States. Specifically, the current review focuses on the efficacy of these strategies across grade levels, with various types of reading materials, and in conjunction with other instructional components that have potential to enhance instructional benefits to students. Results suggest that reading comprehension instruction is effective for improving the skills of this population.

Reading is a challenge for many students, but particularly for students who have learning disabilities (LD) that impact their acquisition of reading comprehension skills. In the United States alone, almost three million children are receiving special education services for specific LD (U.S. Department of Education, 2006). It is estimated that 80% of these students have difficulty in the area of reading (Jennings, Caldwell, & Lerner, 2006). International Perspectives Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 20, 79–99 Copyright r 2007 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(07)20004-7

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Early childhood is recognized as a critical time period for providing intensive reading intervention to students with LD and students at risk for LD (NICHD, 2000). The focus of reading instruction during these early grades predominately focuses on teaching students how to decode text. For this reason, interventions that focus on phonological awareness, phonics, and fluency for pre-kindergarten through 3rd grades have been researched extensively. However, despite large-scale efforts to remediate reading difficulties early (e.g., reading first initiative), over 1.5 million children with LD from 12 to 17 years of age continue to receive special education (U.S. Department of Education, 2006). Further, as students progress through the grades, expectations for students shift from ‘‘learning to read’’ to ‘‘reading to learn.’’ For example, by 4th grade, reading expository material to obtain content information is expected, and by high school, the majority of students’ instructional time is spent reading expository text (Barton, 1997; Hudson, Lignugaris-Kraft, & Miller, 1993; Saenz & Fuchs, 2002). Even mathematics instruction now teaches mathematical skills and concepts using an authentic word problem– solution approach which requires the ability to understand linguistic, semantic, and representational structures used in word problems (Bryant, Linan-Thompson, Ugel, Hamff, & Hougen, 2001; Mayer, 1992). In order to best meet the learning needs of students with LD of all ages, teachers need to be well informed about what strategies and instructional methods are effective for increasing the reading comprehension skills that students need to be successful with both narrative and expository texts.

PREVIOUS REVIEWS Several narrative reviews on the effectiveness of reading comprehension interventions for students with LD have been conducted (e.g., Gersten, Fuchs, Williams, & Baker, 2001; Kim, Vaughn, Wanzek, & Wei, 2004; Mastropieri, Scruggs, & Graetz, 2003; Vaughn, Gersten, & Chard, 2000b; Vaughn, Levy, Coleman, & Bos, 2002). Each of these reviews used unique inclusion criteria and organizational categories for identified studies. For example, one of the most recent of these (Gersten et al., 2001) focused on the effectiveness of various interventions when used with various types of text (i.e., narrative text, expository text). Another (Kim et al., 2004) focused on the effectiveness of graphic organizers. A narrative review by Mastropieri et al. (2003) focused on reading comprehension instruction for secondary students. Cumulatively, research has focused on many factors identified as adding to students’ reading

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difficulties related to comprehension of text including: strategic processing and metacognition, knowledge of common text structure (i.e., narrative text structure, expository text structure), vocabulary knowledge, appropriate use of background knowledge while reading, reading fluency, and active reading (Gersten et al., 2001). A strategy with potential for addressing task persistence, a final factor identified by Gersten et al. (2001), lies in teaching students to self-regulate their learning. Moreover, according to Vaughn et al. (2000b), ‘‘a comprehensive approach to strategy instruction that incorporates multiple strategies and uses peers to provide feedback represents the most promising instructional method for enhancing comprehension’’ (p. 105). Prior to these narrative reviews, a comprehensive overview of reading comprehension research with students with LD came from the Mastropieri, Scruggs, Bakken, and Whedon (1996) meta-analysis of 68 studies that spanned for two decades (1976–1995). This analysis found that the largest effects were attributed to cognitive strategies, such as summarizing, activating background knowledge, self-monitoring, and self-questioning. Other studies in this synthesis were categorized as skills training and reinforcement, or text enhancements. This chapter provides a descriptive evaluation of intervention studies with students with LD published in peer reviewed journals in the last 10 years by replicating the general intervention categories identified in 1996 by Mastropieri et al. (for a quantitative synthesis of these same studies, see Berkeley, Scruggs, & Mastropieri, 2007). Because of changes that have occurred in schools in the last decade, an increasing number of students are receiving special education services within the general education classroom. For this reason, this synthesis included not only students with LD, but also those in which some of the subjects were identified with other high-incidence disabilities or as ‘‘at risk.’’ In addition, this review will look not only at the overall efficacy of different types of interventions for improving the reading comprehension of students, but also the efficacy of these strategies across grade levels, with various types of reading material, and in conjunction with other instructional components that have potential to enhance instructional benefits to students.

METHOD Search Procedures The PsychINFO, ERIC, Expanded Academic, and Social Sciences Citation Index online databases were used to locate studies using combinations of the

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key words: reading disabilities, LD, reading comprehension, and strategies. Ancestry searches were conducted of both identified studies and several other literature reviews concerning reading comprehension and students with LD in reading. Professional journals were systematically scanned for additional relevant studies including the following: Exceptional Children, Journal of Special Education, Learning Disabilities Research and Practice, Learning Disability Quarterly, Journal of Learning Disabilities, Remedial and Special Education, and Education and Treatment of Children.

Criteria for Inclusion Studies were included in this review if the following conditions were met (1) the study was published in a peer reviewed journal between 1995 and 2005, (2) the study was written in English, (3) subjects in the study were between kindergarten and grade 12, (4) subjects were identified as having high-incidence disabilities such as LD, mild mental retardation, emotional disabilities, or other health impairments, (5) at least half of the students identified as having high-incidence disabilities had LD, (6) the study specified reading comprehension outcomes, and (7) data reported was disaggregated for subjects with disabilities. Students described as reading disabled or dyslexic were considered synonymous to learning disabled for the purposes of this synthesis. ‘‘Struggling readers’’ were included in the data set if, and only if, data for this population could not be separated from special education outcome data and where this subgroup made up less than a third of the number of special education subjects. Studies that focused on characteristics of students with LD in the area of reading were not included in this synthesis (e.g., Carr & Thompson, 1996), nor were studies that used single-subject designs (e.g., Gardill & Jitendra, 1999).

FINDINGS Thirty studies between 1995 and 2005 met the search criteria. Interventions that used questioning strategies were the most prevalent, followed by text enhancement interventions, and interventions that focused on basic skills. Further, several of the studies included instruction designed to promote students’ self-regulation of learning. In addition, almost half of the studies had some type of peer component. Although the same number of


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interventions were conducted with younger students (15 studies) and older students (15 students), because the nature of instruction at the elementary school and secondary school levels are quite different, studies for each type of intervention are presented under these broad categories (see also Tables 1 and 2).

Strategy Instruction Two-thirds of all of the studies reviewed here (total 20) dealt with strategy instruction or questioning. Many programs for teaching reading comprehension strategies used a combination of the following strategies: activating background knowledge, making predications, summarizing or identifying the main idea of information read, using knowledge of text structure conventions, mapping or taking notes on information read, using strategies to develop vocabulary, and questioning and self-correction strategies. Many times, mnemonic strategies were used to help students remember the steps to the strategies being taught. In addition, comprehension strategies were often combined with fluency building instruction such as word identification skills and partner reading with corrective feedback. Further, several studies used peer assisted learning (47%) or to a lesser extent, instruction to promote the self-regulation of learning by students (20%). Questioning or Strategy Instruction with Younger Students One identified study involved teacher-led questioning for teaching 4th grade students to identify character motive (Rabren, Darch, & Eaves, 1999). Specifically, explicit rule-based instruction of strategies, based on the Direct Instruction Model, was compared to activity-based instruction developed from basal reading programs. The explicit instruction group outperformed the activity-based group on all criterion reference measures including story retells and unit tests. No differences were found, however, on transfer or maintenance measures. Self-Regulation. Three studies incorporated components of self-regulation in instruction with narrative text (Johnson, Graham, & Harris, 1997) or expository text (Miranda, Villaescusa, & Vidal-Abarca, 1997; MansetWilliamson & Nelson, 2005). Story Grammar Marker is a method designed to aid comprehension by teaching students to identify story structure using the following strategies: (1) write and say story parts, (2) read and think, (3) remember and write, and (4) look back and check. In 1997, Johnson

Study

Grade

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Table 1.

Elementary School Studies.

Setting

Text

Basic Skills Training Burns and Kondrick (1998)/ Washington State

2nd to 4th one-to-one

Narrative

Parent

Oakland et al. (1998)/Texas

4th

Rankhorn et al. (1998)/ Southwest U.S.

3rd to 5th Classroom

Both

Teacher/Peers >8 weeks Peer assisted learning strategies (PALS) Partner reading with retell Paragraph summary Prediction relay Researcher 5–8 weeks Self-regulated strategy development (SRSD) Goal setting (GS) Self-instruction (SI)

Torgesen, Alexander, Wanger, 4th Rashotte, Voeller, and Conway (2001)/Florida

one-to-one

one-to-one

Johnson et al. (1997)/ Washington, D.C.

Duration

Treatment/Alternate Treatment

5–8 weeks Parent administered reading therapy program (RTP) Single-word reading Paragraph reading Story reading Unreported Teachers/ 2 years Dyslexia training program (DTP) Phonic skills for reading and spelling Technology Narrative Teacher >8 weeks Failure free reading program Repetition Sentence structure Story content Both Teacher >8 weeks Auditory discrimination in-depth program (ADD) Phonemic awareness Self-monitoring Embedded phonics (EP) Explicit phonics

4th to 6th Small group Narrative

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Questioning and Strategy Instruction Fuchs et al. (1997)/Southern 2nd to 6th Classroom U.S.

Delivery

Rabren et al. (1999)/ Southeast U.S. Saenz et al. (2005)/Texas Stevens and Slavin (1995)/ Maryland Van Den Bos, Brand-Gruwel, and Aarnoutse (1998) – study 1/The Netherlands

Tutors

5–8 weeks Explicit comprehension Guided reading Researcher >8 weeks Self-instruction (SI) SI plus attribution (ATT) 4th Small group Narrative Teacher 1–2 weeks Explicit rule-based instruction Basal-reader/activity approach 3rd to 6th Classroom Both Teacher/Peers 3–4 weeks PALS 2nd to 6th Classroom Unreported Teachers/Peers 2 years Cooperative elementary schools Small group Expository

Graduate students/ Peers

Van Den Bos et al. (1998) – study 2/The Netherlands

Small group Expository

Vaughn et al. 3rd (2000a)/location unreported

Classroom

Expository

Graduate students/ Peers Teacher/Peers >8 weeks Collaborative strategic reading (CSR) Prediction Vocabulary Main idea Summarization Partner reading

4th to 6th Classroom

Expository

Text Enhancements Xin and Rieth (2001)/ Southeast U.S.

Teacher

>8 weeks Direct instruction (DI)+strategy reciprocal teaching (SRT) Clarifying Question generation Summarizing Predicting 1–2 weeks DI+RT


Manset-Williamson and 4th to 8th one-to-one Expository Nelson (2005)/Midwest U.S. Miranda et al. (1997)/Spain 5th & 6th Small group Expository

5–8 weeks Video vocabulary instruction

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Study

Grade

Questioning and Strategy Instruction Bakken et al. (1997)/ 8th Midwest U.S. Bryant et al. (2000)/ 6th Southwest U.S.

Setting

Secondary School Studies. Text

Delivery

one-to-one

Expository

Researcher

Classroom

Both

Teacher/Peers


Unreported Teacher

Fuchs et al. (1999)/ Southeast U.S. Jitendra et al. (2000)/ Northeast U.S. Katims and Harris (1997)/ Texas


Narrative

Teacher/Peers

6th to 8th Small group Both

Researcher

7th

Teacher

Expository

Duration

Treatment/Alternate Treatment

o1 week

Text structure-based strategy Summarization strategy 3–4 weeks Word identification (DISSECT) Partner reading CSR >8 weeks Linguistics skills training (LST) Phonetics Phenomenology Morphology English orthography PALS Saxon phonics intervention (SPI) Decoding skills Spelling vocabulary Reading fluency Reading comprehension Skill acquisition program (SRA) Individually read story Independently answer comprehension questions >8 weeks PALS 3–4 weeks Main idea strategy Self-monitoring 5–8 weeks RAP – Paraphrasing strategy

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Calhoon (2005)/ Southwest U.S.

Classroom

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Table 2.


Teachers/Peers

Lovett et al. (1996)/Canada

7th


Teachers/Peers

Mastropieri et al. (1996)/ Midwest U.S. Mastropieri et al. (2001)/ Midwest U.S.

7th & 8th

one-to-one

Expository

Researcher

7th

Classroom

Expository

Teacher/Peers

7th & 8th

Classroom

Narrative

Teacher/Peers

Williams (1998)/New York Text Enhancements Boyle (1996)/Kansas Dicecco and Gleason (2002)/ Oregon MacArthur and Haynes (1995)/Maryland Peverly and Wood (2001)/ Northeast U.S.

5–8 weeks SRT Cross-age tutoring vs. cooperative grouping 5–8 weeks Text content and structure (TCS) program Activating prior knowledge Elaborating information Mapping main ideas Analysis of text structure SRT o1 week Elaborative interrogation 5–8 weeks Peer Tutoring Partner reading Paragraph summary 3–4 weeks Theme instruction (with guided reading approach)

6th to 8th Small group Unreported Researcher 6th to 8th Small group Expository Teacher

3–4 weeks Cognitive mapping strategy (TRAVEL) 3–4 weeks Graphic organizers

9th & 10th one-to-one

o1 week

Expository

9th to 11th Small group Narrative

Teacher/ Technology Researcher


Klingner and Vaughn (1996)/ 7th & 8th Florida

Student assistant for learning from text (SALT) Hypermedia reading aid 5–8 weeks Inserted questions Massed questions (at end) Feedback (answers given)

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et al. reported that using self-regulated strategy development (SRSD) to teach 4th, 5th, and 6th grade students to regulate their use of this strategy resulted in statistically significant increases on main ideas, total details, and grammar marker assessments as well as maintenance of retelling skills. Goal setting, however, did not enhance student outcomes. The contribution of attribution retraining to reading comprehension outcomes for 60 children with LD was investigated in 1997 by Miranda and colleagues. Both LD experimental groups, one with self-regulation procedures plus attribution retraining and a second with self-regulation procedures only, scored as well as a normal achieving control group on a reading comprehension post-test while significant differences remained with an LD control group. Additional benefits were not demonstrated with the attribution retraining component. Manset-Williamson and Nelson (2005) also investigated self-regulation procedures. Specifically they examined the effects of phonemic awareness/ analysis, decoding and fluency combined with explicit instruction in reading comprehension and self-regulatory strategies (PDF/EC) compared to phonemic awareness/analysis, decoding and fluency instruction combined with guided reading (PDF/GR). Like studies that only included basic skills components, this study used random assignment with one-to-one instruction. While both groups made progress on comprehension measures, neither demonstrated significant gains on near transfer and only the PDF/EC group demonstrated significant gains on far transfer. When methods were compared, the explicit comprehension condition outperformed the guided reading condition on both oral retell quality and main-idea identification. Peers. Two studies investigated the effects of peer assisted learning strategies (PALS) with a combination of narrative and expository texts (Fuchs, Fuchs, Mathes, & Simmons, 1997; Saenz, Fuchs, & Fuchs, 2005). PALS have three primary components: partner reading with retell, paragraph shrinking, and prediction relay (i.e., predict, reread, confirm/disconfirm prediction, and summarize). In 1997, Fuchs et al. investigated the effects of PALS with 40 students with LD in grades 2–6. The comprehensive reading assessment battery (CRAB) was used to measure effects. LD students made significantly more progress than the students in the comparison group with a small effect size (.22). In another study, Saenz et al. (2005) investigated the effects of PALS with 20 LD students in grades 3–6. Although large effects were reported for LD students based on the criterion referenced measure, CRAB, it should be noted that these effects were inflated by the fact that students in the LD control group regressed at all post-test measures.


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Three other elementary studies utilized peers in instruction. In 1998, Van Den Bos, Brand-Gruwel, and Aarnoutse reported on a pair of studies involving a combination of direct instruction and reciprocal teaching of auditorily presented informative texts. The strategies that students were taught to use while reading were: (1) clarifying, (2) question generation, (3) summarizing, and (4) prediction. In the first study, 95 students with LD were identified as normal listeners or poor listeners and assigned to the experimental or control group. The results showed that students who were taught comprehension strategies for material read to them performed better on both strategic listening and reading comprehension tests at post-testing and a 3 month delayed post-testing. Following similar procedures, a second study was conducted with listening, reading, and combined listening and reading lessons. Again, the treatment group showed significant growth on strategic listening and reading post-tests, but not on the maintenance measure. Further, students in neither study demonstrated transfer to a general reading comprehension test. Peers were also used in instruction to investigate the effects of collaborative strategic reading (CSR) with 16 subjects with LD (Vaughn et al., 2000a). Like PALS, CSR uses a component of basic skills instruction in addition to strategy instruction. In addition, CSR incorporates peer learning, however, students work in small groups as opposed to pairs. The key steps of this program are: (1) activating prior knowledge or ‘‘preview,’’ (2) vocabulary building or ‘‘click and clunk,’’ (3) identifying the main idea or ‘‘get the gist,’’ and (4) summarization or ‘‘wrap up.’’ Effects on reading comprehension were small (.04). In a more general investigation of the effects of using peers, Stevens and Slavin (1995) conducted an year long study involving cooperative learning in an elementary school. Benefits for LD students on reading comprehension after the first year were not significant. The authors attributed this lack of progress to scheduling of services for these students. After restructuring in the second year that ensured: (a) students with disabilities were integrated on heterogeneous learning teams, (b) group goals were created based in individual accountability, and (c) special education teachers were scheduled to provide additional support in regular classroom settings, authors report gains with an effect size of .85 for students with LD. Questioning or Strategy Instruction with Older Students Two identified studies involved teacher-led questioning. The first study (Mastropieri et al., 1996) was a series of questions designed to help promote active thinking about expository text in students with LD. The authors

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reported that students in the elaborative interrogation condition were more accurate in their explanations of the content and better able to explain underlying relationships than students in a control condition that were prompted to ‘‘try to remember.’’ Students were not, however, better able to recall facts. The second teacher-led intervention (Williams, 1998) was similar to a more traditional guided reading approach to teaching students how to identify story themes. The teacher led a pre-reading discussion, reading of the story, discussion of the important story information, identification of the theme of the story, and practicing and applying the generalized theme. Students in the theme instruction group outperformed the traditional instruction group on a criterion-referenced measure with several items related to stories explicitly taught, but not on items of near or far transfer. Strategy instruction was the focus of a 1997 study conducted by Bakken et al. They used an experimental design with 1:1 instruction to investigate the effects of teaching students strategies for specific text structures commonly found in expository texts: main idea, list, and order. Results with 54 8th grade students showed very strong effects for the text structure-based condition compared to both the control and the paragraph restatement alternate treatment condition across measures for immediate, delayed, and transfer tests. Self-Regulation. Although the expectation that students will be independent in their learning increases as they progress through the grades, only two studies with older students incorporated components of self-regulation in instruction (Katims & Harris, 1997; Jitendra, Hoppes, & Xin, 2000). Using both narrative and expository text, 207 7th grade students with and without disabilities were taught to self-regulate the strategy steps to the RAP strategy (Katims & Harris, 1997). The mnemonic to this strategy represented the following steps: (1) read a paragraph, (2) ask yourself questions about the main ideas and details, and (3) put the main ideas and details in your own words using complete sentences. All students were taught in an inclusive setting with differentiation of instructional intensity. The findings showed that students in the intervention group outperformed the control group on reading comprehension performance. However, disaggregating the results for the 25 participating LD students showed that these students did not make statistically significant improvement, perhaps indicating that these students needed more intensive instruction. Jitendra et al. (2000) investigated the effects of a main idea strategy with self-monitoring using a combination of narrative and expository text. They


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found that students in the intervention group were better able to identify main ideas than a control group both immediately after intervention and after a delay of 6 weeks. In addition, the intervention group outperformed the control on a selection response transfer test, but not on production response transfer measures. Peers. The majority of questioning or strategy instruction interventions utilized peers. In 1999, Fuchs, Fuchs, and Kazdan again used a similar quasi-experimental design to investigate the effects of PALS with 74 high school students with LD. Although students in the PALS condition outperformed students in a contrast classroom on reading comprehension measures, the authors report only a modest effect size of .34. In 2005, Calhoon looked at the efficacy of PALS in combination with the linguistics skills training (LST) program. LST focuses on teaching phonology skills including phonetics, phonology, morphology, and English orthography. Findings showed that the LST/Pals group made significant growth in comprehension when compared to the comparison group, Saxon Phonics. Bryant et al. (2000) also investigated the effects of CSR using a pre-/postdesign with a middle school team where strategies for decoding multisyllable words (DISSECT), fluency (partner reading), and comprehension CSR were taught to students in each of their core classes. Outcomes were not significant and effect sizes were small. These findings may be a reflection of a need for a more intensive intervention for LD students. One study (Lovett et al., 1996) reported significant gains on several standardized measures of comprehension and generalization of skills with the text content and structure (TCS) program. This strategy incorporated the following activities: (1) activating prior knowledge, (2) elaborating of text information, (3) mapping main ideas from the text, and (4) an analysis of the text structure. This program was found to have significantly superior results compared to a classroom survival skills (CSS) program control condition. Klingner and Vaughn (1996) also investigated the effects of using peers in instruction. Specifically, they investigated the different effects of using crossage tutors compared to same age peers for reciprocal teaching. The strategies used in reciprocal teaching are as follows: (1) predict, (2) brainstorm, (3) clarify words and phrases, (4) highlight main idea, (5) summarize main idea, and (6) ask and answer questions about the passage. There were no differences found between the two grouping conditions, however both groups showed improvement from pre-test to post-test.

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Less elaborate classwide peer tutoring strategies have also been found to be effective. In 2001, Mastropieri et al. investigated partner reading with summarization strategy using expository text for 24 7th grade subjects with LD or mild mental retardation (MMR). Students in the tutoring condition outperformed the control condition on the reading comprehension post-test measure. Overall Effects of Questioning or Strategy Instruction The majority of the elementary school studies investigated questioning strategies with expository text. All but one of the studies involving older students investigated questioning strategies with middle school students. Like the elementary school studies, the majority of these studies utilized expository text. General findings demonstrate that comprehension strategies training can be effective for increasing the reading comprehension in students with disabilities.

Text Enhancements Another type of reading comprehension intervention commonly studied is text enhancements such as graphic organizers and adjunct questions. In the time parameters of this review, one study looked at video enhancements for text, two studies were found that looked at graphic organizers, and one was found that focused on the effective use of adjunct questions. Graphic organizers are visual displays such as story maps and charts that are designed to assist students in organizing major concepts and details of information that they read. Adjunct questions are questions that accompany text aimed to assist students in attending to key concepts while reading. Text Enhancements in the Younger Grades One elementary school study investigated the effects of video vocabulary instruction as an enhancement to text (Xin & Rieth, 2001). Seven special education teachers and 76 children with LD participated in this 6-week study. There was no evidence of an interaction effect for instructional condition and testing time for either criterion referenced measure of comprehension. Text Enhancements in the Upper Grades Two studies investigated the effects of graphic organizers. One that investigated cognitive mapping (Boyle, 1996) for narrative texts found effective results measured by informal and curriculum-based measures, but these


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skills were not found to generalize to standardized test measures. A second study by DiCecco and Gleason (2002) studied the effects of graphic organizers for expository text and found similar gains based on informal measures. Standardized assessment measures were not used in this study, however graphic organizers were found to cause greater gains on post-test scores than traditional guided notes. Two studies investigated text enhancements with high-school-aged students. One study (Peverly & Wood, 2001) investigated the effects of question placement and feedback on comprehension. This study focused on 9th, 10th, and 11th grade students with LD. Results indicate that inserted questions resulted in more comprehension gains than massed questions, and that inserted questions with feedback resulted in more gains in comprehension than inserted questions without feedback. MacArthur and Haynes (1995) looked at enhanced passages using the hypermedia reading aid: student assistant for learning from text (SALT) with students in grades 9 and 10. In addition to including all parts of a traditional text (such as graphics, chapter outlines, and questions) this system can integrate supplementary text, graphics, and video. Reading comprehension was higher for students who used SALT compared to those who read a traditional textbook. Overall Effectiveness of Text Enhancements Only one elementary level study investigated text enhancements, and only three studies in the upper grades dealt with text enhancements; both were at the high school level. The use of text enhancements seems to be a promising tool for improving reading comprehension for students with disabilities.

Basic Skills Training Basic skills approaches to reading comprehension instruction developed from the premise that if student skills are improved, they will be able to focus more attention to understanding what they read (Mastropieri & Scruggs, 1997). Compared to 20 studies from 1976 to 1995 dealing with the effectiveness of basic skills approaches to instruction for students with LD (Mastropieri et al., 1996), fewer studies dealing with instruction of specific skills were located between 1995 and the present. All of these studies were conducted at the early elementary level and evaluated the effectiveness of packaged programs that targeted phonological and auditory skills, and/or word identification skills.

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Basic Skills Interventions with Younger Students In 1998, Burns and Konrick investigated the effects of parent implementation of the Behavioral Reading Therapy Program for 10 s in 3rd and 4th grade students who were identified as LD or as struggling readers. This program included single word reading, paragraph reading, story reading, and comprehension questions based on narrative text. Compared to pre-test performance, students made significant gains on the word comprehension subtest of the Woodcock Reading Mastery Test-Revised after both 34 and 60 h of one-to-one reading therapy. Another study investigated the effects of the failure free reading program with 39 students with severe reading disabilities (Rankhorn, England, Collins, Lockavitch, & Algozzine, 1998). Components of this program included: (a) using age-appropriate materials, (b) promoting independent reading, and (c) using repetition, consistency, and immediate feedback. Students were required to preview a story, listen to the story being read, present content from the story, and read and review the story. This study also used a pre-/post-design and found the most substantial gains on the measure of reading comprehension. Torgesen et al. (2001) used both narrative and expository text in a comparison of the auditory discrimination in depth (ADD) program designed to improve reading skills by teaching phonemic awareness via articulatory cues, and the embedded phonics (EP) program that used direct instruction to teach phonemic decoding strategies. Sixty LD students in the 4th grade received one-to-one instruction for a period of 8–9 weeks. Although the EP group outscored the ADD group on all norm referenced reading comprehension post-test measures, the ADD group made statistically higher gain scores than the EP group on the same measures. At both the 1 and 2 year follow-up assessments, student scores continued to increase significantly on one of the standard measures, but did not change on a second standard measure of comprehension. Forty-eight students with dyslexia participated in a study that investigated the effects of the dyslexia training program (DTP), based on the Orton-Gillingham approach, compared to a control group (Oakland, Black, Stanford, Nussbaum, & Balise, 1998). Students were taught one-to-one either by the teacher or by video during this 2-year study. A phonology sequence of procedures was used with choral reading, listening, reading, spelling, and writing. Researchers reported significant gains for students in the DTP group over 2 years, but not for the control group. Additionally, there were no differences in performance for students taught by a teacher compared to those taught via video.


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Overall Effectiveness of Basic Skills Training for Comprehension Mirroring the typical elementary school curriculum, studies focused on basic skills training of phonological awareness and/or phonetic skills. Each of these studies utilized packaged intervention programs and seemed to have a positive impact on student comprehension. Use of the programs may be limited, however, especially for students in upper grades, due to the low student to teacher ratio required for implementation. Prior reviews of the literature for reading comprehension suggest that specific comprehension strategies may be a more effective method for improving reading comprehension skills (Mastropieri & Scruggs, 1997). In fact, as reflected in this review far more studies in the last decade have addressed strategy instruction than basic skills training.

CONCLUSIONS Like previous reviews of research on instruction of reading comprehension (e.g., Gersten et al., 2001; Mastropieri et al., 1996), this synthesis also reveals that reading comprehension interventions seem to be an effective approach for students with LD. The largest number of intervention studies used expository text with self-questioning or combinations of strategies. Consistent with the findings of Mastropieri et al. (1996), strategies that incorporated some type of self-questioning were effective overall. Because results were inconsistent in some cases, more research is needed with these types of interventions to identify specifically what components of multiple strategies programs are effective and under what instructional conditions. As reading becomes more challenging, it becomes even more important that students persist in their efforts to understand what they read. Two instructional areas suggested in previous literature (e.g., Gersten et al., 2001) as having promise for influencing student persistence are utilizing peer tutoring and self-regulation. Studies over the last 10 years that incorporated a peer component, however, did not consistently produce large effects in the area of reading comprehension. This indicates that it is important that future studies continue to focus on determining the components of peer tutoring arrangements that create the greatest gains for students. Fewer than 25% of the studies discussed in this review had self-regulation components. Further, detailed descriptions of factors such as the amount of modeling, practice, and prompting used were often not reported making it unclear how explicit instruction needs to be to produce self-regulation by students with LD. This should also be a focus of future research.

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With only one text enhancement study occurring at the elementary school level, it is difficult to make comparisons between effects for younger and older students. However, the use of technology to enhance text seems quite promising. With the increase of technology in public schools and in society in general, technology has become an important resource for instruction. More research is needed to determine the most effective ways to use these resources to enhance student learning. The same can be said for research involving the use of graphic organizers and adjunct questions. It is not surprising that basic skills interventions only occurred at the elementary school level, as this is when students are typically taught basic reading skills. Because each of the interventions were delivered in a oneto-one setting, it cannot be determined if less intensive interventions or interventions implemented in small groups within classroom settings by classroom teachers would have the same impact on comprehension. In 1996, Mastropieri et al. found that only a small minority of studies were delivered by classroom teachers in regular classrooms or large group settings. In the past 10 years, this has begun to change. The number of studies where teachers delivered the treatment was almost the same as the number of studies where researchers delivered the treatment, and almost half of the studies reported here were conducted in a large group or general classroom setting. It is important to note that within the broad category of secondary interventions, only three studies conducted with high school students met the criteria to be included in this review. There is a need for more classroom-based interventions at the high school level particularly in regular classrooms and large group settings where an increasing number of students with LD are receiving instruction.

REFERENCES Bakken, J. P., Mastropieri, M. A., & Scruggs, T. E. (1997). Reading comprehension of expository science materials and students with learning disabilities: A comparison of strategies. Journal of Special Education, 31, 300–325. Barton, M. L. (1997). Addressing the literacy crisis: Teaching reading in the content areas. National Association of Secondary School Principals, 81, 22–30. Berkeley, S., Scruggs, T. E., & Mastropieri, M. A. (2007). An updated synthesis of intervention research on reading comprehension for LD students (1995–2005). Paper presented at the American Education Research Association National Convention, Chicago, IL. Fairfax, VA: George Mason University. Boyle, J. R. (1996). The effects of cognitive mapping strategy of the literal and inferential comprehension of student with mild disabilities. Learning Disability Quarterly, 12, 86–99.


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GOAL ORIENTATIONS AND CLASSROOM GOAL STRUCTURES AS PREDICTORS OF CLASSROOM BEHAVIORS FOR GREEK STUDENTS WITH AND WITHOUT LEARNING DIFFICULTIES: CLARIFYING THE DIFFERENTIAL ROLE OF MOTIVATIONAL ORIENTATIONS Georgios D. Sideridis ABSTRACT Goal orientations and classroom goal structures proved to be highly predictive of classroom-related behaviors and academic achievement. The purpose of the present study was to predict students’ classroom behaviors from goal orientations and classroom goal structures and compare those predictions across students with and without learning problems. Participants were 209 typical students and 18 students with learning International Perspectives Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 20, 101–137 Copyright r 2007 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(07)20005-9

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difficulties/disabilities (LD). Individual goal orientations and perceptions of classrooms’ goal structures were assessed using self-reports. Student behaviors were assessed over five consecutive days during school hours. Using Multilevel Random Coefficient Modeling (MRCM) procedures, results indicated that mastery approach goals and a mastery goal structure were positive predictors of positive affect, student engagement and students’ perceptions of reinforcement from teachers. Mastery avoidance goals were a negative predictor of positive affective states and a positive predictor of both negative affective states and perceptions of punishment. Last, performance approach goals and a performance goal structure exerted deleterious effects on students’ positive classroom behaviors, particularly for students with LD. When matching mastery goals with a mastery goal structure, effects were significantly more pronounced, and in the desired direction, compared to the matching of performance goals with a performance goal structure. Implications of the findings for practice are discussed.

Predicting students’ classroom behaviors from personal (student) and contextual (classroom) characteristics may be associated with enhancements in student achievement, through modifying those attributes. In particular, the interplay between personal–motivational characteristics a student brings to school along with the contextual–motivational characteristics he/she encounters may explain students’ engagement, affect, and achievement at school. This interactionist’s perspective may be well understood within the context of achievement goal theory (Dweck & Leggett, 1988; Nicholls, 1984), particularly as extended in the examination of classroom motivational structures in relation to student self-regulation in academic contexts (Ames, 1992; Ghaith, 2003; Howes, 2000; Karabenick, 2004; Maehr & Anderman, 1993; Pierce, 1994), or even students’ mental health (Somersalo, Solantaus, & Almqvist, 2002).

ACHIEVEMENT GOAL THEORY Goal theory originated with the pioneering work of Dweck (1986), Nicholls (1984), Ames (1992), and later Elliot and Harackiewicz (1996), and Pintrich (2000). The major theses of goal theory are that an individual brings to an achievement situation a set of cognitive schemas regarding appraisals, goals,

Goal Orientations and Classroom Goal Structures

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emotions, and expectations (termed goal orientations). Originally, there were two specific mindsets, those reflecting a person’s attempts to conquer the environment through demonstrating his/her competence over others (termed a performance goal orientation) or one’s attempts to perform a task based on self-referential standards of success and in the absence of comparing his/her performance with that of others; rather performing a task out of the pleasure and joy the task brings to the person (termed a mastery goal orientation). Since then, these two patterns of thought have been bifurcated into approach and avoidance components (Elliot & Harackiewicz, 1996; Elliot & McGregor, 2001), that is, attempts to avoid being one of the worst students/participants (a performance avoidance orientation) or attempts to avoid performing less than one could possibly perform, given personal standards of success (a mastery avoidance orientation). Although the latter construct has received little attention (Elliot & McGregor, 2001), some empirical evidence has pointed to its existence (Elliot & Reis, 2003), although alternative views do exist (Brophy, 2005; Grant & Dweck, 2003).

Empirical Findings for Typical Students and Students with Learning Disabilities Research with typical student groups has provided unequivocal findings regarding the regulation that is the outcome from adopting various goals. For example, mastery approach goals have oftentimes been positively linked to achievement (through cognitive engagement, Greene & Miller, 1996), deep processing of information (Barker, McInerney, & Dowson, 2002), effort and persistence (Miller, Greene, Montalvo, Ravidran, & Nichols, 1996), positive affect (Kaplan & Maehr, 1999), help seeking (Ryan, 1998), self-efficacy (Kaplan & Maehr, 1999), and with a mastery goal structure (Kaplan & Maehr, 1999; Roeser, Midgley, & Urdan, 1996). On the contrary, performance approach goals have, at times, been positively linked to disruptive classroom behaviors (Kaplan, Gheen, & Midgley, 2002), self-handicapping (Urdan, 2004), negative affective states (Kaplan & Maehr, 1999), shallow processing of information during task engagement (Greene & Miller, 1996), lack in using cognitive strategies (Ames & Archer, 1988; Meece, Blumenfeld & Hoyle, 1988), but also enhanced effort/persistence (Elliot, McGregor, & Gable, 1999) and grades (Barron & Harackiewicz, 2003; Harackiewicz, Barron, Pintrich, Elliot, & Thrash, 2002a). Since the bifurcation of performance goals into approach and avoidance components (Elliot & Harackiewicz, 1996), the negative effects of performance goals have been

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mostly ‘‘loading’’ on its avoidance component, that is, performance avoidance goal orientations (Sideridis, 2003, 2005a) highlighting problems in selfregulation from adopting these goals (Middleton & Midgley, 1997). Others, however, maintain that performance approach goals are still maladaptive (Midgley, Kaplan, & Middleton, 2001; Kaplan & Middleton, 2002). For students with LD, much fewer studies have been conducted on goal orientations (e.g., Carlson, Booth, Shin, & Canu, 2002; Fulk, Brigham, & Lohman, 1998; Lepola, 2004; Pintrich, Anderman, & Klobucar, 1994), although motivation has been long considered an important attribute for their future academic success (Adelman & Taylor, 1983) and effective selfregulation (Botsas & Padeliadu, 2003). Most of the studies indicate low levels of motivation for at-risk students, those with LD, or ADHD (e.g., Bouffard & Couture, 2003; Dunn & Shapiro, 1999). However, one major difference between the two populations has been on the fact that performance approach goals appear to be highly more adaptive for at-risk students regarding effort and academic achievement outcomes (Sideridis, 2003, 2005b, 2005d, in press; Sideridis & Tsorbatzoudis, 2003). This consistent finding suggests that motivation, even in the form of performance goals, may be more adaptive for students with learning problems compared to the absence of any motivational configuration. Alternatively, this finding suggests that performance goals are much more precious for low achievers and, creating a mindset to attain these goals (Brooks, 2004, 2005) may be associated with more adaptive achievement and behavioral outcomes compared to their absence. Nevertheless, the empirical findings for students with LD are much more variable, given the heterogeneity of the population (Kavale & Forness, 1987) and the fact that small, idiosyncratic groups of students participate in different studies, limiting generalization of the findings to the respective population.

ACHIEVEMENT GOAL THEORY AND CLASSROOM GOAL STRUCTURES A recent extension of achievement goal theory has been the application of those motivational ‘‘descriptions’’ in the classroom (Eisenberger, Kuhlman, & Cotterell, 1992; Fuchs, Bahr, & Rieth, 1989; Midgley, 2002; Turner, Meyer, & Sweinle, 2003; Young, 1997). That is, does teaching or the motivational discourse exerted by the teacher contains elements of mastery or performance goals? Wolters (2004) defined goal structures as descriptions of the prevailing instructional practices, policies, and teacher behaviors.


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Earlier, Ames (1992) provided a taxonomy of student behaviors and classroom characteristics that define goal structures using the acronym TARGET (for task, authority, recognition, grouping, evaluation, and time; see Maehr & Midgley, 1991 for an analytic presentation). Others have termed a classroom’s motivational discourse as the ‘‘psychological environment’’ (Roeser et al., 1996) or school climate (Andersen, 1982). Earlier studies contributed data regarding the two major components of goal structures, namely cooperation and competition, which have been also based on the intrinsic–extrinsic motivational distinction (see also Deci, 1971; Harter, 1981; Lepper, Corpus, & Iyengar, 2005). For example, Johnson, Johnson, and Tauer (1979) reported that cooperative structures were more adaptive with regard to students’ perceptions of teacher and peer support compared to competitive goal structures. Crockenberg, Bryant, and Wilce (1976) reported similar results with younger children. They found that when competitive structures were combined with winning, students perceived those structures as more fun, less boring, more fair, more pleasant, and evaluated themselves higher compared to nonwinners in either motivational structure. More recent research tended to replicate those findings (Rawsthorne & Elliot, 1999; Tauer & Harackiewicz, 1999). Collectively, these findings comprise a basis on which to expand the taxonomy of motivational discourse by including more elements of mastery and performance goal structures.

Empirical Findings on the Effects of Classroom Goal Structures on Students’ Regulation of Academic Behaviors and Achievement Several recent studies shed light on the regulation of student behaviors as a function of the presence of different motivational discourses in those classrooms. For example, Karabenick (2004) linked a mastery goal structure with students’ help-seeking behavior, after controlling for personal goal orientations (similar findings were reported by Linnenbrink, 2005). Performance goal structures, on the contrary, have been implicated with avoidance in help-seeking behaviors (Abreton, 1998; Ryan, 1998; Ryan, Gheen, & Midgley, 1998) and disruptive behavior in the class (Kaplan et al., 2002). Performance avoidant goal structures have also been associated with avoidance in help seeking (Karabenick, 2004). Church, Elliot, and Gable (2001) linked performance goal structures to harsh evaluation and a general focus on evaluation, whereas a mastery goal structure with lecture engagement and an absence of an evaluation focus. Kaplan and Midgley (1999)

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linked a mastery goal structure to adaptive coping, self-efficacy, and positive affect (see also Kaplan, Middleton, Urdan, & Midgley, 2002). Urdan (2004) presented associations between performance goal structures and selfhandicapping, both directly and through performance avoidance goals (see also Urdan, Midgley, & Anderman, 1998). Last, Wolters (2004) linked a mastery goal structure to grades and strategy use, although the effects were more pronounced when taking into account the presence of a mastery goal orientation, suggesting the presence of the buffering hypothesis (Linnenbrink, 2005, see the section ‘‘Matching versus Buffering Hypothesis’’ given below). Another contribution to the extant literature emerged from sports contexts (Xiang, Bruene, & McBride, 2004) for which applications of performance goal structures, in particular, may be easier to demonstrate (Solmon, 1996). For example, Raschle, Coulomb-Cabagno, and Delsarte (2005) reported that athletes were significantly more aggressive in performanceoriented motivational climates compared to mastery ones. Ryska, Yin, and Boyd (1999) reported high levels of self-handicapping for young athletes in performance goal structures and these effects were independent of personal goal orientations or trait self-handicapping (contrary to the effects of Xiang et al., 2004 in which mastery goal structures and mastery goal orientations interacted to produce enhanced positive outcomes with regard to effort/ persistence – see below on matching hypothesis in section ‘‘Matching Goal Orientation-Goal Structure Hypothesis’’). If performance motivational climates are associated with maladaptive outcomes, worrisome is the fact that Xiang, McBride, and Solmon (2003) reported a higher presence of performance elements in physical education classes compared to mastery ones (although a blend of the two was present most of the time). Nevertheless, it is interesting to examine if combinations of motivational attributes are associated with unique effects on students’ academic or nonacademic outcomes in every academic setting.

Matching versus Buffering Hypothesis in Goal Orientation Research Linnenbrink and Pintrich (2001) suggested that matches versus mismatches between personal goal orientations and a classroom’s goal structure might be associated with differential achievement or experiential outcomes for students. This interesting proposition suggests that when a person’s mastery goal orientation meets a mastery goal structure, students’ motivational and behavioral characteristics may be altered, with matches being likely


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associated with more adaptive effects. The same may be true with adoption of performance goals. An alternative hypothesis (i.e., the buffering hypothesis) suggests that adoption of mastery goals or the presence of a mastery goal structure will ‘‘buffer’’ the negative effects of performance goals (Linnenbrink, 2005). However, this latter proposition is based on the notion that performance goals are maladaptive (Kaplan & Middleton, 2002; Midgley et al., 2001), which is clearly a tentative assumption, at least with regard to academic achievement outcomes (Harackiewicz, Barron, Tauer, & Elliot, 2002b). To the present, no study has tested those predictions, thus, the present testing cannot be compared with previous research on those matters.

Methodological Issues in the Assessment of Classroom Goal Structures Classroom goal structures have been predominantly assessed via student perceptions and this is the approach employed in the present study as well. As Church et al. (2001) have pointed out, what may be more important is what students think and feel about the specificities in their environment, rather than what actually happens. Thus, although one could claim that ideally goal structures should be assessed with objective and observable criteria (Ryan et al., 1998; Sideridis, 2005d; Urdan et al., 1998), student selfreports can certainly comprise a proxy for these environments as there must be some degree of concordance between subjective evaluations of the environment and actual environment. A few studies only have looked at both subjective and objective criteria (Perry & VandeKamp, 2000; Ryan et al., 1998), although their use has been recommended (Turner & Meyer, 2000; Turner, Thorpe, & Meyer, 1998b; Turner et al., 2002). Thus, the purpose of the present studies was to predict classroom behaviors from (a) individual goal orientations and their interaction and (b) a classroom’s goal structure. Those predictions were run separately for each group, although between-groups differences were assessed using statistical means.

METHOD Participants and Procedures Participants were 230 5th and 6th graders (107 from grade 5 and 123 from grade 6) with and without learning difficulties (LD). All students came from

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13 public elementary schools of Cyprus. Two-hundred-twelve students were typical and eighteen of them had learning difficulties identified by their teachers or had a State diagnosis of learning disabilities. In particular, one student had a diagnosis of LD and ADHD, two had LD and psychological disturbances, and the rest were designated as having learning problems by their teachers. There were 112 boys and 118 girls. The study run under the approval of the Cyprus Ministry of Education and both the students and their guardians provided written consent forms. All assessments were completed during school hours by trained research assistants during the first 2 h of the day. Five consecutive assessments were conducted during the last 10 min of the second lesson of the day. The affective experience from socializing with other students during the break was assessed after students entered the classroom for the third lesson. Measures Classroom Goal Structures Classroom goal structures were assessed using self-reports given recommendations that student reports are appropriate means for those assessments (Church et al., 2001). The scales included items which came from a synthesis of valid relevant instruments (e.g., the Patterns of Adaptive Learning Scales (PALS); Midgley, Maehr, Hruda, Anderman, Anderman, & Freeman, 2000; Urdan, 2004) and were rated using a six-point Likert-type response option (which ranged between 1 ¼ strongly disagree and 6 ¼ strongly agree (see Sideridis, 2005c). There were seven and eight items defining a mastery goal structure and the performance goal structure, respectively. Assessments of the mastery goal items began with the stem: ‘‘The teacher tells us that y .’’ mistakes do not matter, to learn and improve is important, etc. The performance goal items began with the stem: ‘‘During the lesson y .’’ there is a lot of competition, there is pressure, the teacher compares students with each other, etc. The presence of a two-factor structure was verified using an exploratory factor analysis using varimax rotation (Gorsuch, 1983), thus, forcing an orthogonal solution of two distinct motivational discourse dimensions. Thirty-nine percent of the total variance was accounted for by the two latent constructs (for details of the validation of the scale see Sideridis, Ageriadis, Irakleous, Siakali, & Georgiou, 2006). All items loaded on their respective factor with their highest loading, and all loadings were well above acceptable standards of construct definition (i.e., standardized weights above 0.30). Internal consistency estimates (i.e., Cronbach’s alpha) for the typical student group were 0.80 for a mastery goal


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structure and 0.61 for a performance goal structure. The respective estimates for students with LD were 0.60 and 0.75. Achievement Goal Orientations They were assessed using items from Elliot and Church (1997) modified for use with young children (Sideridis, 2003). Internal consistency estimates for the typical student group were 0.85 for mastery approach goals, 0.67 for mastery avoidance, 0.80 for performance approach, and 0.66 for performance avoidance. The respective estimates for students with LD were 0.68/ 0.68/0.57 and 0.68. Student Classroom Behaviors Self-reports of student’s classroom behaviors were assessed over 5 days at the same time of the day (2nd hour). There were seven classes of behaviors related to positive affect1 (four items), negative affect (four items), perceptions of reinforcement (two items), perceptions of punishment (two items), student engagement (three items), student boredom (two items), and positive affectivity during the school break (two items). Sample items for positive affect were ‘‘enthusiastic’’ and ‘‘energetic,’’ for negative affect, ‘‘disappointed’’ and ‘‘scared,’’ for reinforcement ‘‘the teacher encouraged you/helped you,’’ for punishment ‘‘the teacher was mean to you/ignored you,’’ for engagement ‘‘you worked hard/were engaged during the previous lesson,’’ for boredom ‘‘you got bored/wished you weren’t in the class,’’ for positive affect during the break ‘‘you played/had a good time with your friends during the break.’’ The scaling ranged between 1 and 5 with 1 being ‘‘not at all’’ and 5 being ‘‘very much so.’’ Using Cronbach’s alpha, estimates of internal consistency were 0.83 for positive affect, 0.86 for negative affect, 0.78 for reinforcement, 0.81 for punishment, 0.77 for engagement, 0.75 for boredom, and 0.87 for positive affectivity during the break. Data Analysis Multilevel Random Coefficient Models (MRCM) originated in the work of Bryk and Raudenbush (1992) and have been instrumental towards explaining variance at various levels of analyses (e.g., within person, between person, between groups, between contexts, etc.). For example, the present design allowed prediction of student behavior over time (i.e., within person variance) from between person characteristics (i.e., achievement goal orientations and perceptions of a classroom’s goal structure). In other words, student behavior over time was nested within student characteristics

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and perceptions of classroom motivational discourse (see also Snijders & Bosker, 1999). Thus, two types of variance were assessed, within person (i.e., assessments of students’ variability in their behaviors over 5 days) and between person (i.e., variations in students’ goal orientations or their perceptions of their classroom’s motivational climate – although the students were supposedly exposed to approximately the same instructional conditions).2 The models were run separately for typical students and students with LD in order to ascertain solutions for each group. Whenever between groups comparisons were of interest, intercept tests or slope difference tests, were conducted. All models were run with inclusion of random effects, with the level 2 predictors being standardized, although solutions with both random and fixed effects were very similar (Raudenbush & Bryk, 2002). The following MRCM model was run for predicting classroom behaviors as a function of goal orientation adoption: Level 1 Y 0ðstudent behaviorÞ ¼ p0 þ e Level 2 p0 ¼ b00 þ b01 ðmastery approachÞ þ b02 ðmastery avoidÞ þ b03 ðperformance approachÞ þ b04 ðperformance avoidÞ þ r0 With p0 representing the mean levels of student behaviors from the time series (e.g., positive affect over 5 days), b01 through b04 representing partial regression coefficients of each goal orientation, adjusted for the presence of the other coefficients in the model. R0 represents the error associated with those estimates (i.e., residual or left-over variance). Between-groups comparisons were run using custom slope difference t-tests and statistical significance was judged to be present whenever p-values were o0.05. The following model was run for estimating the effects of classroom goal structures on students’ classroom behavior: Level 1 Y 0ðstudent behaviorÞ ¼ p0 þ e Level 2 b01 ¼ b00 þ b01 ðmastery goal structureÞ þ b02 ðperformance goal structureÞ þ r0 Again, betas of 01 and 02 reflect partial regression coefficients for the first and second predictors of the model (i.e., mastery goal structure and


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performance goal structure, respectively) and r0 represents the variance around those estimates.

RESULTS Intercorrelations between Measured Variables Table 1 shows descriptive statistics and intercorrelations among measured variables. It is evident that there were significant relations between observed variables for both groups with few between-group differences. For example, performance avoidance goals were related to mastery avoidance goals for the typical student group only. Performance approach goals were also related significantly more heavily with performance avoidance goals and both classroom goal structures for the LD students compared to typical students. Mastery approach and performance approach goals were significantly related, as it is common practice when measured via self-reports.

Table 1.

Intercorrelations between Measured Variables.

Variables

1

2

3

4

5

6

Typical students Mastery approach Mastery avoidance Performance approach Performance avoidance Mastery goal structure Performance goal structure

– 0.190 0.481 0.146 0.591 0.180

– 0.080 0.607 0.014 0.266

– 0.175 0.229 0.344

– 0.142 0.210

– 0.145

–

Students with LD Mastery approach Mastery avoidance Performance approach Performance avoidance Mastery goal structure Performance goal structure

– 0.049 0.313 0.360 0.662 0.054

– 0.043 0.115 0.277 0.228

– 0.555 0.625 0.678

– 0.574 0.219

– 0.437

–

Note: Classroom behaviors are not included in the table because they were measured over 5 days and represented within person characteristics. po0.05. po0.01.

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Achievement Goal Orientations and Student Classroom Behaviors The results are shown individually for each group, to make use of all available observations, followed by a section in which the two groups are compared with each other using statistical means. Predictions for Typical Students As shown in Table 2 the typical student group had, on the average, above scale median levels in positive affect (b00 ¼ 2.872). Mastery approach was a significant positive predictor and performance avoidance a negative predictor of positive affect. Using w2 slope difference tests, there were significant differences in the slope coefficients of mastery approach; and (a) mastery avoidance w2 (1) ¼ 11.178, po0.001; (b) performance approach w2 (1) ¼ 3.690, p ¼ 0.05; and (c) performance avoidance w2 (1) ¼ 15.914, po0.001. Thus, only mastery approach was a positive predictor of positive affect. With regard to negative affect, mean levels were low compared to the scales’ median (b00 ¼ 1.458) and mastery avoidance emerged as a significant positive predictor of that affective state. Chi-square slope difference tests indicated that the effects of mastery avoidance goals were significantly different from those of mastery approach goals w2 (1) ¼ 8.489, po0.01, and performance approach goals w2 (1) ¼ 3.771, po0.05, pointing to the maladaptive role of mastery avoidance goals, compared to the other two orientations. For reinforcement, intercept levels were below the median scaling (b00 ¼ 2.178). Mastery approach goals were a significant positive predictor (see Table 2) and its predictive ability was also significantly higher compared to (a) mastery avoidance goals w2 (1) ¼ 8.396, po0.01, performance approach goals w2 (1) ¼ 7.422, po0.01; and (b) performance avoidance goals w2 (1) ¼ 13.922, po0.001. Thus, only mastery approach goals were positive predictors of perceptions of teacher’s reinforcement. For perceptions of punishment, its levels were low (b00 ¼ 1.853) and mastery approach and mastery avoidance goals exerted negative and positive effects, respectively. Slope difference tests pointed to significant differences between mastery approach and mastery avoidance goals w2 (1) ¼ 12.158, po0.001, favoring the function of the former. Levels of engagement were reportedly low for the typical students (b00 ¼ 1.950) with both mastery approach and performance approach being positive predictors. Slope difference tests pointed to significant differences between mastery approach and (a) mastery avoidance w2 (1) ¼ 29.606,


Table 2.

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Standardized Estimates for the Prediction of Classroom Student Behaviors.

Robust Effects

Coefficient

Standard Error

t-Ratio

d.f.

p-Value

Positive Affect Typical students Intercept b00 Mastery approach b01 Mastery avoidance b02 Performance approach b03 Performance avoidance b04

2.872387 0.235417 0.047416 0.018909 0.095574

0.317161 0.067053 0.051540 0.059255 0.045847

9.057 3.511 0.920 0.319 2.085

203 203 203 203 203

0.000 0.001 0.359 0.750 0.038

Students with LD Intercept b00 Mastery approach b01 Mastery avoidance b02 Performance approach b03 Performance avoidance b04

1.565666 0.097274 0.332124 0.062541 0.141451

0.622971 0.151306 0.071696 0.189262 0.096221

2.513 0.643 4.632 0.330 1.470

11 11 11 11 11

0.029 0.533 0.001 0.747 0.169

Negative Affect Typical students Intercept b00 Mastery approach b01 Mastery avoidance b02 Performance approach b03 Performance avoidance b04

1.458535 0.068947 0.086748 0.017332 0.009479

0.171690 0.040977 0.032278 0.035939 0.027423

8.495 1.683 2.688 0.482 0.346

203 203 203 203 203

0.000 0.094 0.008 0.630 0.730


2.301845 0.234881 0.042209 0.093202 0.006869

0.723306 0.121655 0.056439 0.093957 0.075006

3.182 1.931 0.748 0.992 0.092

11 11 11 11 11

0.009 0.079 0.470 0.343 0.929

Reinforcement Typical students Intercept b00 Mastery approach b01 Mastery avoidance b02 Performance approach b03 Performance avoidance b04

2.177595 0.325068 0.023484 0.054437 0.101590

0.430489 0.084063 0.080447 0.078068 0.066690

5.058 3.867 0.292 0.697 1.523

203 203 203 203 203

0.000 0.000 0.771 0.486 0.129


1.914401 0.316961 0.228250 0.407152 0.224046

0.683114 0.141210 0.079016 0.126234 0.093975

2.802 2.245 2.889 3.225 2.384

11 11 11 11 11

0.018 0.046 0.015 0.009 0.036

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Table 2. (Continued ) Robust Effects

Coefficient

Standard Error

t-Ratio

d.f.

p-Value

Punishment Typical students Intercept b00 Mastery approach b01 Mastery avoidance b02 Performance approach b03 Performance avoidance b04

1.853568 0.147597 0.094480 0.001624 0.015196

0.322600 0.058836 0.046052 0.045496 0.041293

5.746 2.509 2.052 0.036 0.368

203 203 203 203 203

0.000 0.013 0.041 0.972 0.713


2.989370 0.170616 0.071396 0.136380 0.056781

1.324086 0.220656 0.071155 0.309150 0.126320

2.258 0.773 1.003 0.441 0.449

11 11 11 11 11

0.045 0.456 0.338 0.667 0.661

Active Engagement Typical students Intercept b00 Mastery approach b01 Mastery avoidance b02 Performance approach b03 Performance avoidance b04

1.950437 0.346749 0.063803 0.104686 0.041904

0.305681 0.058104 0.047447 0.049721 0.044464

6.381 5.968 1.345 2.105 0.942

203 203 203 203 203

0.000 0.000 0.180 0.036 0.347


2.005422 0.436250 0.232156 0.373370 0.107710

0.886491 0.092606 0.134796 0.125435 0.121709

2.262 4.711 1.722 2.977 0.885

11 11 11 11 11

0.045 0.001 0.113 0.013 0.395

Boredom Typical students Intercept b00 Mastery approach b01 Mastery avoidance b02 Performance approach b03 Performance avoidance b04

3.000523 0.287006 0.087022 0.015511 0.057268

0.429210 0.082998 0.060797 0.069416 0.057956

6.991 3.458 1.431 0.223 0.988

203 203 203 203 203

0.000 0.001 0.154 0.824 0.325


3.856771 0.495534 0.043764 0.434647 0.178785

0.884475 0.139127 0.107004 0.176410 0.130980

4.361 3.562 0.409 2.464 1.365

11 11 11 11 11

0.001 0.005 0.690 0.032 0.200


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Table 2. (Continued ) Standard Error

t-Ratio

d.f.

p-Value

Positive Affect during the Break Typical students Intercept b00 3.407861 Mastery approach b01 0.248710 Mastery avoidance b02 0.007434 Performance approach b03 0.126313 Performance avoidance b04 0.010984

0.359968 0.070529 0.070703 0.064141 0.060425

9.467 3.526 0.105 1.969 0.182

203 203 203 203 203

0.000 0.001 0.917 0.050 0.856


1.165296 0.182818 0.117501 0.189525 0.140677

1.269 2.957 1.406 1.034 0.660

11 11 11 11 11

0.231 0.014 0.187 0.324 0.522

Robust Effects

Coefficient

1.478394 0.540653 0.165193 0.195921 0.092908

Note: The level 1 units that contributed data were 1,040 and 80 time series, for the typical student group and the LD students, respectively; the level 2 units involved 208 and 16 participants for the typical and LD groups, respectively. Indicates statistical significant coefficients at po0.05. Indicates statistical significant coefficients at po0.01.

po0.001; (b) performance approach w2 (1) ¼ 7.145, po0.01; and (c) performance avoidance w2 (1) ¼ 24.222, po0.001. Performance approach goals were also different in their prediction compared to both mastery avoidance goals w2 (1) ¼ 7.254, po0.01 and performance avoidance goals w2 (1) ¼ 3.962, po0.05. Boredom levels were high for the typical student group (b00 ¼ 3.001). Mastery approach goals were the only significant negative predictor. The coefficient of mastery approach was significantly more negative compared to (a) mastery avoidance w2 (1) ¼ 16.973, po0.001; (b) performance approach w2 (1) ¼ 4.254, po0.05; and (c) performance avoidance w2 (1) ¼ 10.402, po0.001, pointing to its adaptive role. Last, for positive affect during the break, average levels were high (b00 ¼ 3.408), and mastery approach and performance approach goals were significant positive and negative predictors, respectively, pointing to the adaptive role of the former. Slope difference tests indicated that mastery approach goals were a significantly more positive predictor compared to (a) mastery avoidance goals w2 (1) ¼ 4.652, po0.05; (b) performance approach goals w2 (1) ¼ 11.736, po0.001; and (c) performance avoidance goals w2 (1) ¼ 7.262, po0.01.

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Predictions for Students with LD Students with LD seemed to have below average levels in positive affect (b00 ¼ 1.566), although significantly different from zero. Surprisingly, mastery avoidance was a positive predictor of their low levels in positive affect. Using w2 difference tests results indicated that there were significant differences in the predictive ability of mastery avoidance goals compared to (a) performance approach w2 (1) ¼ 4.187, po0.05; and (b) performance avoidance goals w2 (1) ¼ 3.663, p ¼ 0.05. Negative affect levels were about average on the 1–5 scale (b00 ¼ 2.302) and no coefficient exceeded conventional levels of significance. However, using w2 slope difference tests, mastery approach goals were a significantly more negative predictor of negative affect compared to performance approach goals w2 (1) ¼ 4.697, po0.05. With regard to perceptions of reinforcement, mean levels were low (b00 ¼ 1.914) and all goal orientation slopes were significant (Table 2) with performance approach goals being the only ones exerting negative effects. All other coefficients were positive. Using slope difference tests, performance approach goals exerted significantly different effects compared to mastery approach goals w2 (1) ¼ 10.682, po0.01; mastery avoidance goals w2 (1) ¼ 28.881, po0.001; and performance avoidance goals w2 (1) ¼ 11.873, po0.001, pointing to their maladaptiveness. Regarding perceptions of punishment, students with LD had high levels (M ¼ 2.989) and no coefficient exceeded significance. The same was true for the slope difference tests. Regarding reported engagement, its levels were low (b00 ¼ 2.001) and mastery approach and performance approach goals were significant predictors, with positive and negative signs, respectively (see Table 2). Slope difference tests indicated that mastery approach goals exerted significantly different effects compared to performance approach goals w2 (1) ¼ 31.576, po0.001. Performance approach goals were a significant more negative predictor of engagement compared to mastery avoidance w2 (1) ¼ 13.929, po0.01 and performance avoidance w2 (1) ¼ 6.144, po0.05. Boredom levels were high for the LD student group (b00 ¼ 3.857). Both mastery approach and performance approach goals emerged as negative and positive predictors of boredom, respectively. Slope difference tests indicated that mastery approach goals were significantly more negative predictors compared to mastery avoidance w2 (1) ¼ 5.718, po0.05 and performance approach goals w2 (1) ¼ 18.448, po0.001. Performance approach goals were a significantly more positive predictor of boredom compared to both mastery avoidance goals w2 (1) ¼ 6.672, po0.01, and performance avoidance goals w2 (1) ¼ 4.701, po0.05. The negative effects observed for performance


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approach goals with regard to reinforcement and engagement, were also observed with regard to perceptions of boredom. Last, positive affectivity during the break was very low for the LD student group (b00 ¼ 1. 478). Only mastery approach goals emerged as a significant positive predictor of positive affect. Slope difference tests pointed to the fact that mastery approach goals were a significantly more positive predictor compared to performance approach goals only w2 (1) ¼ 13.696, po0.001. All other comparisons were not significant. Given that the sign of the slope for performance approach goals was negative, this finding follows along with the previous negative effects of those goals on positive student behaviors. Achievement Goal Effects: Comparisons between Students with and without LD at the Intercept and Slope Levels With regard to the seven classes of behaviors assessed, there were no significant between-group differences at the mean level (intercepts) across several comparisons, although the coefficient regarding positive affect approached statistical significance (typical b00 ¼ 2.872, LD b00 ¼ 1.566) favoring the typical student group (t(229) ¼ 1.875, p ¼ 0.06). At the slope level several significant between-group differences emerged. Specifically, there were significant between-group differences regarding the predictive ability of mastery avoidance goals in explaining variance in positive affect (typical b02 ¼ 0.047, LD b02 ¼ 0.332), (t(229) ¼ 4.406, po0.001). This finding suggests that mastery avoidance goals were a significantly more positive predictor of positive affect for the LD student group compared to typical students. On the same direction, significant betweengroup differences emerged for performance avoidance goals and positive affect (typical b04 ¼ 0.096, LD b04 ¼ 0.141), (t(229) ¼ 4.406, po0.001). Mastery avoidance was a significantly more positive predictor of negative affect for the typical student group compared to students with LD (typical b02 ¼ 0.087, LD b02 ¼ 0.042), (t(229) ¼ 2.178, po0.05). Reinforcement was predicted positively by the LD student group compared to typical students from mastery avoidance goals (typical b02 ¼ 0.023, LD b02 ¼ 0.228), (t(229) ¼ 2.232, po0.05) and performance avoidance goals (typical b04 ¼ 0.102, LD b04 ¼ 0.224), (t(229) ¼ 2.903, po0.01), with also performance approach goals being a significantly more negative predictor of reinforcement (typical b03 ¼ 0.054, LD b03 ¼ 0.407), (t(229) ¼ 2.362, po0.05). With regard to engagement, mastery avoidance was again a significantly more positive predictor for the LD student group, compared to typical students (typical b02 ¼ 0.064, LD b02 ¼ 0.232), (t(229) ¼ 2.132,

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po0.05). Performance approach was a significantly more negative predictor of engagement for the LD group, compared to typical students (typical b03 ¼ 0.105, LD b03 ¼ 0.373), (t(229) ¼ 3.491, po0.001). Performance approach was also a significantly more positive predictor of boredom for the LD student group, compared to typical students (typical b03 ¼ 0.015, LD b03 ¼ 0.435), (t(229) ¼ 2.327, po0.05). Interactive Goal Hypothesis In order to test whether the interaction3 of mastery approach with performance approach goals is associated with enhanced outcomes compared to the adoption of one set of goals only, the following MRCM model was fit to the data, separately for each group using random effects: Level 1 Y 0ðstudent behaviorÞ ¼ p0 þ e Level 2 p0 ¼ b00 þ b01 ðmastery approachÞ þ b02 ðmastery avoidÞ þ b03 ðperformance approachÞ þ b04 ðperformance avoidÞ þ b05 ðinteraction of approach goalsÞ þ r0 By running the above model across all dependent variables results indicated that the interactive goal term (Barron & Harackiewicz, 2001; Pintrich, 2000) was not a significant predictor of any variable for the typical student group. For students with LD, the interaction of goals was significant with regard to perceptions of punishment (LD b05 ¼ 0.407) (t(10) ¼ 2.348, po0.05). This finding suggests that the presence of both approach goals was associated with lower perceptions of punishment, pointing to the adaptiveness of that interaction term and the existence of a synergy in goals. No other effect exceeded levels of significance. Classroom Goal Structures and Prediction of Student Classroom Behaviors Typical Students A mastery goal structure was a significant positive predictor of students’ positive affect (b01 ¼ 0.201). A w2 difference test indicated that the predictive ability of a mastery goal structure was significantly more salient compared to that for a performance goal structure (b01 ¼ 0.012), w2 (1) ¼ 6.298,


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po0.05. The opposite was true for negative affect with a mastery goal structure emerging as a negative predictor (b01 ¼ 0.107) and this prediction was significantly more negative compared to that for a performance goal structure (b02 ¼ 0.042), w2 (1) ¼ 8.064, po0.01. The results for reinforcement were similar to those for positive affect. A mastery goal structure was a significant positive predictor of reinforcement (b01 ¼ 0.324) and even more so compared to a performance goal structure (b02 ¼ 0.074), w2 (1) ¼ 13.432, po0.001. For punishment, a mastery goal structure was a significant negative predictor of (b01 ¼ 0.153), and a performance goal structure a positive one (b02 ¼ 0.102). The difference between the two coefficients was significant, w2 (1) ¼ 9.852, po0.01. Engagement was predicted positively by a mastery goal structure (b01 ¼ 0.261) whereas the effects of a performance goal structure were null (b02 ¼ 0.017). The two coefficients were again significantly different from each other, w2 (1) ¼ 7.767, po0.01. Boredom was predicted negatively by a mastery goal structure (b01 ¼ 0.285) and this prediction was significantly different from that of a performance goal structure, which was positive (b02 ¼ 0.100), w2 (1) ¼ 12.275, po0.001. Last, with regard to positive affectivity during the break, a mastery goal structure emerged as a significant positive predictor (b01 ¼ 0.219). This prediction was significantly different compared to the null effect (b02 ¼ 0.037) produced by a performance goal structure w2 (1) ¼ 10.299, po0.001. Students with LD A mastery goal structure emerged as a significant positive predictor of positive affect (b01 ¼ 0.389) for students with LD (Fig. 1, upper panel). Negative affect was not predicted by any type of motivational discourse (Fig. 1, lower panel). Reinforcement was predicted positively by a mastery goal structure (b01 ¼ 0.502) and negatively by a performance goal structure (b02 ¼ 0.482); their difference was also significant using 1 d.f. w2 test, w2 (1) ¼ 20.231, po0.001 (Fig. 2, upper panel). Perceptions of punishment were not predicted by any type of motivational discourse (Fig. 2, lower panel) and the same was true for engagement and boredom (Fig. 3, upper and lower panels). However, with regard to boredom, a mastery goal structure was a significantly more negative predictor (b01 ¼ 0.384) compared to a performance goal structure (b02 ¼ 0.355), w2 (1) ¼ 3.789, po0.05. Last, a mastery goal structure was a significant positive predictor of positive affectivity during the break (b01 ¼ 0.581), significantly more positive compared to the prediction due to a performance goal structure (b02 ¼ 0.095), w2 (1) ¼ 9.309, po0.01 (Fig. 4). These findings point to the adaptiveness

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(a) 6

Y Mastery-GS LD

5.6 5.2

Positive Affect

4.8

Mastery-GS Typical

4.4 4 Performance-GS Typical

3.6 3.2 2.8

Performance-GS LD

2.4 X 2

1

2

3

4

5

Change Over a Week

(b) 1.8

Y

1.68

Performance-GS Typical

1.56

Negative Affect

1.44 Performance-GS LD

1.32 1.2 1.08

Mastery-GS LD

0.96 0.84 Mastery-GS Typical

0.72 0.6

X 1

2

3

4

5

Change Over a Week

Fig. 1. Predicted Slopes for Positive Affect (Upper Panel) and Negative Affect (Lower Panel) as a Function of Mastery and Performance Goal Structures for Each Student Group.

Goal Orientations and Classroom Goal Structures (a)

Y Mastery-GS LD

5.76 5.12

Perceptions of Reinforcement

121

Mastery-GS Typical

4.48 3.84 3.2


2.56 1.92 1.28

Performance-GS LD

0.64

X 0

1

2

3

4

5

Change Over a Week

(b) Y 2.2


Perceptions of Punishment

2 1.8

Performance-GS LD

1.6 1.4 1.2 1

Mastery-GS Typical

0.8 0.6

Mastery-GS LD 0.4 0.2

X 1

2

3

4

5

Change Over a Week

Fig. 2. Predicted Slopes for Reinforcement (Upper Panel) and Punishment (Lower Panel) as a Function of Mastery and Performance Goal Structures for Each Student Group.

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(a)

Y

6

Mastery-GS LD

5.6

Reported Engagement

5.2 4.8 Mastery-GS Typical

4.4 4


3.6 3.2 2.8 Performance-GS LD

2.4 2

X

1

2

3

4

5

Change Over a Week (b) Y

4.62

Performance-GS LD

4.2 3.78 Reported Boredom

3.36 2.94


2.52 2.1 1.68 1.26

Mastery-GS Typical

0.84 0.42 0

Mastery-GS LD

1

2

3

4

X

5

Change Over a Week

Fig. 3. Predicted Slopes for Engagement (Upper Panel) and Boredom (Lower Panel) as a Function of Mastery and Performance Goal Structures for Each Student Group.


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Y

Mastery-GS LD

7.04 Positive Affect During Break

6.6 6.16 5.72

Mastery-GS Typical

5.28 4.84 4.4


3.96 3.52

Performance-GS LD X

3.08 1

Fig. 4.

2

3 Change Over a Week

4

5

Predicted Slopes for Positive Affect during the Break as a Function of Mastery and Performance Goal Structures for Each Student Group.

of a mastery-oriented classroom motivational discourse compared to a performance one. Classroom Goal Structures: Comparisons between Students with and without LD at the Intercept and Slope Levels At the intercept level, significant between-group differences emerged with regard to reinforcement (Fig. 2, upper panel). Specifically, students with LD perceived their teachers to be more reinforcing compared to typical students (typical b00 ¼ 3.072, LD b00 ¼ 3.469), (t(229) ¼ 2.585, po0.05). Regarding slopes, significant between-group differences were evident regarding how perceptions of reinforcement can be predicted by performance goal structures (Fig. 2, upper panel). For students with LD, the above relationship was significantly more negative, compared to the typical student group (typical b02 ¼ 0.074, LD b02 ¼ 0.482), (t(229) ¼ 2.951, po0.01). No other comparison exceeded conventional levels of significance. Matching Goal Orientation–Goal Structure Hypothesis The matching hypothesis (Linnenbrink, 2005) posits that when personal goal orientations match a classroom’s motivational discourse (i.e., goal

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structure), the outcomes may be enhanced compared to the individual effects of goal orientations or classroom goal structures alone. This hypothesis was tested by creating a dummy variable in which students who scored above the median split on both their personal orientation and their respective perception of classroom climate were given a score of 1 (goal orientations matched those of the classroom’s context). When goal orientations did not match students’ perceptions of the classroom environment a score of 0 was given. The following MRCM model was run using random effects: Level 1 Y 0ðstudent behaviorÞ ¼ p0 þ e Level 2 p0 ¼ b00 þ b01 ðmatched termÞ þ r0

Matched Goal Orientations and Classroom Goal Structures: Effects for Typical Students Table 3 shows the results from that modeling. A matched mastery goal orientation/structure term was associated with increases in positive affect. The respective results were in the same direction for a matched performance goal orientation/goal structure, although borderline (b ¼ 0.24, p ¼ 0.06). No significant effects emerged with regard to negative affect or positive affect during the break. For reinforcement, only a matched mastery goal orientation/goal structure was associated with higher mean scores. For punishment, no significant effects were observed although a matched mastery goal orientation/goal structure term was negatively associated with punishment (b ¼ 0.17, p ¼ 0.06). For engagement, higher levels were apparent when matching occurred for both mastery and performance goals/ goal structures. Matched mastery goals with a mastery goal structure were associated with lower levels of boredom. Matched Goal Orientations and Classroom Goal Structures: Effects for Students with LD With regard to students with LD, fewer effects exceeded levels of significance, a finding that is easily attributed to lower power for that group (Onwuegbuzie, Levin, & Leach, 2003; Roberts, 2004). Specifically, matching mastery goals with a mastery goal structure was associated with enhanced perceptions of reinforcement (b ¼ 1.139), engagement (b ¼ 0.861), and


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Table 3. Standardized Estimates for the Prediction of Classroom Student Behaviors from Matched Goal Orientation/Goal Structure Terms. Robust Effects

Coefficient

Standard Error

t-Ratio

d.f.

p-Value

Positive Affect Typical students Intercept b00 Matched mastery GO/GS b01 Intercept b00 Matched performance GO/GS b01

3.415969 0.325914 3.483879 0.238874

0.071958 0.114314 0.066368 0.126487

47.472 2.851 52.493 1.889

209 209 209 209

0.000 0.005 0.000 0.060

Students with LD Intercept b00 Matched mastery GO/GS b01 Intercept b00 Matched performance GO/GS b01

3.477354 0.482925 3.609453 0.248928

0.210686 0.319051 0.227129 0.316788

16.505 1.514 15.892 0.786

14 14 14 14

0.000 0.152 0.000 0.445

Negative Affect Typical students Intercept b00 Matched mastery GO/GS b01 Intercept b00 Matched performance GO/GS b01

1.395463 0.093304 1.351704 0.011817

0.049805 0.066106 0.042010 0.071461

28.019 1.411 32.176 0.165

209 209 209 209

0.000 0.160 0.000 0.869


1.522897 0.194550 1.401043 0.073630

0.178142 0.202175 0.115700 0.231298

8.549 0.962 12.109 0.318

14 14 14 14

0.000 0.353 0.000 0.755

Reinforcement Typical students Intercept b00 Matched mastery GO/GS b01 Intercept b00 Matched performance GO/GS b01

2.893750 0.411127 3.039691 0.102868

0.097618 0.144231 0.087371 0.160240

29.644 2.850 34.790 0.642

209 209 209 209

0.000 0.005 0.000 0.521


3.047407 1.138823 3.770990 0.566486

0.165547 0.287142 0.251772 0.365859

18.408 3.966 14.978 1.548

14 14 14 14

0.000 0.002 0.000 0.144

Punishment Typical students Intercept b00 Matched mastery GO/GS b01 Intercept b00 Matched performance GO/GS b01

1.507311 0.169739 1.453937 0.065130

0.069614 0.090683 0.059474 0.095147

21.652 1.872 24.447 0.685

209 209 209 209

0.000 0.062 0.000 0.494

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Table 3. (Continued ) Robust Effects

Coefficient

Standard Error

t-Ratio

d.f.

p-Value


1.924177 0.548194 1.605266 0.144846

0.241432 0.348649 0.249195 0.369643

7.970 1.572 6.442 0.392

14 14 14 14

0.000 0.138 0.000 0.701

Active Engagement Typical students Intercept b00 Matched mastery GO/GS b01 Intercept b00 Matched performance GO/GS b01

3.532401 0.455120 3.623588 0.345827

0.075702 0.108316 0.068337 0.116589

46.662 4.202 53.025 2.966

209 209 209 209

0.000 0.000 0.000 0.004


3.482200 0.861256 3.949060 0.235851

0.247255 0.340911 0.259569 0.404175

14.083 2.526 15.214 0.584

14 14 14 14

0.000 0.024 0.000 0.568

Boredom Typical Students Intercept b00 Matched mastery GO/GS b01 Intercept b00 Matched performance GO/GS b01

2.280958 0.492680 2.102225 0.109790

0.093667 0.127058 0.080513 0.146214

24.352 3.878 26.110 0.751

209 209 209 209

0.000 0.000 0.000 0.454


2.977999 1.193225 2.304832 0.324462

0.248781 0.322963 0.227166 0.500021

11.970 3.695 10.146 0.649

14 14 14 14

0.000 0.003 0.000 0.527

Positive Affect during the Break Typical students Intercept b00 Matched mastery GO/GS b01 Intercept b00 Matched performance GO/GS b01

4.090199 0.217967 4.173344 0.035374

0.078706 0.120789 0.072845 0.129102

51.968 1.805 57.291 0.274

209 209 209 209

0.000 0.072 0.000 0.784


3.777223 1.014875 4.190331 0.095085

0.285853 0.310538 0.276452 0.407750

13.214 3.268 15.158 0.233

14 14 14 14

0.000 0.006 0.000 0.819

Note: Mastery-GO/GS ¼ 1 (matched goal orientation and goal structure), 0 (unmatched goal orientation and goal structure). Performance-GO/GS ¼ 1 (matched goal orientation and goal structure), 0 (unmatched goal orientation and goal structure). Matching was based on positive (matched) versus negative (unmatched) z-scores on both variables. Indicates statistical significant coefficients at po0.05. Indicates statistical significant coefficients at po0.01.


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positive affect during the break (b ¼ 1.014), and decrements in boredom (b ¼ 1.193) (see Table 3). No other effect was significant. Comparisons between Matched Mastery and Matched Performance Terms across Behaviors In order to compare the effects of the matched mastery versus performance terms, the following MRCM model was run: Level 1 Y 0ðstudent behaviorÞ ¼ p0 þ e Level 2 p0 ¼ b01 ðmatched mastery termÞ þ b02 ðmatched performance termÞ þ r0 By deleting the intercept term from the above models and by using w2 difference tests one is able to contrast the matched mastery and matched performance terms. The w2 tests run with 1 d.f. for which the critical value was 3.84. Results for typical students indicated that the matching of mastery goals with a mastery goal structure was associated with significantly higher scores in positive affect (bmatched mastery ¼ 2.92, bmatched performance ¼ 1.62, w2 (1) ¼ 9.92, po0.01), reinforcement (bmatched mastery ¼ 2.70, bmatched performance ¼ 1.20, w2 (1) ¼ 13.72, po0.001), engagement (bmatched mastery ¼ 3.11, bmatched performance ¼ 1.73, w2 (1) ¼ 11.88, po0.001), and positive affect during the break (bmatched mastery ¼ 3.42, bmatched performance ¼ 1.73, w2 (1) ¼ 12.23, po0.001). Thus, the ‘‘matching’’ seems to be more adaptive for mastery goals compared to the matching of performance goals. For students with LD, the only significant effect was with regard to reinforcement for which the matching of performance goals with a performance goal structure was associated with significantly lower levels compared to the matching involving mastery (bmatched mastery ¼ 3.57, bmatched performance ¼ 1.41, w2 (1) ¼ 5.09, po0.05).

DISCUSSION Recent literature examining the role of classroom goal structures on students’ engagement and achievement proved to be promising regarding our understanding of the complex student–teacher interactions (Karabenick, 2004; Turner & Meyer, 2000; Urdan, 2004). The purpose of the present

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study was to evaluate how the presence of two diverse motivational structures, which originate in goal theory, can predict student academic behaviors at school. A secondary hypothesis was to compare those effects for students with and without learning problems.

Goal Orientation Effects on Student Classroom Behaviors With regard to affectivity, mastery approach goals were positive predictors of positive affect and performance avoidance goals were a significant negative predictor. This finding suggests that performance goals which were originally thought to be maladaptive, may not be so because their negative effects seem to load on their avoidance component (Deppe & Harackiewicz, 1996; Elliot & Harackiewicz, 1996). This finding seems to agree with the theses of revised goal theory (e.g., Harackiewicz et al., 2002a, 2002b), which posit an adaptive role for performance approach goals. Several studies corroborate with the idea that performance approach goals are adaptive since all negative effects load on performance avoidance (e.g., negative effects on intrinsic motivation; Elliot & Church, 1997). In that same study, Elliot and Church (1997) applied predictive values to their predictive model and showed that students high on performance approach goals and low on mastery goals were linked to the highest academic achievement outcomes (grades). When all goal orientations had significant positive effects on perceptions of teacher reinforcement for students with LD, performance approach goals had negative effects. This finding highlights the maladaptiveness from adopting performance approach goals and has implications for low achievers’ learning. If students with LD adopt performance approach goals and perceive their teachers as being less reinforcing, this may affect their subsequent relationship with their teachers (Pianta, 1994; Pianta & Steinberg, 1992) or their subsequent engagement. Given that levels of engagement for low achievers and those from impoverished backgrounds are already at low levels (Greenwood, Delquadri, & Hall, 1989) it is imperative that no inhibitions are made between student engagement and teacher–student relations. The same finding was observed and with regard to students’ selfreported engagement. If performance goals are associated with low levels of engagement, this finding is troublesome with regard to high stakes testing (Fletcher et al., 2006) or the proposal to use responsiveness to intervention as an identifying criterion of LD (Vaughn & Fuchs, 2003). Students without learning problems may not respond to interventions that involve maladaptive motivational structures and thus, these motivational climates may be


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the cause of misclassifications and a large increase of students without LD being placed in special education (false positives, see Gresham, MacMillan, & Bocian, 1997). Classroom Goal Structures Effects A mastery goal structure was consistently associated with adaptive behavioral outcomes whereas a performance goal structure was associated with negative outcomes. This finding was also consistent across the two populations, the students with and without LD. This finding is in accord with past studies which recommended that mastery goal structures are adaptive (Patrick, Turner, Meyer, & Midgley, 2003; Patrick, Anderman, Ryan, Edelin, & Midgley, 2001; Turner et al., 1998a) and with those disfavoring performance goal structures (Kaplan & Midgley, 1999; Urdan, 2004). Students with LD reported that their teachers were reinforcing and this effect was significantly higher compared to typical students. This is an encouraging finding, if it is true. That is, there has been some evidence suggesting that students with LD are more vulnerable to respond in socially appropriate ways compared to typical students (Graham & Harris, in press). Such biases have also reported with typical students but, specifically for goal orientation measures (Tan & Hall, 2005). If, however, the finding holds, it is important that teachers reinforce students with LD for their efforts as well as positive achievement or behavioral outcomes. This may be the most positive message from the present findings and has implications for further empowering teachers (Graham, Harris, Fink, & MacArthur, 2001) to aid students attain their academic goals. There was also evidence that environments in which individual goal orientations match a classroom’s goal structure are associated with enhanced effects (Linnenbrink, 2005). This is one of the few studies that looked at the ‘‘matching’’ hypothesis and evidence was certainly in favor of striving for that match. For typical students, matched mastery and performance goal orientations/goal structures were associated with enhanced positive outcomes (compared to the grand mean), although the effects were more pronounced for the matching which involved mastery. For the students with LD, only matching mastery goals with a mastery goal structure was associated with enhanced effects. These findings suggest that designing classroom environments in which classroom practices match the motivational characteristics of the learners is adaptive, particularly when the matching involves mastery. Thus, once again, adoption of mastery goals (within a mastery climate) may be the preferred choice of a classroom’s

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motivational discourse. Although, no other studies looked at the matching hypothesis, the benefits of mastery goal structures have been reported in previous research (Urdan, 2004; Urdan & Midgley, 2003).

Implications for Practice The present findings have implications for classroom instruction. Once again, motivational discourses that focus on learning and understanding were highly adaptive. Thus, it is suggested that the plethora of interventions that are available (Swanson, Hoskyn, & Lee, 1999) are modified to include motivational elements that proved to be adaptive (Wigfield, 1997; Wigfield & Guthrie, 1997). Such elements suggested by the empirical literature are interesting (Butler, 1992) and positive affectivity and mood (Bryan, Mathur, & Sullivan, 1996; Turner et al., 1998b) have proved to be adaptive when employed within specific group-based interventions (e.g., Morgan, Young, & Fuchs, 2005) or personalized instruction methods (Taylor & Adelman, 1999).

Limitations The present study is limited for several reasons. First, although student perceptions have to be assessed via self-reports, it would be important to test if the respective behaviors actually took place. For example, observational measures would help us verify whether teachers were more reinforcing towards students with LD, etc. Thus, although perceptions are important, the validity of those ratings could not be ascertained. Also, the students with LD comprised a small sample and the respective findings may represent small group idiosyncrasies, given the heterogeneity of the specific population (Kavale & Forness, 1987). To the advantage of the measurement, however, has been the assessment of those characteristics over a span of a week and thus, reliability of the measures was high. There are several directions for future research that arise from the present study’s findings. First, it will be important to test whether individual elements of goal structures are associated with specific aspects of students’ selfregulated learning (Perry & VandeKamp, 2000). A next step could involve examination of linear combinations of those elements to assess instructional arrangements that may be accelerators of students’ academic achievement and learning. Both quantitative and qualitative studies, or their combination (i.e., mixed methods), will be needed in that direction. Furthermore, how the


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concept of motivational discourse can be generalized to the school level (i.e., the climate posited by the school administrators) is yet unknown. Last, a swift in this line of research to investigate the affective role of those structures is needed (Turner & Meyer, 2000; Turner, Meyer, & Sweinle, 2003).

NOTES 1. Those items were selected based on their ‘‘behavior’’ in previous studies and came from the positive and negative affect schedule (Laurent et al., 1999; Lonigan, Hooe, & Corinne, 1999; Watson & Clark, 1992). 2. This is a tentative assumption, however, because variations in teachers’ behaviors across students may exist. Thus, we cannot ascertain whether the teachers behaved similarly across students as factors such as academic achievement, personality, culture, etc. may have shaped up those reciprocal relations. 3. In order to avoid the multicolinearity caused by the creation of interaction terms the linear terms were mean centered prior to that transformation (Aiken & West, 1991).

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PARENTING STRESS IN FAMILIES OF CHILDREN WITH ATTENTION-DEFICIT/ HYPERACTIVITY DISORDER: THE IMPACT OF ADHD SUBTYPE AND OPPOSITIONAL DEFIANT DISORDER COMORBIDITY Ana Miranda, Rafaela Marco and Dolores Grau ABSTRACT In this chapter, we present the results of a study designed to investigate: (a) the family relations of children with attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), (b) the sources of stress parents in families of children with this disorder experience and (c) the possible modulating role that ADHD subtype and comorbid oppositional defiant disorder (ODD) have on parenting stress level. One hundred and sixty seven families, divided into two groups, an ADHD group (N ¼ 114) and a control group (N ¼ 53), participated in the study. Parents of both groups


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completed a Semi-Structured Interview that gathered information on socio-demographics, family structure and the presence of oppositional behaviour symptoms, as well as the Parenting Stress Index Questionnaire (Abidin, 1990) to evaluate parent stress. The results showed that the relations of children with ADHD with their parents and siblings were significantly more tense than those of children without this disorder with their families. Parenting stress was higher in parents with ADHD children than in parents of non-ADHD children in most scales relating to parent personal variables, with even more sharp differences in measures of parenting stress that are triggered by the child’s behaviour. Finally, our results evidenced how the ADHD subtype and ODD comorbidity influence the level of stress in parents. The results of the study suggest that interventions focused only on the behaviour of ADHD children are not likely to improve the developmental course of the disorder in the long run.

In the last decade, attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) has increasingly attracted social attention due, among other things, to its high prevalence rate in the school population, to the implications it holds for the family and school environment, and to the fact that it is often associated with other psychopathologies and with learning disabilities (Brown, 2000; Miranda, Soriano, & Garcı´ a, 2005). ADHD is a chronic condition that starts in early childhood and lasts into adolescence and even adulthood. Its nuclear symptoms are hyperactivity, impulsivity and inattention. The disorder impacts negatively on children’s personal and social development, resulting in low self-esteem, school failure and delinquency (Wolraich et al., 2005). In addition, and because of its lifelong persistence and its impact on various areas of social adjustment, ADHD represents a heavy economic burden on society both in terms of the resources needed for treatment and in terms of the consequent work loss for patients and family members (Swensen et al., 2003). Research on the etiology of ADHD has argued for the biological nature of the disorder with genetic factors affecting the development of brain circuits and structures that play a crucial role in psychological and behavioural functions. Studies on the familiality of ADHD have estimated the risk of ADHD for first-order relatives in families with one ADHD member to be seven times the rate of the disorder in control families (Pennington, 2002). Furthermore, ADHD is estimated to be 70–80% heritable and is presumed

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to be polygenic with several genes contributing small fractions to the total genetic effect (Heiser, Friedel, & Dempfle, 2004). The fact that ADHD is familial and partly heritable stresses the need to take into consideration the action of other environmental factors. In fact, in order to fully understand the complex etiology and developmental course of ADHD it is important to take an interactive and psychosocial approach. Using Brofenbrenner’s ecological developmental model (Brofenbrenner & Ceci, 1994) as a theoretical framework, it can be argued that the psychosocial environment mediates the child’s biological predisposition to develop ADHD by determining how the hyperactivity, impulsivity and inattention are understood and managed by the significant members of the child’s social system. The relation genes–environment is of a transactional nature, with the nuclear symptoms in ADHD being determined by genetic underpinnings, but the developmental course of the disorder being under the influence of the interaction between biological and psychosocial risk factors. Environmental and genetic factors can act as protective or as risk factors in the development and on the course of psychopathologies (Pennington, 2002). Among environmental factors, family factors are most likely to have an influence on the course of ADHD and also on internalizing and externalizing factors commonly associated with the disorder. If family members, school teachers and peers are aware of the difficulties that ADHD children have to control their behaviour and offer them opportunities to develop self-regulation skills, they can facilitate the positive course of the disorder. If, on the other hand, the significant members of the social microsystems are not responsive to the child’s needs and/or lack the skills to cope with ADHD behavioural manifestations, they can worsen the symptoms severity. One of the most important family system factors affecting children development is parenting. Parenting is not a single concept but rather a multidimensional construct that includes aspects of the parent–child relation interrelation (parent affect towards the child, general rearing style and discipline practices) as well as internal aspects like parents’ feelings of competence and self-efficacy, parents’ perception of their child behaviour and parental stress. All these parenting variables are closely interrelated (e.g., Scheel & Riekmann, 1998; Hinshaw, 2002) and are additionally mediated by other personal dimensions like parents’ own psychopathology (Hinshaw & Anderson, 1996; Harrison & Sofronoff, 2002) In this paper, we concentrate on just one aspect of parenting that poses a special challenge to parents of ADHD children, parenting stress.

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PARENTING STRESS AND ADHD Because of the nuclear symptoms in ADHD, hyperactivity, inattention and impulsivity, as well as of the irritability, emotional liability, inability to follow instructions and low tolerance to frustration that are the result of poor self-regulation, parenting children with ADHD is particularly challenging. Rearing a child with ADHD is a time- and resource-consuming task that causes extra parenting stress, beyond that which is commonly associated with parenting. Even though research on this issue is not yet abundant, several studies have thrown some light on different components of parenting stress in families with ADHD children. In a study by McLaughlin and Harrison (2006), 150 mothers were interviewed and asked to evaluate the severity of their children’s disruptive behaviour, their feelings of competence and their own perceptions about their social isolation. Regression analysis showed how the combination of all these variables was significantly related to parenting practices, explaining a 32% of the variance. The child behavioural dysfunction and parent’s low level of competence were the strongest predictors of less effective rearing practices. Similarly, Rosello´, Garcı´ a, Ta´rraga, and Mulas (2003), in a study with 36 families with ADHD children aged 6–15 years, found that a high percentage of parents (between 75% and 88%) reported low self-efficacy, feelings of frustration, anger and rejection towards their children, and low levels of competence in their parenting role. The same study showed that the behaviour of children with ADHD had a negative impact on sibling relation. Thus, 44% of the parents felt that their ADHD child bothered their siblings and made it more difficult for them to participate in social and leisure activities. These results seem to confirm those of an earlier study by Kendall (1999), in which siblings of children with ADHD felt victimized in the sense that they were pressed by their parents into the role of caregivers or ‘‘keepers’’ of their brothers or sisters, and experienced feelings of sadness and helplessness. More recently, Whalen et al. (2006) have devised an ingenuous way to closely map the impact that the behaviour of ADHD children has on everyday family life. For a week-long period and during non-school hours, two groups of mothers and their children – a group of 27 ADHD children under pharmacotherapy and a group of 25 controls – used a PDA-based electronic diary to record every 30 min their mood, behaviour and the social context and activity at the moment of reporting. Mothers’ diaries reflected less quality of the interactions with their children, an elevated rate of anger

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when they were with their child, lower levels of perceived self-competence in their roles and less perceived quality of life.

THE INFLUENCE OF ADHD AND OPPOSITIONAL DEFIANT DISORDER COMORBIDITY ON PARENTING STRESS ADHD is a developmental psychopathology that often presents itself associated with other behavioural disorders. One of the most commonly associated to ADHD is oppositional behaviour, with an estimated comorbidity of 50–70% (Biederman, Newcorn, & Sprich, 1991). Since oppositional defiant disorder (ODD) is associated with and complicates the course of ADHD, we also need to address the questions of whether parenting stress could be due to associated conduct disorders (oppositional and aggressive behaviour) and of how these other behaviour problems are worsening the severity of ADHD symptoms. The development of oppositional behaviour in children with ADHD has already been related to family variables parents psychopathologies (Hinshaw & Anderson, 1996) or harsh parenting (Whalen & Henker, 1999). In turn, the joint presence of ODD and ADHD symptoms is also likely to increase parenting stress and parent–child conflict. In one of the first studies on this issue, Anastopoulus, Guevremont, Shelton, and DuPaul (1992) found that the level of stress of parents of children with ADHD increased significantly when their children additionally displayed aggressive and oppositional defiant behaviours. More recently, Tripp (2005) reported that child externalizing behaviour was the main factor explaining parenting stress (above 35% of the variance) in parents of ADHD children. Other studies on parent variables closely related to parenting stress have deepened our understanding of the complex dynamics of families of children with ADHD. For example, to study the relation between parental warmth, ADHD and conduct problems, Kaminski, Jones, and Harshaw (2004) videotaped the interaction between a community sample of children and their mothers as they were playing out short stories. All children in the sample had received an ADHD Combined-type diagnosis, with half of them presenting also conduct problems, and were divided into two groups: an ADHD group and an ADHD+Conduct Problems group. Even after controlling for ADHD severity, mothers of children with ADHD+CD made

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significantly more negative personal comments about their children and showed less physical and verbal warmth. As the authors warn, without the use of longitudinal studies it is not possible to determine what comes first in the causative relation between parental warmth and conduct problems. Parents could withdraw affect as a result of their child’s problematic behaviour, but making negative comments in the absence of positive comments may contribute to the child internalizing a negative self-image that will eventually result in the development of conduct problems. Oppositional defiant disorder, ADHD symptoms and the level of parentexpressed hostility are also the most relevant variables in explaining parent– child conflict. Research on this issue has evidenced that it is the severity of ODD symptoms more than just ADHD behaviour that predicts parent– child conflict severity. This was the result of a study by Edwards, Barkley, Laneri, Fletcher, and Metevia (2001) in which a group of 87 adolescents with ADHD+ODD and their parents were compared to a group of 32 control children and their parents. The researchers looked for differences between the two groups in parents’ and children’s ratings of the parent–child conflict, quality of communication, parental reports of psychological adjustment, as well as direct observations of parent–child interactions in neutral and conflictive situations. When faced with a conflict, fathers and mothers of adolescents with ADHD and ODD reported higher levels of hostility and the use of more aggressive conflict tactics. They also reported poorer communication with their teens than did parents of controls. Other studies have found higher levels of hostility and depression in mothers of children with ADHD and comorbid oppositional behaviour when compared with mothers of children with ADHD only or to mothers of normally functioning control children, a result that has been related to more negative mother – child interactions in families of children with ADHD+ODD (Shaw, Owens, Giovannelli, & Winsllow, 2001). Thus, even though in general the presence of a child with ADHD is stressful for the rest of the family members, it seems it is the combination of ADHD and oppositional behaviour that creates the greatest disturbances on family functioning. Research is not so clear on the impact that the different subtypes of ADHD may have on family life. A study by Lewis (1992) revealed that families of predominantly Inattentive children showed a more positive family functioning than either families of Combined-subtype (Hyperactivity/ Impulsivity+Inattention) children or families of Combined-subtype and comorbid aggressive behaviour. It is tentative to conclude that it is the hyperactive behaviour component in ADHD that poses the greatest challenge to family life. However, and since Lewis’ study did not include a

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group of Hyperactive/Impulsive subtype, the results could also suggest that it is the combination of inattention and hyperactive-impulsive symptoms which is more firmly associated to family disruption than inattention symptoms alone. In summary, results of various studies on this issue indicate that parenting stress is higher in families of children with ADHD, in particular when the symptoms of ADHD are associated with conduct problems. This line of research, centred primarily in the study of parents’ characteristics, has yielded valuable information. However, parenting stress is the final common pathway of contextual influences on parenting, that is, it is not only the consequence of a specific type of parent, but also the product of the characteristics of the child and of the family context in which parent–child relation develops. In the present investigation, we focus upon parenting stress in families of children with ADHD, examining how it relates to parents’ factors as well as to child factors. More specifically, we analyse family relations, the stress associated with being the parent of a child with ADHD, and the possible modulator role that comorbidity with ODD and ADHD subtype could play on the levels of parenting stress. Three hypotheses were tested: (1) the relationship of children with ADHD with parents and siblings are more conflictive than the sibling relation of non-ADHD children, (2) parenting stress is higher in parents with ADHD children than in parents of children without the disorder and (3) children with ADHD Combined subtype and children with ADHD plus comorbid ODD cause more parenting stress.

METHOD Participants One hundred and sixty seven families participated in the study, divided into two groups, the ADHD group and the control group. The ADHD group was formed by 114 families recruited from Associations of Parents of Children with ADHD from different regions in Spain. The largest part of the sample (81) came from the region of Valencia, and the rest of the sample was recruited from each of three other cities (Barcelona, Palma de Mallorca and Oviedo). Families included in the study had to have a child aged between 5 and 13 years with a confirmed DSM-IV diagnosis of ADHD, Combined or Inattentive subtypes (American Psychiatric Association, 1994). To be diagnosed with an ADHD, children had to demonstrate six or more attention

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symptoms and/or six or more hyperactivity symptoms. Symptoms must be present before the child is seven years old, manifest in different environments (home, school) and impair substantially the child’s family and school adjustment as well as his/her interpersonal relations. In addition, these symptoms cannot be the result of a generalized development disorder, schizophrenia or other psychotic disorder, and cannot be better explained by the presence of another mental disorder. Table 1 shows all sample demographic information for the experimental and the control group. The ADHD group included 93 boys (81.6%) and 21 girls (18.4%), with ages between 5 and 13, with a mean age of 9.18 years. A proportion of 25.4% of children had received an ADHD Inattentive type diagnosis, and 74.6% had a Combined Hyperactive+Inattentive subtype diagnosis. Families for the control group were randomly selected by educational psychologists and included 53 families with children of the same age as those in the ADHD group. In this group, 34 were boys (64.2%) and 19 were girls (53.8%) with a mean age of 8.26 years. All children had an IQ of 70 or higher. Regarding parents’ socio-demographics, there were no age differences between fathers in the experimental group and those in the control group. Fathers in the control group were somewhat less likely to have a bachelor degree and slightly more likely to have a high school/technician degree. However, statistical analysis revealed no significant differences between the two groups in parent study level (w2 ¼ 3.906; p ¼ .278). No significant differences were found either in fathers’ occupational level (w2 ¼ 4.061; p ¼ .241). There were no age differences either between mothers in the two groups. As for study level, mothers in the ADHD group were more likely to have either an Associate’s degree or a Bachelor’s degree. These differences were statistically significant (w2 ¼ 9.317; p ¼ .025). However, percentages were similar for the number of unemployed mothers in the ADHD group and the control group, and no significant differences in occupation level between the two groups were found. Finally, our data revealed that a majority of the families both in the ADHD and the control group were best described as nuclear families with two parents. The mean number of children is also the same for the two groups. The only difference worth mentioning is the higher percentage of adopted children in the ADHD group (8.8%) vs. the control group (1.9%). Higher rates of adopted children in ADHD groups is not an uncommon finding in family studies (e.g., Hinshaw, 2002) and might be indirectly pointing to the influence of environmental factors on the disorder

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Table 1.

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Group Means on Demographic and Family Structure Variables. ADHD Group

Child characteristics Age (mean) Gender Boys (%) Girls (%) Recruiting origin Valencian region (%) Catalunã (%) Palma de Mallorca (%) Oviedo (%) ADHD subtype Inattentive (%) Combined (%) Adopted (%) On medication (%) Oppositional defiant disorder (ODD) (%) Father characteristics Father age (mean) Study level Middle school (%) High School/technician (%) Associate (%) Bachelor (%) Father unemployed (%) Mother characteristics Mother age (mean) Study level Middle school (%) High School/technician (%) Associate (%) Bachelor (%) Mother unemployed (%) Family type Single parent (%) Remarried (%) First marriage (%) Number of siblings (mean) Rearing leading role Mother (%) Both parents (%) Others (%)

9.18 81.6 18.4 71.1 9.6 9.6 9.6

Control Group

8.26 64.2 35.8

100

25.4 74.6 8.8 86.8 32.5

1.9

42.8

41.2

43.9 23.7 8.8 23.7 3.50

37.7 32.1 15.1 15.1 1.9

40.6

39.1

38.6 30.7 17.5 13.2 28.9

28.3 54.7 11.3 5.7 33.9

9.6 7.9 82.5 1.07

11.3 5.7 83 1.17

61.9 35.4 2.7

60.4 32.1 4.2

1.9

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etiology. Overall, and except for adoption rate, the samples included in the two groups are very similar. Procedure Parents participating in the study were informed about the goals of the study and about the assessment procedures. These included a personal interview on the developmental history of their child and on various socio-familiar variables, and the administration of a parenting stress questionnaire. Parents were informed of the confidentiality of the data. Test administration was divided into two sessions. In the first session, the parents were interviewed to gather family socio-demographic information and child history information. The interviews took from 40 to 50 min to be completed. In the second session, parents completed the Parenting Stress Index Questionnaire, which required about 50 min to be completed. Only families that had completed all tests were included in the study. Although both parents were asked to participate, it must be noted that in a large number of cases, only mothers answered the questions. Measures Parents’ Semi-Structured Interview (Miranda & Grau, 2005) For this study, a semi-structured diagnostic interview was developed to collect information on a wide range of family and developmental variables that research has shown to be related to ADHD. The interview contained 71 different format questions, and was structured around the following areas of interest: (1) socio-demographics and family structure data; (2) prenatal and perinatal development; (3) development during the first years; (4) temperament and associated problems; (5) history of psychopathology in the family and emotional problems in parents; (6) family relations and family and social support; (7) parents’ perception of the problem; (8) family role in the identification, diagnosis and treatment of ADHD; (9) academic record, resources and extra curricular activities and (10) relation of parents with the child’s school. To explore the presence of oppositional behaviour, we included in the interview the items on oppositional behaviour from the Stony Brook Child and Adolescent Symptom Inventories (Gadow & Sprafkin, 1995), which assess the behavioural, affective and cognitive symptoms in the child and adolescent according to the DSM-IV (American Psychiatric Association,

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1994). The Stony Brook Inventories include 10 categories, from which we have only used category B, ODD, characterized by a recurring pattern of oppositional, defiant, disobedient and hostile child behaviour towards authoritative figures, spanning at least six months. Mothers rated each symptom behaviour on a 4-point scale and we considered a symptom was present if it was rated as characteristic of the child’s behaviour ‘‘Pretty much’’ or ‘‘Very much’’ of the time. Parenting Stress Index (PSI, Abidin, 1990) This self-report questionnaire to assess parental stress includes 101 items rated on a 5-point Lykert-type scale. The objective of the PSI is to identify parent–child systems that are under stress and at risk for developing dysfunctional parenting behaviours or children behavioural problems. It consists of 101 items in six subscales that measure the child characteristics that can be the source of parents’ stress and seven subscales that measure the parents’ characteristics and situational variables. The Inventory also includes another 18 items on possible sources of stress in the last 12 months. We briefly describe the parent and child characteristics. Child Domain. High scores in this scale can be associated with children that display characteristics that make it difficult for parents to perform their parenting role. When the child domain scale is higher than the parent domain scale, we can interpret that the special characteristics of the child are the main factor contributing to the total stress in the parent–child relation system. This domain includes the following subscales: Distractibility: High scores are associated with children who display ADHD inattention behaviours, such as overreaction, restlessness, distraction and short attention span. For example: ‘‘Compared to most children, my child has more difficulty concentrating and paying attention’’. Adaptability: Scores in this area are associated with characteristics that make the parenting task more difficult by virtue of the child’s inability to adjust to changes in his/her physical or social environment (‘‘My child’s sleeping or eating schedule was much harder to establish than I expected’’). Reinforces parent: This subscale includes items which reflect the fact that parents may not experiencing their child as a source of positive reinforcement (‘‘My child rarely does things for me that make me feel good’’). Demandingness: High scores reflect that parents are experiencing the child as placing many demands on them (‘‘My child turned out to be more of a problem than I had expected’’).

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Mood: High scores are associated with children whose affective performance shows evidence of dysfunction (‘‘My child seems to cry or fuss more often than most children’’). Acceptability: High scores reflect a mismatch between the child’s physical, intellectual and emotional characteristics and his parents’ expectations (‘‘My child does a few things which bother me a great deal’’).

Parent Domain. High scores in the parent domain indicate that the sources of stress and dysfunctional parent–child relation are related to the characteristics of the parents. Even though the system approach acknowledges the interactive character of this relationship, it is possible to analyse certain aspects of the parents that are independent of the relation with their child. The seven subscales included in the parent domain are the following: Sense of competence: The items of this subscale detect the lack of practical child development knowledge and limited child management skills. For example: ‘‘I have had many more problems raising children than I expected’’. Isolation: This subscale includes items on isolation from family and other social support systems (‘‘I feel alone and without friends’’). Attachment: High scores reflect that parents are not feeling a sense of emotional closeness to the child (‘‘I expected to have closer and warmer feelings for my child than I do and this bothers me’’). Health: High scores are suggestive of deterioration in parental health that may be the result of either parent stress or an additional independent stress in the parent–child system. (For example: ‘‘Since I’ve had my child’’: 1. I have been sick a great deal, 2. I haven’t felt as good, 3. I haven’t noticed any change in my health, 4. I have been healthier). Role restriction: High scores on this subscale suggest that the parents experience the parental role as restricting their freedom and frustrating them in their attempts to maintain their own identity (‘‘I feel trapped by my responsibilities as a parent’’). Depression: High scores in this subscale suggest the presence of significant depression in the parents. Some items relate to feelings of guilt and unhappiness that could drain parents of the energy required for parenting and are not necessarily the result of clinic depression (‘‘There are quite a few things that bother me about my life’’). Spouse relationship: High scores reflect lack of emotional and active support of the spouse in the area of child management (‘‘Having a child has caused more problems than I expected in my relationship with my spouse (or male/female friend)’’).

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The PSI has been shown to have good reliability (6 month test–retest reliability ¼ .7–.8; Cronbach’s alpha ¼ .8) as well as construct and discriminant validity (Abidin, 1990).

RESULTS Group Differences in Family Relations In order to examine the impact of the behaviour of children with ADHD on general family functional and emotional atmosphere, we analysed the child’s relation to other members in his family: father, mother and siblings. The results are summarized in Table 2. As can be seen in Table 2, 25.7% of parents in the ADHD group experienced a problematic relation with their child (indifference or conflict), while only 3.8% of control parents reported problems with theirs. Children in the ADHD group are also more likely to have problematic relations with their father (29.9%), and even more so with their siblings (46.5%). The difference with the percentages in the control groups was significant for all three types of relations: mother–child (w2 ¼ 7.697; p ¼ .015), father–child (w2 ¼ 10.521; p ¼ .005) and relations with siblings (w2 ¼ 12.667; p ¼ .001). Table 2.

Perceptions of Family Relations in ADHD Group and Control Group. ADHD

Control

w2

p

N

%

N

%

Mother relation Close Indifferent Tense, rejection

94 1 19

82.5 9 16.7

51 1 1

96.2 1.9 1.9

7.69

.015

Father relation Close Indifferent Tense, rejection

80 10 24

70.2 8.8 21.1

49 2 2

92.5 3.8 3.8

10.52

.005

Sibling relation Close Indifferent Tense, rejection

61 7 46

53.5 6.1 40.4

43 0 10

81.1 0 18.9

12.66

.001

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Group Differences in Child Domain of Parenting Stress Index A multivariate analysis MANOVA was first performed to compare both groups, ADHD and Control, on the six PSI Child Scales. The results showed significant differences between ADHD and control families (L ¼ .451, F(6, 160) ¼ 32.46, p ¼ .001, Z2 ¼ .549), indicating that parents from the two groups experienced differently the stress associated with parenthood. We next analysed the differences in each of the six scales separately. The results yielded by six univariate ANOVAs are displayed in Table 3. There were significant differences in all scales measuring parental stress associated with the child’s characteristics. Parents in the ADHD group perceived their children as more driven to distraction, F(1, 165) ¼ 115.81, p ¼ .000, less able to adapt to changes, F(6, 165) ¼ 70.84, p ¼ .000, and more likely to be in a negative mood than parents in the control groups, F(6, 165) ¼ 78.90, p ¼ .000. In addition, parents of children diagnosed with ADHD, though their children care was more demanding, F(1, 165) ¼ 91.81, p ¼ .000, felt less reinforced in their parenting role, F(1, 165) ¼ 10.36, p ¼ .002, and reported that their children characteristics were further away from their own expectations, F(1, 165) ¼ 149.75, p ¼ .000, than parents of children without the disorder. Effect sizes were moderately high for distractibility, Z2 ¼ .412, and acceptability, Z2 ¼ .476, and moderate for the child’s mood, Z2 ¼ .324, the child’s inability to adjust to changes, Z2 ¼ .300 and the demands experienced by the parents, Z2 ¼ .358. But, even though parents of ADHD children received significantly less positive reinforcement from their children than parents of control children, the effect size of this variable, Z2 ¼ .059, is too low to be of any relevance.

Table 3.

PSI Child Domain Scales in ADHD Group and Control Group. ADHD

Distractibility Adaptability Reinforces parent Demandingness Mood Acceptability

Control

M

SD

M

SD

30.78 30.83 13.39 27.51 14.32 21.85

5.32 8.55 4.60 7.50 4.34 6.10

21.49 20.21 11.00 16.57 8.47 10.74

4.90 4.91 4.14 5.25 2.96 3.70

F

p

Z2

115.81 70.84 10.36 91.81 78.91 149.75

.000 .000 .002 .000 .000 .000

.412 .300 .059 .358 .324 .476

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Group Differences in Parent Domain of Parenting Stress Index Another MANOVA was performed on the PSI Parent Domain Scales. Significant differences were found between the ADHD group and the control group (L ¼ .696, F(7, 159) ¼ 9.89, p ¼ .001, Z2 ¼ .304). We then performed six univariate ANOVAs, the results of which are displayed in Table 4. There were significant differences in all scales of the PSI that assess parent sources of stress: Parental competence, F(1, 165) ¼ 44.38, p ¼ .000, Isolation, F(1, 165) ¼ 25.86, p ¼ .000, attachment to child, F(1, 165) ¼ 17.72, p ¼ .000, Health issues, F(1, 165) ¼ 15.07, p ¼ .000, Restrictions imposed by parenting role, F(1, 165) ¼ 36.91, p ¼ .000, Depression, F(1, 165) ¼ 44.60, p ¼ .000 and Relation to spouse, F(1, 165) ¼ 15.69, p ¼ .000. Of all these significant differences, only Parental competence (Z2 ¼ .212) and Depression (Z2 ¼ .213) showed a moderate effect size, while the effect size was very low in the case of Attachment (Z2 ¼ .097), Parents’ health (Z2 ¼ .084) and Spouse relationship (Z2 ¼ .087).

Modulation of Parenting Stress by Subtype of ADHD, Inattentive versus Combined The multivariate analysis (MANOVA) performed on the PSI Child Domain Scales that we discussed above, also yielded significant differences in the ADHD subtype condition. Parents of children with an ADHD Combined subtype rated the PSI scales differently from the mothers of children with a predominantly Inattentive subtype, (L ¼ .790, F(6, 107) ¼ 4.74, p ¼ .000, Z2 ¼ .210). Therefore, a series of univariate analyses were next performed to Table 4.

PSI Parent Domain Scales in ADHD Group and Control Group. ADHD

Parental competence Isolation Attachment Health Role restriction Depression Spouse relationship

Control

M

SD

M

SD

38.23 14.77 14.13 13.58 21.66 22.37 18.20

8.15 4.69 3.86 4.29 5.93 6.45 6.60

29.89 11.08 11.66 11.00 16.10 15.81 14.02

5.96 3.58 2.67 3.27 4.45 4.48 5.76

F

p

Z2

44.38 25.86 17.72 15.07 36.91 44.60 15.69

.000 .000 .000 .000 .000 .000 .000

.212 .136 .097 .084 .183 .213 .087

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Table 5.

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PSI Child Domain Scales in Inattentive ADHD Group and Combined ADHD Group. Inattentive


Combined

M

SD

M

SD

27.62 25.66 12.17 23.66 12.38 20.97

5.15 7.62 4.89 6.74 4.38 6.54

31.86 32.60 13.80 28.82 14.98 22.15

4.96 8.16 4.44 7.32 4.15 5.96

F

p

Z2

15.46 16.18 2.75 11.21 8.24 .82

.000 .000 .100 .001 .005 .368

.121 .126 .024 .091 .069 .007

find specific differences in the individual Child scales. The results are presented in Table 5. Parents in the two subtype groups differed significantly in their ratings of four out of the six scales: Distractibility, F(1, 112) ¼ 15.46, p ¼ .001, Z2 ¼ .121, Adaptability, F(1, 112) ¼ 16.18, p ¼ .001, Z2 ¼ .126), Demandingness, F(1, 112) ¼ 11.21, p ¼ .001, Z2 ¼ .091 and Mood, F(1, 112) ¼ 8.24, p ¼ .05, Z2 ¼ .069. In addition, in all six scales, mothers of Combined-type children had higher scores than mothers of Inattentive children. However, the effect sizes are very low, and only the impact on mothers’ stress on the children’s tendency to be distracted and of the children’s difficulty to adapt to changes merit some attention. A MANOVA was also performed on the Parent domain scales of the Parent Stress Inventory to identify possible differences between the two ADHD subtypes. The results showed that globally there were no differences between the mothers of the Combined ADHD subtype and the Inattentive subtype children (L ¼ 0.887, F(7, 106) ¼ 1.925, p ¼ .073, Z2 ¼ .113). Significant differences between the individual Parent domain scales were revealed, however, in the univariate analysis and are displayed in Table 6. As it was the case with the Child scales, parents of Combined children rated all Parent scales higher than mothers of Inattentive children. The differences between these two groups were also significant for six of the seven Parent scales: Parental competence, F(1, 112) ¼ 7.29, p ¼ .008, Z2 ¼ .061, Attachment, F(1, 112) ¼ 5.36, p ¼ .022, Z2 ¼ .046, Health, F(1, 112) ¼ 8.34, p ¼ .005, Z2 ¼ .069, Role restriction, F(1, 112) ¼ 4.74, p ¼ .032, Z2 ¼ .041, Depression, F(1, 112) ¼ 6.13, p ¼ .015, Z2 ¼ .052), and Spouse relationship, F(1, 112) ¼ 5.87, p ¼ .017, Z2 ¼ .050. However, all effect sizes were very low, indicating a very marginal contribution of the variance.

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Table 6. PSI Parent Domain Scales in Inattentive ADHD Group and Combined ADHD Group. Inattentive


Table 7.

M

SD

M

SD

34.79 13.90 12.72 11.66 19.62 19.86 15.69

8.19 4.51 3.41 3.27 4.79 5.22 4.47

39.40 15.07 14.61 14.24 22.35 23.22 19.06

7.85 4.74 3.91 4.41 6.15 6.64 7.01

F

p

Z2

7.29 1.36 5.36 8.34 4.74 6.13 5.87

.008 .246 .022 .005 .032 .015 .017

.061 .012 .046 .069 .041 .052 .050

PSI Child Domain Scales in ADHD Group and ADHD+ODD Group. ADHD


Combined

ADHD+ODD

M

SD

M

SD

30.04 28.74 12.22 25.45 13.23 20.86

5.09 8.37 4.10 7.47 4.17 6.15

32.32 35.19 15.81 31.78 16.57 23.92

5.53 7.26 4.69 5.56 3.82 5.53

F

p

Z2

4.76 16.12 17.45 20.96 16.81 6.59

.031 .000 .000 .000 .000 .012

.041 .126 .135 .158 .130 .056

Modulation of Parenting Stress in ADHD Families by Comorbidity with Oppositional Defiant Disorder The possible modulating effect of ODD symptoms in the stress experienced by parents of ADHD children was also investigated. An initial MANOVA was performed on the PSI Child Scales scores to look for differences between families of children with ADHD only and families of children with both ADHD and ODD behavioural manifestations. The analysis revealed significant differences, L ¼ .761, F(6, 107) ¼ 5.603, p ¼ .000, Z2 ¼ .239. The univariate ANOVAs (see Table 7) evidenced significant differences in all Child scales and in the same direction. Mothers of children whose ADHD children also displayed ODD symptoms has higher scores than

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Table 8.

PSI Parent Domain Scales in ADHD Group and ADHD+ODD Group. ADHD


ADHD+ODD

M

SD

M

SD

35.94 14.26 13.29 12.90 20.34 20.64 17.00

7.92 4.33 3.49 4.17 5.51 5.52 5.73

43 15.84 15.89 15.00 24.41 25.97 20.70

6.44 5.26 4.05 4.24 5.91 6.83 7.61

F

p

Z2

22.30 2.88 12.53 6.30 12.99 19.94 8.37

.000 .093 .001 .014 .000 .000 .005

.166 .025 .101 .053 .104 .151 .070

mothers of ADHD only children in Distractibility, F(1, 112) ¼ 4.76, p ¼ .031, Z2 ¼ .041, Adaptability, F(1, 112) ¼ 16.12, p ¼ .000, Z2 ¼ .126, Reinforces parent, F(1, 112) ¼ 17.45, p ¼ .000, Z2 ¼ .135, Demandingness, F(1, 112) ¼ 20.96, p ¼ .000, Z2 ¼ .158, Mood, F(1, 112) ¼ 16.81, p ¼ .000, Z2 ¼ .130 and Acceptability, F(1, 112) ¼ 6.59, p ¼ .000, Z2 ¼ .056. Finally, the differences in the stress associated to Parent dimensions between families with an ADHD-only child and families with a child with ADHD+ODD were analysed by means of a MANOVA that revealed significant differences (L ¼ .757, F(7, 106) ¼ 4.868, p ¼ .000, Z2 ¼ .243). The ANOVAs on each scale are presented in Table 8. As the table shows, parents of children with both ADHD and ODD rated all sources of stress associated with parents’ characteristics higher than parents of children with ADHD only. Except for the Isolation scale, these differences were significant for all scales: Parental competence, F(1, 112) ¼ 22.30, p ¼ .000, Z2 ¼ .166, Attachment, F(1, 112) ¼ 12.53, p ¼ .001, Z2 ¼ .101, Health, F(1, 112) ¼ 6.30, p ¼ .014, Z2 ¼ .053, Role restriction, F(1, 112) ¼ 12.99, p ¼ .000, Z2 ¼ .104, Depression, F(1, 112) ¼ 19.94, p ¼ .000, Z2 ¼ 151 and Spouse relationship, F(1, 112) ¼ 8.37, p ¼ .005, Z2 ¼ .070.

DISCUSSION This study is an important if only a first step for learning more about parenting stress in families of children with ADHD. As it was hypothesized, the relation of ADHD children with their parents and siblings were significantly more tense than the relations in families with children without the

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disorder. The analysis of the quality of the relations indicated that parents with ADHD children perceive their relation with the child as more difficult, and as generally characterized by strain and rejection. The relation of ADHD children with their siblings was even more negatively affected, with parents informing of very tense relations in roughly half of our sample. Above all, the overall impression of family functioning out of this study highlights the need to pay close attention to the siblings of a child with ADHD when planning some type of intervention. Given that the behavioural manifestations of ADHD are inevitably disruptive, a desirable therapeutic objective would be to achieve a reasonable functional family life, a crucial issue for many families. However, it is important to put the results of this first part of the study into the proper perspective, since they evidence a real situation, the more likely dysfunction of sibling relations in families with ADHD children, but tell us nothing about the reasons that explain it. Only the study of Kendall (1999) identified a series of factors like disruptive behaviours, victimization and feelings of sadness and helplessness, which aid to understand the difficulty of siblings’ relationships in the case of children with ADHD. But unfortunately, Kendall’s sample included only 11 families, a number too small to derive any conclusions that could be generalized to the population of siblings of ADHD children. The impact of children with this developmental disorder on siblings is therefore a relevant but under-researched area. As our second hypothesis stated, parenting stress was found to be higher in parents with ADHD children than in parents of children without ADHD. Parents’ stress was associated not only to parents’ personal characteristics like feeling of competence or depression, but also and with larger effect sizes to various child characteristics related to the ADHD symptomatology. In fact, parents of children with ADHD rated them as having less affective and emotional control and evidencing more difficulties concentrating and adjusting to the physical and social environment than did parents of children without ADHD. Likewise, parents of children with ADHD felt more strongly a mismatch between the expectations they initially had and the actual physical and emotional characteristics of their children. Coincidentally, parents of ADHD children perceived their parenting role as more challenging. Our study also revealed significant differences between parents of children with and without ADHD in all dimensions of Parent domain-related stress, with sense of competence, isolation, role restriction and depression as the PSI scales with greatest effect size. Replicating the results of other studies

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(McLaughlin & Harrison, 2006; Rosello´ et al., 2003), parents of children with ADHD perceived themselves as less competent in their parenting role than parents of children without problems, which can be the end result of a history of failure in controlling their children’s behaviour. The social isolation of the family, according to our results, was more pronounced in the case of families with a child with ADHD. Parents of children with this disorder are more often exposed to social criticism due to the inappropriate behaviour of their children, and also due to the attributions that others make of their behaviours. Because of this, parents can feel the need to shy away from many social situations in everyday life, therefore increasing their social isolation and at the same time diminishing their sense of parenting competence. In addition, compared to parents of children without problems, parents of children with ADHD in our study felt significantly more trapped and perceived their parenting role placing more restrictions on their personal time. This type of situation is common in the case of children with any kind of special needs that require more time and attention from their parents. Our results coincide in this sense with those of other studies that have used different types of measures. For instance, Escobar et al. (2005) found that parents of children with ADHD reported that they felt more limitations in family activities and on their personal time than did parents of the two control groups (asthmatic and healthy children). Parents in the group of ADHD children also felt more depressed in comparison with parents on the control group. As Harrison and Sofronoff (2002) point out, depressive symptoms in parents of ADHD children may be associated with feelings of ‘‘learned helplessness’’ as a result of their inability to change their children’s behaviour in spite of all their efforts. It is also possible that, due to their feelings of sadness, parents do not activate the energies required to fulfil their parenting role. This can result in parents being caught in a vicious circle that is difficult to break but one that has a very negative impact on the quality of family life. Finally, our results evidence the influence of ADHD subtype and ODD comorbidity on parenting stress. Parents reported that children with Combined subtype ADHD were more likely to be distracted, less amenable to environmental changes, more moody and more challenging to rear than children with Inattentive subtype ADHD. Parents of Combined children felt less parenting competence, more depressed, less emotionally attached to their children and more overwhelmed in their parenting role. They also reported more health problems and more conflict situations with their spouse. As in other studies (Lewis, 1992), parents of children with Combined subtype ADHD showed higher levels of stress. However, this

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assertion must be taken with some caution since the effect sizes of the different sources of parenting stress was low in general, with the exception of the moderate sizes of Distractibility and Adaptability. The influence of the association of ADHD and ODD on parenting stress factors is much more evident. Specifically, when compared to parents of children with ADHD only, parents of children with ADHD plus comorbid oppositional behaviour, showed significantly higher scores in the Parenting Stress scales, both in Child domain scales (distractibility, adaptability, reinforces parent, demandingness, mood and acceptability) and in Parent domain scales (parental competence, isolation, attachment to child, health, role restriction, depression and spouse relationship). These results add to those from a number of studies (Anastopoulos et al., 1992; Johnston, Murray, Hinshaw, Pelham, & Hoza, 2002; Kaminski et al., 2004; Shaw et al., 2001) in pointing to the presence of oppositional behaviour in ADHD children as a variable with a powerful impact on parenting stress.

Limitations The primary contribution of our study has been to increase the knowledge gained from previous research on the impact of having a child with ADHD in the family, by looking into the sources of stress related to parents’ variables as well as to the sources of stress originated in the characteristics of the child. There are, however, certain limitations to this study. We were not able to introduce into the assessment procedure any objective measure of parenting stress (such as videotaped parent–child interactions in different everyday life situations or parents’ diaries). On the other hand, our research has evidenced the important role that two variables have on parenting stress of families with ADHD children: ADHD subtype and the joint presence of ODD symptoms. However, there are other characteristics of the child that could have been included, like age, CI or adoption status among other things. It is important to also stress that the fact that all our families came from ADHD associations may limit the generality of the results, since associated families are actively involved in the problem to the point of searching for specialized help. Another limitation of the study is that, due to the design, no conclusions could be derived on the cause–effect relationship between sources of parenting stress associated with the child and sources of stress associated to parents’ characteristics. The results of several studies suggest that the special characteristics of the ADHD child are the main factor contributing to

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family stress familiar (Anastopoulus et al., 1992; Johnston & Mash, 2001; Podolski & Nigg, 2001). Owing to the more difficult temperament ADHD children and as a result of complex conditioning process, the child becomes an aversive stimulus for his parents, which in turn increases the vulnerability of the family to stress. Only longitudinal designs can help disentangle the various family variables involved. We also want to point out that in the majority of cases, it was only the mother who answered the interview and questionnaire. Since the interest of this research is in identifying possible environmental sources of variation that could have an impact on the development of ADHD, more insight could be gained by also including the father’s perception. Research has already documented the importance of differential parenting in understanding nonshared environmental influences (e.g., Feiberg & Hetherington, 2001). In spite of the aforementioned limitations, the results of our study show clearly the need to include parents-based sources of stress (feelings of competence, depression, etc) as part of clinical intervention objectives. Previous intervention research has made it clear that common therapies designed to improve ADHD symptoms, do not have any effect on either the quality of parenting or on parenting stress (Harrison & Sofronoff, 2002; Wells et al., 2000). Thus, including anger control training and marital therapy could improve the success of ADHD aimed interventions, especially when the disorder is associated with oppositional defiant behaviour problems. Intervention studies such as that of Treacy, Tripp, and Baird (2005) to improve parent stress management have proved to have a positive effect on various components of family functioning like parenting style, locus of control and perceived social support, and reveal the trail ahead.

REFERENCES Abidin, R. R. (1990). Parenting stress index (3rd ed.). Charlottesville, VA: Pediatric Psychology Press. American Psychiatric Association. (1994). Diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders (4th ed.) (DSM-IV). Washington, DC: American Psychiatric Association. Anastopoulus, A. D., Guevremont, D. C., Shelton, T. L., & DuPaul, G. J. (1992). Parenting stress among families of children with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. Journal of Abnormal Child Psychology, 20, 503–520. Biederman, J., Newcorn, J., & Sprich, S. (1991). Comorbidity of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder with conduct, depressive, anxiety and other disorders. American Journal of Psychiatry, 148, 564–577.

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Brofenbrenner, U., & Ceci, S. J. (1994). Nature-nurture reconceptualized in developmental perspective: A bioecological model. Psychological Review, 101, 568–586. Brown, Th. E. (2000). Attention deficit disorders and comorbidities in children, adolescents and adults. Washington, DC: American Psychiatric Association. Edwards, G., Barkley, R., Laneri, M., Fletcher, K., & Metevia, L. (2001). Parent-adolescent conflict in teenagers with ADHD and ODD. Journal of Abnormal Child Psychology, 26, 557–572. Escobar, R., Soutullo, C. A., Hervas, A., Gastaminza, X., Polavieja, P., & Gilaberte, I. (2005). Worse quality of life for children with newly diagnosed attention-deficit/ hyperactivity disorder, compared with asthmatic and healthy children. Pediatrics, 116, 364–369. Feiberg, M., & Hetherington, E. M. (2001). Differential parenting as a within-family variable. Journal of Family Psychology, 15(1), 22–30. Gadow, K. D., & Sprafkin, J. (1995). Child symptoms inventories. The revised CSI parent and teacher checklist. Stony Brook, NY: Chekmate Plus. Harrison, C., & Sofronoff, K. (2002). ADHD and parental psychological distress: Role of demographics, child behavioral characteristics, and parental cognitions. Journal of the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, 41, 703–711. Heiser, P., Friedel, S., & Dempfle, A. (2004). Molecular genetic aspects of attention-deficit/ hyperactivity disorder. Neuroscience Behavioral Review, 28, 625–641. Hinshaw, S. P. (2002). Preadolescent girls with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder: I. Background characteristics, comorbidity, cognitive and social functioning, and parenting practices. Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, 70, 1086–1098. Hinshaw, S. P., & Anderson, C. A. (1996). Conduct and oppositional defiant disorders. In: E. J. Mash & R. A. Barkley (Eds), Child psychopathology (pp. 113–149). New York: Guildon Press. Johnston, C., & Mash, E. J. (2001). Families of children with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. Review and recommendations for future research. Clinical Child and Family Psychology Review, 4, 183–206. Johnston, C., Murray, C., Hinshaw, S., Pelham, W., & Hoza, B. (2002). Responsiveness in interactions of mothers and sons with ADHD: Relations to maternal and child characteristics. Journal of Abnormal Child Psychology, 30, 77–88. Kaminski, P. L., Jones, H., & Harshaw, A. A. (2004). Low parental warmth and conduct problems in ADHD boys. Poster presented at the 112th annual convention of the American Psychological Association, Honolulu, HI. Kendall, J. (1999). Sibling accounts of ADHD. Family Processes, 38, 117–136. Lewis, K. (1992). Family functioning as perceived by parents of boys with attention deficit disorder. Issues of Mental Health Nursery, 13, 369–386. McLaughlin, D. P., & Harrison, C. A. (2006). Parenting practices of mothers of children with ADHD: The role of maternal and child factors. Child and Adolescent Mental Health, 11, 82–88. Miranda, A., & Grau, D. (2005). Family and school: Its influence on children with ADHD. Poster presented at the 3rd international ADHD meeting, Badajoz, Spain. Miranda, A., Soriano, M., & Garcı´ a, R. (2005). Reading comprehension and written composition problems of children with ADHD: Discussion of research and methodological considerations. In: T. E. Scruggs & M. A. Mastropieri (Eds), Advances in learning and behavioral disabilities (Vol. 19, pp. 237–256). Oxford, UK: Elsevier.

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Pennington, B. F. (2002). The development of psychopathology: Nature and nurture. New York: The Guilford Press. Podolski, C. L., & Nigg, J. T. (2001). Parent stress and coping in relation to child ADHD severity and associated child disruptive behaviours problems. Journal of Clinical Child Psychology, 30, 503–513. Rosello´, B., Garcı´ a, R., Ta´rraga, R., & Mulas, F. (2003). El papel de los padres en el desarrollo y aprendizaje de los ninõs con trastornos por de´ficit de atencioń con hiperactividad. Revista de Neurologıá, 36, 79–84. Scheel, M. J., & Rieckmann, T. (1998). An empirically derived description of self-efficacy and empowerment for parents of children identified as psychologically disordered. The American Journal of Family Therapy, 26, 15–27. Shaw, D. S., Owens, E. B., Giovannelli, J., & Winsllow, E. B. (2001). Infant and toddler pathways leading to early externalizing disorders. Journal of the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, 40, 36–43. Swensen, A. R., Birnbaum, H. G., Secnik, C., Marychenko, M., Greenberg, P., & Claxton, A. (2003). Attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder: Increased cost for patients and their families. Journal of American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, 42, 1415–1423. Treacy, L., Tripp, G., & Baird, A. (2005). Parent stress management training for attentiondeficit/hyperactivity disorder. Behavior Therapy, 36, 223–233. Tripp, G. (2005). ADHD: Beyond the child. In: W. Ostreng (Ed.), Convergence: Interdisciplinary communications 2004/2005. Oslo: Center for Advanced Study. Wells, K. C., Epstein, J. N., Hinshaw, S. P., Conners, C. K., Klaric, J., Abikoff, H. B., Abramowitz, A., Arnold, L. E., Elliott, G., GreenHill, L. L., Hechtman, L., Hoza, B., Jensen, P. S., March, J. S., Pelham, W., Pfiffner, L., Severe, J., Swanson, J. M., Vitiello, B., & Wigal, T. (2000). Parenting and family stress treatment outcomes in attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD): An empirical analysis in the MTA study. Journal of Abnormal Child Psychology, 28, 543–553. Whalen, C. K., & Henker, B. (1999). The child with attention/deficit hyperactivity disorder in family contexts. In: H. C. Quay & A. E. Hogan (Eds), Handbook of disruptive behaviour disorders (pp. 139–155). New York: Kluwer Academic/Plenum Publishers. Whalen, C. K., Henker, B., Janner, L. D., Ishikawa, Sh. S., Floro, J. N., Swindle, R., Perwien, A. R., & Johnston, J. A. (2006). Toward mapping daily challenges of living with ADHD: Maternal and child perspectives using electronic diaries. Journal of Abnormal Child Psychology, 34, 115–130. Wolraich, M. L., Wibbelsman, C. J., Brown, T. E., Evans, S. W., Gotlieb, E. M., Knight, J. R., Ross, E. C., Shubiner, H. H., Wender, E. H, & Wilens, T. (2005). Attention-deficit/ hyperactivity disorder among adolescents: A review of the diagnosis, treatment and clinical implications. Pediatrics, 115, 1734–1746.

THE PROBLEM OF MEASURING SOCIO-CULTURAL LEVEL IN PSYCHOLOGICAL RESEARCH Alessandra Coscarelli, Giulia Balboni and Roberto Cubelli ABSTRACT Performances in psychological tests are frequently influenced by the socio-cultural level (SCL). Therefore, valid strategies to assess SCL must be used. Dimensions of SCL are presented (socio-economic status, cultural capital, and social capital) and available strategies for their assessment are described. Problems in the SCL evaluation and their effects in research and clinical fields are discussed, particularly in the case of children with learning and behavioral disabilities. Several researchers have concluded that performances in psychological tests are frequently influenced by the socio-cultural level (SCL) of the person evaluated (e.g., Spinnler & Rognoni, 1989; Gottfried, Gottfried, Bathurst, Guerin, & Parramore, 2003). SCL effects were found in the performances of children and adults in different tests of reasoning (e.g., Raven Progressive Matrices, Raven, 1965), linguistic (e.g., verbal fluency, Ramier & Hecaen, 1970), mnestic (e.g., visual and spatial learning, Capitani, Grossi, Lucca, Orsini, & Spinnler, 1980), and perceptual (e.g., Street’s (1931) completion International Perspectives Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 20, 163–180 Copyright r 2007 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(07)20007-2

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test) skills. Therefore, in order to derive a valid interpretation of performances on a given psychological test, it would be useful to have a valid measurement of SCL. Generally, to evaluate the SCL of a child, as well as of an adult, the educational level, occupational status, and income of the participant or of all members of the family are measured (e.g., Leventhal & Brooks-Gunn, 2000; Smith & Graham, 1995). However, we must consider whether these indicators alone may result in a valid measurement of SLC. For example, in order to measure the SCL of an adult is ignoring his/her satisfaction level and his/her investment degree in free time activities correct? Is it valid not to consider the opportunities provided by his/her community? In the case of a child, is it adequate to measure exclusively the parents’ SCL, without taking into consideration any educational services (e.g., school, parish youth club, and sports club) the child may receive, or the peer social groups of peers with which he/she associates? Are educational level and income of parents predictive of all stimulation and development opportunities accessible to a child? How is it possible to measure the SCL of a retired person? Is it sufficient to take into account a previously held occupation, or an educational degree acquired prior to the extraordinary growth of scientific and technological knowledge of the last decades? Problems in the measurement of SCL are apparent in the psychological literature. For example, Crutch and Warrington (2002) described the case of a retired female administrative secretary who was 72 years old. Despite her difficulties with calculation caused by a severe semantic dementia, she was able to perform complex tasks of mathematical reasoning that she had learned by watching a television show. In this case, educational level and occupational status appear to be independent from the ability to solve cognitive tasks. In general, these are not valid indicators of personal cultural interests. A number of studies have revealed that learning disabilities are more frequent in children with low SCL than in those with high SCL (e.g., Espy, Molfese, & DiLalla, 2001; Molfese, Modglin, & Molfese, 2003). However, low educational level and poor economic resources are frequently associated with other conditions of disadvantage: For example, the lack of cultural stimulation (e.g., availability of an Internet connection, the practice of reading books, watching movies, and visiting museums), and the absence in the community of an appropriate social network of support and of opportunities (e.g., a high-quality school, or recreational meeting places). Therefore, it is evident that educational level and occupational status may not be considered adequate to describe fully the context in which the child matures.

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The problems of SCL measurement are particularly relevant with children with learning and behavioral disabilities, especially if they have a low SCL. An SLC assessment lacking in validity may compromise the diagnostic process, and produce false positives as well as false negatives. In the first case, the effects of low SCL on child’s cognitive development and learning ability are underevaluated. A learning disorder is diagnosed, whereas, in fact, the difficulties revealed by the clinical assessment are due mostly to the scarce stimulation received in the family environment (e.g., use of dialects or of a language different from that used at school). In the second case, false negatives are produced when the role of the low SCL in the development of the learning disorder abilities is overestimated. The environment in which the child has grown up is thought to be the main cause of the learning difficulties, while, in fact, the child has a specific cognitive impairment. In both cases, the lack of a valid SCL measurement inhibits obtaining useful information for the diagnostic process and the planning of a personalized training. It follows that the definition and measurement of SCL, both in adults as well as in children with learning and behavioral disabilities, are problematical. The purpose of the present review is to define the main dimensions of SCL and to illustrate available methods of measurement.

SOCIO-CULTURAL LEVEL DIMENSIONS: SOCIO-ECONOMIC STATUS, SOCIAL CAPITAL, AND CULTURAL CAPITAL The SCL includes attitudes, interests, knowledge, and behaviors of a person that derive from his/her cultural, social, and economic resources and characterize his/her way of living in society (Lamont & Lareau, 1988). SCL may be measured for a single person as well as for a family. Generally, SCL is assimilated to socio-economic status (SES). SES denotes the position of a single person or a family in a stratified social system where some social values, such as occupational prestige, education, economic resources, power, and access to information, are not uniformly distributed (Bornstein & Bradley, 2003). However, SCL is a more general construct than SES, involving also cultural capital and social capital (Buchmann, 2002; Coleman, 1988). Cultural capital concerns the knowledge of cultural codes that are relevant for the society in which the individual lives (Lamont & Lareau, 1988). Examples are behaviors such as reading books, magazines, and newspapers, attending concerts, and visiting museums (Teachman, 1987).

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Social capital is concerned with the resources based upon the relations with other persons (Coleman, 1988; Portes, 1988); it is defined as the ability of the individual or family to secure benefits by virtue of membership in social networks or other social structures. For example, social capital includes the assistance that an individual can receive for daily problems, from potential information available to other members, and from exchanging favors with more expert individuals in a specific field. Social capital is also constituted by norms and sanctions that facilitate or constrain specific actions. For example, the norm that inhibits crimes makes it possible to walk freely outside at night. Social capital of a single person exists both within the family and between the family and the others (i.e., the community and the institutions; Coleman, 1988). In psychological literature, SCL is generally measured based only on SES and infrequently also on social (Saegert & Winkel, 1998; Entwisle & Astone, 1994; Leventhal & Brooks-Gunn, 2000) and cultural capital (Buchmann, 2002; Menezes et al., 2003). Moreover, SES is assessed at individual or family level, but rarely at community level (Gump, Matthews, & Raikkonen, 1999), even though importance of multiple level indicators (e.g., Gallo & Matthews, 2003; Leventhal & Brooks-Gunn, 2000). Probably, the difference in the use of the SCL dimensions is due to the different level of theoretical discussion and methodological strategies regarding their measurement. For SES, a wide literature on both the theoretical definition and the measurement methodology is available. On the contrary, for both social and cultural capital, the theoretical debate is wide (Putman, 1995; De Filippis, 2001) but the literature concerning their measures and assessment is poor.

Measurement of the SES of a Single Person and Family Indicators The indicators most frequently used are educational level (or the number of years of education), occupational status, and financial income of the individual who undergoes the psychological assessment or of the adult members of the family (Krieger, Williams, & Moss, 1997; Liberatos, Link, & Kelsey, 1988; Smith & Graham, 1995; White, 1982). These indicators are used alone or in combination, sometimes with different weights assigned to each of them (e.g., Hollingshead (1975) suggests a weight of three to educational level and of five to occupational status).


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Educational level is probably the most common indicator of SES (Esminger & Fothergill, 2003; Entwisle & Astone, 1994; Helms, 1997). The educational level is associated with many lifestyle traits, connotes the levels of acquired knowledge and cultural tastes (Liberatos et al., 1988). It is quite stable in adulthood (Gellis et al., 2005) and its measurement does not imply any particular problems. Occupational status describes the ability of people to be productive in the society (Bornstein, Hahn, Suwalsky, & Haynes, 2003). The occupational status is normally stable throughout adulthood (Hauser, 1994; Hollingshead, 1975; Otto, 1975), but with women it is more problematic than the educational level (Enwistle & Astone, 1994). For example, housewives do not receive direct compensation. Women are highly represented in certain occupations, while men are distributed more uniformly. Most scales are based on status and income of men’s occupations; however, social prestige and remuneration of women jobs are lower than those of men with the same occupational position and length of employment (Crompton, 1993; Kilbourne, England, & Beron, 1994). Therefore, scales based upon male occupations may overestimate women’s occupations (Smith & Graham, 1995). Unlike previous indicators, income exhibits long-term as well as shortterm variations (Hauser, 1994). Moreover, people frequently do not declare their income because they consider it to be very personal information (Entwisle & Astone, 1994; Hauser, 1994). In the United States, it has been found that typically 15% of questions about income receive no answer (Entwisle & Astone, 1994). For these reasons, income cannot be thought to be a valid measure of SES. Strategies for the Indicators Assessment According to Smith and Graham (1995), there are four different strategies that can be used to measure education and occupational status as SES indicators. The first three strategies point to the SES measurement at the family level. These strategies provide that the SES of each member of the family corresponds to the SES of the member with the strongest commitment to the labor force, generally the adult male (first strategy), to the SES of the member with highest SES (second strategy), or to the combination of both adult members SES in a scale (third strategy). The fourth strategy can be used only at the individual level; it assures that the SES of an individual is determined only by his/her own indicators, without considering social status, i.e., if the person is single or lives in a family. Using this approach, the SES of children cannot be measured.

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All these strategies are not appropriate to the situations of atypical families (Entwisle & Astone, 1994), such as single parent or stepparent families. The resulting SES could be completely underestimated if resources from the separated parent not living at home (e.g., the support benefits) or from other members that live at home, such as uncle, aunts, and grandparents, are not considered. Recent studies have demonstrated that in the case of family SES, different indicators (educational level, occupational status, and income) of adult members of the family (mother and father) may have differential relevance with respect to the construct being investigated (Buchmann, 2002; Gallo & Matthews, 2003; Smith & Graham, 1995). For example, it has been shown that maternal educational level as predictor of the intellectual achievement of primary school children is stronger than paternal educational level (Mercy & Steelman, 1982). Therefore, some authors (e.g., Hauser, 1994; Smith & Graham, 1995) disagree about the use of combined measures of maternal and paternal indicators. On the contrary, it has been suggested that the use of specific measures of indicators for each adult member and the selection of the most appropriate indicator is relative to the construct investigated. In other words, in some investigations it may be more useful to assess family SES using the father’s occupational status; for example, when investigating the relation between the degree of environmental stimulation and the cognitive development of children (Parcel & Meneghan, 1990). On the other hand, in other investigations, such as those focusing on language development, it may be more appropriate to use the maternal educational level (Mercy & Steelman, 1982). In contrast, some authors (e.g., Ensminger & Fothergill, 2003; Smith & Graham, 1995) state that, independent of the construct investigated, using a single indicator (e.g., only the maternal educational level) is not methodologically correct. In developmental studies, they suggest evaluating family SES with a global index of income (the sum of both parents’ incomes) associated with separate indexes for the educational level and occupational status of the father and the mother. Finally, they suggest employing different strategies of assessment depending on the type of variable SES represents. In particular, when SES is used as an independent variable, it is appropriate to consider separate indicators for both the type (educational level, occupational status, and income), and the person (mother and father) being measured. When SES is used as a descriptive variable of participants or as a control variable, a global index is more effective (equal to the sum of scores of different indicators measured for the various members of the family).


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Measurement of Social Capital and Cultural Capital Indicators and Strategies The most frequently used indicators for measuring the cultural capital of the single individual or the adult members of a given family are: (a) participation in political activities (Menezes et al., 2003), (b) cultural activities like literary and musical events, or visiting museums (Buchmann, 2002), and (c) the presence of cultural objects such as books, CDs, and newspapers (Menezes et al., 2003; Teachman, 1987). Nevertheless, the distinguishing characteristics of high cultural status can vary among different communities (De Graaf, De Graff, & Kraaykamp, 2000). Therefore, it is also important to take into account the formats of the cultural capital in the population to which the individual or the family to be assessed belong. Social capital can be measured for both the family or the community (Vieno & Santinello, 2006). At the family level, Enwistle and Astone (1994) suggested the use of the indicators of family structure. For example, the number of parents that live in the same house including non-biological parents (stepmother and stepfather) and grandparents. At the community level, social capital is frequently measured by means of the indicators describing the neighborhood (neighborhood SES): e.g., population density, the average educational level, or the percentage of people without high school diplomas (Gellis et al., 2005), income and the occupational status (Hudson, 2005), the unemployment rates, the number of crimes committed annually, and the percentage of children born to single mother (Gump et al., 1999). The primary problem lies in defining the neighborhood boundary. Neighborhoods can be defined as the people that live in the same block of apartments, street or district (Prezza & Pacilli, 2002). Nevertheless, if we consider the subjective perception of border, neighbors can be either those that live on the same landing and in the same building or those that live in the same street or district (Mutti, 1992). Some researchers proposed using only objective measurements based upon census data (Leventhal & Brooks-Gunn, 2000); others do not specify neighborhood dimensions (Korbin & Coulton, 1997; Lauristen, 1994). Both cultural capital and social capital depend on the characteristics of the community in which the individual or family reside. Leventhal and Brooks-Gunn (2000) have identified three types of resources that the community can provide: institutional, social, and normative. The first type of resources is defined by the presence and the quality of cultural centers (library, museum), recreational and social activities for families and children (sport and artistic events), community services (schools, outpatients’ clinic),

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opportunity and expectation of job. Social relation constitutes the supportive network in the community. Collective norms define the presence in the communities of formal and informal institutions with the task of controlling behavior of its residents, in particular young people. Norms consist in mechanisms that limit the proliferation of deviant behaviors, such as diffusion of drugs, delinquency, or school drop out. Given the influence of community on opportunities of cultural and social capital, it has been proposed that also the indicators of the community resources (Gump et al., 1999) must be available for a valid SCL measurement.

QUESTIONNAIRES FOR MEASURING SES The most widely used questionnaire for standardized and objective assessment of individual or family SES is the Four-Factor Index of Social Status (Hollingshead Index, HI; Hollingshead, 1975). In order to obtain a quick and valid measurement of individual or family SES, it is necessary to assess educational level, occupation and marital status, and gender of adult members that compose the family. Of the articles published from 1988 to 2001, according to the PsychArticle database, the HI is used in 259 articles (Ribas, 2001). The evaluation of the SES involves, by means of arranged scales, the educational level and the occupational status of each member of the family that contributes to the maintenance of the family. In particular, educational level is evaluated on a 7-point scale, while the occupational level is evaluated by means of a 9-point scale. In the case of a family in which only one spouse is employed, SES is calculated on the basis of the employed member’s education and occupation. Education and occupation scores are summed assigning a weight of three for the ‘‘educational scale’’ and a weight of five for the ‘‘occupational scale’’. On the contrary, if both husband and wife are employed education and occupation weighted scores for husband and wife are summed and divided by two. In the case of families composed by one adult person, the measurement of SES are based on his/her marital and occupational status: (a) if the adult member has never been married or is widow and is employed, or if he/she is divorced or separated and both he/she and her/his spouse are employed, only education and occupation of the evaluated adult member must be measured; (b) if the adult person is divorced or separated or if he/she is an unemployed widow and receives support payments or other financial compensation from the absent spouse, education and occupation of the


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separated or absent spouse are measured. For retired persons, SES is calculated on the education and occupation before retirement.

QUESTIONNAIRES OF OCCUPATIONAL STATUS Various scales are available to assess occupational status. The Socioeconomic Index of Occupations (Duncan SEI; Duncan, 1961) evaluates occupational prestige by means of a weighted sum of income and education (number of school years) associated to the different occupations. Developed for use with American populations, it has been adapted for use in other nations. Duncan SEI served as the basis for constructing the International Socio-economic Index of Occupational Status (ISEI; Ganzeboom, DeGraf, & Treiman, 1992). In addition to the ISEI, in international and crosscultural studies, the Standard International Occupational Prestige Scales (SIOPS; Treiman, 1977) and the Erikson and Goldthorpe’s class categories (EGP; Erikson, Goldthorpe, & Portocarero, 1979) are also used. L’Australian Standard Classifications of Occupations (ASCO; Castles, 1989) is used in Australia to classify occupations through census. In general, if an objective scale is not available, occupations are classified on the base of last census data (Donlan, Donlan, Watson, McInees, & Bent, 1995; Ryan, Tracey, & Rounds, 1996).

QUESTIONNAIRES FOR MEASURING CULTURAL CAPITAL AND SOCIAL CAPITAL Few scales are available for the assessment of cultural capital and social capital. In part, this is due to the intrinsic problems of their measurement, first of all the difficulty from using shared criteria for identifying and quantifying the dimensions of these two constructs. An example of cultural capital questionnaire is the one constructed by Bianchi, Balboni, and Cubelli (2003). These authors investigated cultural interests through questions about reading books and magazines, taking part in politics, religious, artistic, and musical activities, attending cinemas, theaters, or art museums, and using computer. Questionnaires for evaluating social capital differ for the indicators used that depend on the purpose of the investigation (Coleman, 1988). For example, to study the relation between social capital and violent behaviors in adolescents, Wright and Fitzpatrick (2006) used as indicators of social capital

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the quality of parent–child relationship, the degree of parental monitoring on the adolescent’s behavior, and the extra-family dimensions such as school affiliation, sport or religious participation, and neighbor involvement. For the measurement of social capital of children at the family level, Gottfried et al. (2003) suggested two standardized instruments: the Home Observation for Measurement of the Environment scales (HOME; Caldwell & Bradley, 1984) and the Family Environment Scale (FES; Moos & Moos, 1989; Italian adaptation, Cusinato & Cristante, 1993). The HOME scales allow evaluating the presence at home of the cognitively stimulating materials and activities, the assortment of experiences, the parental involvement, the social and emotional supports, and physical context (Gottfried et al., 2003). Some authors (e.g., Johnson, Swank, Howie, Baldwin, Owen, & Luttman, 1992) reported that the HOME scales increase the predictability of child intelligence over and above that provided by SES. The FES allows for the measurement of 10 dimensions concerning the quality of family relationships, family organization, and family activities. Also, the level of measurement (family or community level) influences the type of social capital indicators that should be used. For example, for the assessment of the effects of the family social capital on the children’s school achievement, the number of parents and the children and parent expectations should be measured (Coleman, 1988). To assess social capital at the community level, different indicators could be used: for example, social supports and the perception of neighborhood quality. The Neighborhood Cohesion Instrument (NCI; Buckner, 1998) and its Italian adaptation (Prezza & Pacilli, 2002) are examples of scales for the assessment of neighborhood relations. The Multidimensional Scale of Perceived Social Support (MSPSS; Zimet, Dahlem, Zimet, & Farley, 1988) is an instrument for the measurement of the social support. However, as the definition of support is still controversial, in many studies (e.g., Prezza & Pacilli, 2002) researchers used ad hoc questionnaires which are very different.

CONSEQUENCES OF INCORRECT SCL MEASUREMENT A valid SCL measurement requires the assessment of the SES, social capital and cultural capital. In fact, studies in which SCL is measured investigating all three constructs are rare (e.g., Gottfried et al., 2003; Molfese et al., 2003). If for the SES measurement it is possible to use a well-known scale as the HI, for the measurement of social and cultural capital very few instruments are available.


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Consequences in the Research Field Exclusive use of SES measures may alter the validity of experimental investigations. In particular, statistical errors may occur: Type I (finding SCL effects when in fact they are not present in the population) and Type II (not finding SCL effects that are present in the population). For example, Bradley and Corwyn (2001) found that the relation between SES and children’s intellectual ability and academic achievement as well as behavioral problems is mediated by access to learning and recreational materials. In this case, measurement of only SES only could promote its consideration as the main cause of effects that, in reality, could be due to other indicators (e.g., access to stimulating material). In other words, the real cause of the differences between the academic achievement and behavioral problems of children with different SES could be the family lifestyle and the kind of stimulating experiences it offers to the children. In general, the assessment of the whole dimensions of SCL and the use of statistical tests such as hierarchical regression could reveal indicators that, explaining the highest percentage of variance, may be considered to be the primary causes of the behavior observed. In some cases, effects attributed to SCL could be due to the instruments employed. For example, Buzzelli (2006), who investigated the performances of children with different SCL on non-verbal cognitive abilities tests [Coloured Progressive Matrices (Raven, 1965) and Naglieri Non-verbal Ability Test-I (Naglieri, 2003)], found different effects depending on the indicator used (parents’ educational level and cultural interests). In particular, scores on CPM were influenced by parents’ educational level but not by their cultural interests. On the contrary, NNAT-I scores were influenced neither by the educational level nor by the cultural interests of the parents. In other studies, researchers found no effects of SCL on children’s behavior, probably because they had employed inappropriate indicators. For example, Haddad and Bardos (1990) did not observe any differences between children with different SES in performing an intelligence test. They considered the parents’ occupational status only; if other indicators had been adopted, the results may have been different. In many cases, lack of measurement of the entire SCL may produce error variance. For example, in studies concerning the effect of aging on cognition, researchers usually compare groups matched for years of education. However, finding older participants with the same level of education as the younger participants is very difficult. Moreover, the same number of years of education has different implications relevant to the generation to which

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the person belongs. The same number of years of education of people from different generations represents a level of knowledge with different breadth and nature. For example, a well-educated older person is more likely to be a member of an affluent family; therefore, it is plausible that he/she had received more cultural stimuli than a younger person who was educated more recently. Moreover, new curricula and teaching methods, and the presence of a number of education agencies in the community, make difficult to compare an Italian high school certificate attained during the last 20 years with that attained 50 years ago. In these cases, matching participants according to a measure of cultural capital, rather than to the years of education, should be a better strategy to compare people with different age but with a similar level of knowledge. Similarly, in neuropsychological investigations, researchers usually compare individuals who are matched for age, gender, and educational level (e.g., Cubelli & Lupi, 1999; Chan, Salmon, & De La Pena, 2001). However, even in this case, using only the educational level like an indicator of SCL is not sufficient. Educational level is not adequately representative of both the social capital and the cultural capital that may influence test performance.

Consequences in the Clinical Field The problem of SCL measurement is not limited to the research field. A non-valid measurement of SCL may impair the diagnostic process, thus preventing the ascertainment of the presence of a mental disorder, especially learning and behavioral disorder. Usually, the clinical assessment of children with suspected learning disabilities, who come from a poor home environment include non-verbal intelligence tests (e.g., WISC performance scale) to limit the influence of language and encyclopedic knowledge. However, even performances in non-verbal intelligence tests (e.g., reasoning, shape assembling, object recognition, visual, and spatial memory) may be influenced by factors such as familiarity with the new technological instruments (e.g., computers and video games), and early exposure to selected playing materials (e.g., preschool children cognitive games) that may advantage high SCL students. Obtaining a valid SCL measurement is particularly difficult in the case of immigrant children. According to Fuligni and Yoshikawa (2003), the use of traditional indicators of human (educational level), financial (income), and social capital (advantages from the relations with other people) may not estimate correctly the real resources of the family. In order to achieve an


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accurate evaluation of the educational level, it is necessary to consider not only the number of years of education (absolute level), but also the position of the individual in the national educational level distribution (relative level). Because of the different educational opportunities existing in different countries, people with the same number of years of education can occupy different positions in the national distribution of educational level (Schmidley & Gibson, 1999). Therefore, the parents’ educational level of children coming from countries with lesser accessibility to the education system could be underestimated. Moreover, it is evident that the same educational level does not provide people with the same cognitive skills and encyclopedic knowledge in different countries. Also, the evaluation of financial capital is complex. The traditional measurement of income may induce to underestimate it if there are other economic resources, such as informal sources of income or economic aid from members of the extended family (Tienda & Raijiman, 2000). Moreover, the traditional measurement of income may contribute to overestimate it if a part of household income is sent back to relatives in the country of origin (Schiller, 1999). The same may happen when we fail to consider that immigrant workers generally earn less than native workers with the same educational level (Portes & Rumbant, 1996). The social capital of immigrant families constitutes a very important resource, and frequently it supplies more advantages for immigrant families than the native ones. For example, immigrant children appear to have higher academic results than those predicted from parents’ educational level and economic resources (e.g., Fuligni, 1998; Zhou & Bankston, 1994). Moreover, children from immigrant families often do better in school and are less likely involved in behavioral problems than children from native families with the same or higher educational level and income (Fuligni, 1998). Different levels of motivation and aspiration to social success for immigrant and native children may be the principal cause of this outcome.

CONCLUSIONS The problem of the measurement of SCL regards three different levels: psychometric, methodological-experimental, and clinical. At the psychometric level, the issue of measurement of SCL implies the procedures to be used to correct for the SCL effects the raw test scores. In general, in the case of tests influenced by SCL factors, researchers use adjustment coefficients to determine the most valid pondered score (e.g., Spinnler & Tognoni, 1987). But, as

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the SCL is a multidimensional construct, a single adjustment coefficient will never be derived for all SCL indicators. Therefore, researchers should correct individual performance taking in account the SCL indicators that affect the construct investigated. If these indicators cannot be measured via standardized scale, it will be necessary collecting information with other methods (e.g., clinical interview) and interpret their causal role on testing performance. At the methodological-experimental level, the problem of SCL measurement refers to the procedures to select appropriated control samples. Generally, researchers select a control group matched to the experimental one for educational level or occupational status. However, this could be not sufficient to control the influence of SCL. The participants to include in the control groups cannot be selected using a standard and rigid procedure. Researchers have to identify the most appropriate SCL indicators that depend on the construct investigated. At the clinical level, problems in SCL assessment make difficult to ascertain whether a child’s behavior is due to a neuropsychological disorder or a low SCL. For this purpose, to adjust test scores on the basis of educational level or occupational status is not enough. However, as standardized scales of all SCL indicators are not yet available, it is impossible to assess the influence of all SCL dimensions. Therefore, during the diagnostic process of an individual, test performances must be compared to data collected through an in-depth case-history investigation and a clinical interview. In fact, a test, even if it is well constructed, both theoretically and methodologically, cannot substitute for anamnesis. Only with information collected through the clinical investigation it will be possible to derive plausible interpretations about individual performances and to avoid judgment errors in the diagnostic process. SCL measurement is a very complex enterprise. An interdisciplinary approach allowing a theoretical and methodological interaction between psychology and social sciences is welcome. In the future, we should be engaged in the development of valid scales to measure social capital and cultural capital, and thus to facilitate experimental and clinical investigation.

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STUDENTS WITH MATHEMATICAL DISABILITIES IN BELGIUM: FROM DEFINITION, CLASSIFICATION AND ASSESSMENT TO STICORDI DEVICES Annemie Desoete ABSTRACT Problems with learning disabilities are life affecting (Murray, C., Goldstein, D. E., & Nourse, S. (2000). The postsecondary school attendance and completion rates of high school graduates with learning disabilities. Learning Disabilities Research and Practice, 15, 182–186; Westby, 2000; Rojewski, 1999a; Hall et al., 2002). The impact of poor mathematical skills on employment prospects is even bigger than the influence of poor reading skills (Dowker, 2005). After an introduction on the definition, prevalence and impact, gender and birth order, subtypes, comorbidity and assessment of cognition and metacognition in mathematical learning disabilities, we will focus on the features of mathematical learning disabilities in adolescence and adulthood and on the STI(mulation), CO(mpensation), R(emediation) and DI(spensation) (STICORDI) devices to help students with mathematical learning disabilities. With such devices ‘‘reasonable’’


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adjustments are provided to ensure that disabled students are not placed at a substantial disadvantage compared to non-disabled students.

DEFINITION Although various authors agree that an operational definition of learning disabilities is meaningful (e.g., Kavale & Forness, 2000; Swanson, 2000), most studies are rather vague when it comes to characterizing the children who fit in their category of ‘‘children with learning disabilities’’. Geary (2004) suggests to use mathematical learning disabilities for children with ‘‘a score lower than the 20th or 25th percentile on mathematics achievement test combined with a low-average or higher IQ’’. He also states that ‘‘the lower than expected achievement scores across successive academic years often have some form of memory or cognitive deficit, and a diagnosis of mathematical learning disability is often warranted’’ (Geary, 2004, p. 5). Within this chapter, we further elaborate on the currently used criteria for students with ‘‘mathematics learning disabilities’’ (see also Desoete, Roeyers, & De Clercq, 2004; Stock, Desoete, & Roeyers, 2006). The first criterion that is often used is the discrepancy criterion. This criterion stipulates that a diagnosis of a learning disability only is justified when a great discrepancy between scholastic achievement and general performance or intellectual ability is seen. Although the discrepancy criterion is commonly used in research and clinical practice, the criterion is very unclear. The problem is that a lot of variation exists in the interpretation of the discrepancy. Questions that can be raised are how big the discrepancy has to be and how general performance can be operationalized. In line with the DSM-IV (American Psychiatric Association, APA, 2000), some researchers stipulate that the extent of the discrepancy has to be at least as big as two standard deviations between the chronological grade of the child and the level of achievement that is reached (e.g., Klauer, 1992). Other authors do not agree with that criterion and have replaced it by a grade equivalent of two years lag between general achievement and the level of scholarly skills (e.g., Gross-Tsur, Manor, & Shalev, 1996). In Belgium practitioners use a discrepancy of two years in children in grade 4 or older, mathematical disabilities in younger children are diagnosed when a discrepancy of one year is met. A second question that rises concerning the discrepancy model is how the discrepancy can be operationalized. Most of the time an IQ assessment serves as an indicator for the general level of achievement (Gross-Tsur et al., 1996). However, this base of an IQ-achievement

Students with Mathematical Disabilities in Belgium

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discrepancy is strongly debated. Siegel (1989) disputes the usefulness of IQ measurement to detect learning disabilities and argues that many children with low IQ scores can read at an age-appropriate level. Siegel means that the discrepancy model has led to a great number of children with learning disabilities that are not detected. Moreover, recent studies found a correlation of only 0.50 between mathematical abilities and intelligence (Kort et al., 2002; Ruijssenaars, Van Luit, & Van Lieshout, 2004). A second criterion we encounter is the severity criterion. The severity criterion indicates that academic achievement is not within the normal range. An exclusion of children based on a normal distribution of achievement scores equalizes the use of a discrepancy as a defining factor (Geary, 2004; Lewis, Hitch, & Walker, 1994). Geary employs the cut-off criterion of the 25th percentile, but contends that only children who have scores across successive academic years beneath this cut-off may have a diagnosis of mathematical disabilities. An additional criterion for learning disabilities is the exclusion criterion. Frequently mentioned exclusion conditions include handicapping conditions (e.g., sensory impairments, mental retardation or impairments in general intelligence, social or emotional disturbances) and external factors (e.g., insufficient or inappropriate instruction, cultural differences and psychogenic factors). A final criterion that can be found in definitions for learning disabilities is the resistance criterion. Authors who defend this criterion argue that core learning disabilities only can be diagnosed after a period of remediation is offered. For example, the ICD-10 (World Health Organisation (WHO), 1992) underlines this criterion by stating that remediation does not lead to direct improvements. Currently, this resistance criterion is one of the most important criteria of the Belgian definition of mathematical learning disabilities.

PREVALENCE AND IMPACT It is clear that the prevalence of mathematical disabilities will vary depending on the criteria used to define those disabilities (Dowker, 2005). Most practitioners and researchers currently report that the prevalence of children and adults with mathematical disabilities is not exceptionally large. Geary (2004) suggested that between 5% and 8% of school age children have some form of mathematical disabilities. These figures have been confirmed in different countries (Barbaresi, Katusic, Colligan, Weaver, & Jacobsen, 2005; Dowker, 2005; Gross-Tsur et al., 1996; Hein, 1999; Klauer, 1992; Lewis

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et al., 1994). In Belgium (see Table 1) we identified in 2001 a prevalence rate between 3% and 8% in children from grades 2 to 4 (Desoete et al., 2004). Although the prevalence of mathematical disabilities seems as high as the prevalence of reading disabilities, the research focus on the domain of this disorder still remains limited (Mazzocco & Myers, 2003; WHO, 1992). From 2000 to 2006 only 361 articles on mathematics disabilities (math*disab*) and 141 articles on dyscalculia were cited in Web of Knowledge, whereas 1997 articles on reading disabilities (read*disab*) and 2001 articles on dyslexia could be found, although the prevalence of both learning disabilities is about the same. Presently, a slight advance in research interest is noticed (Butterworth, 1999; Miller, Butler, & Lee, 1998), but it is still underrepresented (Bryant & Dix, 1999; Sullivan, 2005). Therefore, we agree with Ginsburg (1997) that the problems of students with mathematics difficulties have been underestimated. However, the number of mathematical low achieving pupils has increased substantially over the last 20 years (Swanson, 2000). The majority of the problems persist well into the secondary school years (Hall, Spruill, & Webster, 2002; McGlaughlin, Knoop, & Holliday, 2005; Mpofu & Watson, 1999; Rojewski, 1999a, 1999b; Sullivan, 2005; Westby, 2000). In the Flanders curriculum, 80% of the children must acquire 80% of the minimum skills and knowledge by the end of their primary school education. Children who do not meet these minimum aims and who solve mathematics problems on the level of 3rd graders without learning disabilities are referred to the ‘‘B-classes’’ of secondary education. If this lost ground is made up in the first year of secondary education, then these children can go back to the ‘‘A-classes’’, where they follow a general course of studies aimed at preparing them for college or university. About 20% of the children with learning disabilities in special primary education go to one Table 1.

Prevalence of Mathematics Learning Disabilities in Flanders. Gr2

NF DS

Gr3

Gr4

boys (%)

girls (%)

boys (%)

girls (%)

boys (%)

girls (%)

n ¼ 662

n ¼ 661

n ¼ 699

n ¼ 637

n ¼ 644

n ¼ 675

2.11 1.21 0.91

2.42 1.81 0.91

7.15 4.43 3.29

8.32 4.39 4.24

6.99 3.26 4.66

6.22 2.52 4.29

Note: NF ¼ disabilities in number facts, DS ¼ number knowledge and/or procedural disabilities, Gr2 ¼ grade 2, Gr3 ¼ grade 3, Gr 4 ¼ grade 4.


185

of the A-classes in secondary education. The other children follow a specialized course of vocational training (Desoete et al., 2004). Problems persist also into adulthood (Bender, Rosenkrans, & Crane, 1999; Gajar, 1992; Heiman & Precel, 2003; Lewandowski & Arcangelo, 1994). The effect of mathematical learning disabilities was found to affect people’s ability to gain full-time employment and often restricted employment options to manual and often low paying jobs (Taylor & Walter, 2003), although there is a trend of obtaining employment through informal social networks (Gerber, Price, Mulligan, & Shessel, 2004). Moreover, poor mathematical skills seem to have a greater impact than poor reading skills on employment prospects (Dowker, 2005). Adults with learning disabilities were less satisfied with their jobs and colleagues than peers without learning disabilities (Witte, Philips, & Kakela, 1998). In a study (N ¼ 4,709) in the Dutch speaking part of Belgium, 3.5% of the adults (3.6% men, 3.5% women) reported that they had a learning problem, and that in 73% of the cases this was already obvious in regular education. Among these adults, 40% had low literacy skills and 53% had a low paying job (Ruijssenaars & Ghesquie`re, 2002). An additional study (N ¼ 84) found that Dutch-speaking adults with learning disabilities were less satisfied with their social contacts than peers without learning disabilities. These adults attributed failure often to external factors and documented to have many problems due to the learning disability. However, 43.5% of the adolescents or adults with learning disabilities also did find positive facets on the disability. Often they described, in line with Shessel and Reiff (1999) and Hall et al. (2002), creativity, problem solving, empathy and persistence as positive and protective characteristics (Joosten & Desoete, 2005).

GENDER AND BIRTH ORDER RATIO Whether or not there are gender differences in mathematics has been an issue studied for more than 30 years (Benbow & Stanley, 1980). This debate has continued during the past few years (Birenbaum & Nasser, 2006; Casey, Nuttall, & Pezaris, 2001). An examination of the research data reveals considerable overlap in mathematical performance of males and females (e.g., Cheung & Rudowicz, 2003; Hyde & Kling, 2001). However, often significant differences in mathematical performance tend to favour males. As a group, boys also seem more variable in their performance, meaning that the fastest boys are faster than the fastest girls but the slowest boys are slower than the slowest girls

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(Geary, Saults, Liu, & Hoard, 2000). There is also evidence that gender differences in mathematics tend to decrease (Hyde, Fennema, & Lamon, 1990) or even disappear (Frost, Hyde, & Fennema, 1994). In a study in 2004 in regular elementary and secondary schools in Belgium, a great deal of overlap was found in the different mathematical performances of girls and boys. There was a limited impact of gender differences in mathematical problem solving in elementary schools (N ¼ 2,255). Boys were found to be better at several mathematic tasks in grades 2 and 3, whereas girls were at their best in grade 4. However, males did better in almost all mathematics tasks at the end of secondary school in Flanders (N ¼ 796). Furthermore, boys were better in translation, calculation and mental representation at the beginning of elementary school. Girls appeared to be ‘‘slow starters’’, catching up at grade 4 of elementary school. However, in secondary school, male students again did better than female students on a number of mathematical tasks (Desoete, 2005). For M and SD for the secondary school cohort, refer to Table 2. Table 2.

Mean Scores on Arithmetical Problem Solving at the End of Secondary Education.

Additions in 1 min Subtractions in 1 min Multiplications in 1 min Divisions in 1 min Mixed number facts Translation skills Simple calculations Complex calculations Mental representations pp0.05.

Boys

Girls

M (SD)

M (SD)

33.80a (3.27) 31.02a (3.51) 30.13a (5.56) 28.99a (6.34) 30.02a (4.57)

32.41b (3.83) 29.45b (3.55) 28.34b (5.77) 27.58b (6.37) 28.56b (4.67)

F(1,788) ¼ 23.05

16.67a (2.34) 13.84a (3.45) 13.50a (2.62) 16.68a (2.77)

16.06b (2.31) 13.95a (3.48) 12.76b (3.00) 15.63 (3.42)

F(1,811) ¼ 14.83

F(1,788) ¼ 34.50 F(1,788) ¼ 18.21 F(1,788) ¼ 7.76 F(1,788) ¼ 19.98

F(1,811) ¼ 0.11 F(1,811) ¼ 16.24 F(1,811) ¼ 24.17


187

For learning disabilities in general, there is still a disproportion in gender ratio (male—female, 3:1; APA, 2000). There are more boys with reading disabilities than girls. However, research of the last decade revealed an almost similar prevalence of mathematical disabilities in boys and girls (Hein, 1999; Lewis et al., 1994). The nearly similar prevalence rate in boys and girls with mathematical learning disabilities was confirmed in crosssectional studies conducted in 2001 and 2004, and even in the secondary school cohort (Desoete et al., 2004; Desoete, 2005). In clinical practice, sometimes birth order is found to be of importance in explaining some of the indiviual differences in enumeration and number sense. First borns (in grade 1) often seem to have more home experience with the use and the names of numbers, involving counting procedures, than later born children. In a recent study, we focused on birth order in a crosssectional design with elementary school children (De Koster, 2006). In large families, birth could differententiate between the last born children (6th, 7th or 8th as birth order) and children with another birth order. For M and SD we refer to Table 3. Later borns had lower mathematical performances than matched peers. For learning disabilities in general there was no similar disproportion

Table 3. Birth Order and Individual Differences in Arithmetical Problem Solving in Elementary School. 1

2

3

4

5

6, 7, 8

(n ¼ 48) (n ¼ 48) (n ¼ 48) (n ¼ 38) (n ¼ 11) (n ¼ 12) M (SD) M (SD) M (SD) M (SD) M (SD)

M (SD)

55.63a 57.40a 50.54a 52.63a 41.45a (25.69) (27.76) (28.96) (28.63) (34.74) Number knowledge 50.08a 52.10a 41.31a 45.08a 39.73a (23.80) (28.10) (29.58) (28.22) (30.76) Mathematical reasoning 53.33a 54.98a 45.79a 48.32a 40.64a (25.33) (27.12) (29.43) (28.40) (32.76)

25.17b (20.08) 23.58b (25.55) 23.17b (21.93)

Mental arithmetic

F(5,199) ¼ 3.112 2.657 3.122

pp0.05. pp0.01. In this study 12 children had 6th, 7th or 8th place in birth order; 11 had 5th place as birth

order; 38 had 4th place as birth order and 48 randomly selected (out of a cohort of 1,335 children, matched on gender and SES status of the parents based on educational level of mother and father) had 1st, 2nd or 3rd place as birth order.

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in birth order ratio, meaning that for about 7% the individual differences could be explained by birth order, but not the learning disability itself.

DISABILITY OR DISABILITIES? Mathematical problem solving involves several cognitive skills (Desoete & Roeyers, 2006a). The wide range of skills involved in doing mathematics implies a spectrum of potential disabilities, based on failure in one or more of these cognitive skills. Many researchers have attempted to describe subtypes in learning disabilities (Fuchs & Fuchs, 2002; Geary, 2004; Mazzocco, 2001). In Table 4, we provide an overview of the different subtypes and their distinguishing features. Ginsburg (1997) pointed out that children can outgrow certain mathematics learning subtypes, and grow into others. For more detailed information, we refer to Stock et al. (2006). In Belgian clinical practice, the features seem not at all mutually exclusive. The phenotypes mostly encountered are combinations of features from different subtypes, although clinicians have encountered isolated phenotypes of problems.

COMORBIDITY According to Shalev (2004), mathematical disabilities in general appear isolated as specific learning disabilities. However, the prevalence of combined mathematics and reading disabilities varies from 17% to 43% (Fuchs & Fuchs, 2002; Gross-Tsur et al., 1996; Light & DeFries, 1995). The prevalence of general mathematical and writing or spelling disabilities is about 50% (Ostad, 1998). In addition, the gravity of the mathematical disability is found to be associated with the severity of disability, lower IQ, inattention and writing problems (Shalev, Manor, & Gross-Tsur, 2005). In 26% of the children with mathematical disabilities, comorbid symptoms of ADHD are found (Gross-Tsur et al., 1996; Mayes, Calhoun, & Crowell, 2000; Smith & Adams, 2006). Children with learning disabilities exhibit more social problems than children without those disabilities (Greenham, 1999; Shalev et al., 2005). Meta-analysis of studies on peer acceptance confirms rejection of 80% of children with learning disabilities by peers. Seventy percent of these children are not seen as a friend (Kavale & Forness, 1996). Researchers have also


189

Table 4. Subtypes in Mathematical Disabilities: Description of Terminology and Distinguishing Features (see also Stock, Desoete, & Roeyers, 2006). Subtype

Characteristic Features

Procedural deficits (see also Cornoldi & Lucangeli, 2004; Geary, 2004; von Aster, 2000)

Difficulties with procedures in (written) calculation Difficulties in sequencing multiple steps in complex procedures Difficulties in planning or execution of complex arithmetic operations Difficulties in mental calculations Difficulties in routines, use of immature strategies Many mistakes in execution of complex procedures Time lag in arithmetic procedures Poor understanding of concepts in procedures

Semantic memory deficits (see also Cornoldi & Lucangeli, 2004; Geary, 2004; Rourke, 1995; von Aster, 2000)

Difficulties in retrieval of numerical facts Disabled acquisition of number-fact knowledge Difficulties in the semantic-acoustic aspect of the linguistic domain Lower accuracy in mental calculation Slower speed of mental and written calculation Lower enumeration speed for figures, symbols, numbers and quantities High error rate or irregular reaction times Wrong associations in retrieval Difficulties in conceptual knowledge assignments Difficulties in language comprehension, passive vocabulary and with orally presented assignments

Visuospatial deficits (see also Geary, 2004; Cornoldi & Lucangeli, 2004; Cornoldi, Venneri, Marconato, Molin, & Montinaro, 2003; Rourke, 1995; von Aster, 2000)

Difficulties in placing numbers on a number line Disturbance in setting out objects in order according to magnitude Inversions and reversals in numbers Misalignment and misplacements of digits Problems in symbol recognition Disturbance in visuospatial memory Difficulties in understanding geometry Misinterpretation of spatially represented information Nonverbal deficits Problems with insight in and notions of space Difficulties with abstraction Disturbance in visual imaginative faculty Disturbance in enumerating groups of objects Disturbance in estimating and comparing quantities Difficulties in the temporal order or planning Difficulties with novel and complex tasks Eventually coordination disorder (DCD)/dyspraxia

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Table 4. (Continued ) Subtype Number knowledge deficits (see also Cornoldi et al., 2004; von Aster, 2000)

Characteristic Features Difficulties in comprehension of Arabic notational system, mathematical ideas and relations Difficulties with abstract number comprehension Disturbance in number knowledge Disturbances in basic sense of numerosity Disturbance of encoding the semantics of numbers Difficulties in transcoding between the different modalities Disturbance in number reading, number writing Difficulties in size comparison Difficulties in number ordering Difficulties in enumeration

reported that children with learning disabilities have lower social status than children without learning disabilities (Kavale & Forness, 1996; Nabuzoka & Smith, 1993). In contrast to children without learning disabilities, children with learning disabilities tend to be more shy (33.3% versus 7%), need to seek help more often (36.1% versus 11.9%) and are more likely to become a victim of bullying (33.3% versus 7.7%). This in turn is associated with rejection by peers (Nabuzoka & Smith, 1993). Tsanasis, Fuerst, and Rourke (1997) found children with learning disabilities to be less socially competent than their peers. Kavale and Forness (1996) argued that in general, almost 75% of children with learning disabilities can be differentiated from children without learning disabilities by their social skills. However, there are also children with mathematical disabilities who do not foster psychosocial problems (Greenham, 1999). Comorbidity between mathematical disabilities and behavioural problems also seems to be high. Schachter, Pless, and Bruck (1991) estimated that 43% of the children with mathematical disabilities also have behavioural problems. Shalev, Manor, Auerbach, and Gross-Tsur (1998) found that the prevalence of these behavioural and emotional problems was higher for children with persistent mathematical disabilities. Psychosocial problems do not increase with age, but older children tend to have more behavioural disorders and physical disorder complaints (Tsanasis et al., 1997). Children with mathematical disabilities tend to have more internalized problems (Prior, Smart, Sanson, & Oberklaid, 1999; Shalev, Auerbach, & Gross-Tsur, 1995; Tsanasis et al., 1997). Between 24% and 52% of children with learning disabilities have clinical scores for social, emotional or behavioural disabilities. Children with learning disabilities tend to have lower academic


Table 5.

191

Comorbidity Rate in Mathematical Learning Disabilities in Elementary School Children. Comorbidity (%)

Clinical math. disabilities (n ¼ 74) Sub-clinical group (n ¼ 40) Age-matched controls (n ¼ 140) Performance-matched controls (n ¼ 47)

ADHD (%)

LD (%)

BD (%)

ASS (%)

43

37.84

5.40

3

4.35

17.5 2.19

10 2.14

7.5 –

– –

– 0.71

6.38

6.38

–

–

–

Note: LD ¼ language disorder; BD ¼ behaviour disorder; ASS ¼ autism-related disorder; Clinical math. disabilities ¼ children with a clinical diagnosis of mathematical learning disability; Sub-clinical group ¼ children with a below average (o percentile 10) score on mathematics but where the resistance to treatment is not investigated or the diagnosis is not confirmed by the regular teacher of the child; Age-matched controls ¼ children of the same gender, SES of the parents (based on the years of education of father and mother) and out of the same kind of educational groups as the clinical math. disabilities; Performance-matched controls ¼ children of the same gender, with parents of the same SES and who are one year younger than the children in the clinical math. disabilities group and where the teacher confirmed that the child has no particular learning problem.

self-esteem than their peers who do not have learning disabilities, but these differences cannot be found in other domains (Donceel & Ghesquie`re, 1998; Greenham, 1999). Greenham (1999) also reported a higher risk for substance abuse in adolescents with learning disabilities in comparison to their non-disabled peers. In a recent Belgian study (N ¼ 301) of elementary school children, 43% of the children with a mathematical learning disability (TIQ varying from 75 to 114; M ¼ 89.35; SD ¼ 8.89) had comorbid problems (see Table 5). In the sub-clinical group, comorbid problems were found in 17.5% of the subjects. In the control groups we identified 3.20% of the children with comorbid problems. This cross-sectional study underlined the high comorbidity rate in mathematical learning disabilities (Van Driessche, 2006).

ASSESSMENT OF MATHEMATICAL DISABILITIES Assessment of Cognition The manifestation of mathematical disabilities is different in every child. The phenotypes we mostly encounter are combinations of features taken

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from different subtypes. This makes the diagnostic process difficult. Practitioners have to consider the appropriateness of individual measures and their combination to identify the problems of children with mathematical disabilities (Kamphaus, Petosky, & Rowe, 2000; Mazzocco & Myers, 2003). The majority of the tests address the assessment of specific arithmetical abilities. The choice of these test(s) is found to be crucial. A cocktail assessment – including a test on number facts and tests on number system knowledge, procedural calculation and visual spatial aspects of mathematics – is needed, in order to prevent the diagnosis from being determined by the selection of the particular test (Desoete & Roeyers, 2000). In Belgium for instance, practitioners often use the KRT-R and TTR. The Revised Kortrijk Arithmetic test (Kortrijkse Rekentest Revision, KRT-R; Baudonck et al., 2006) is test of mental computation and number knowledge. The percentile and observations during mental computation is used to assess eventual procedural deficits. The percentile and observations during number system knowledge is used to assess eventual number knowledge deficits. In the Arithmetic Number Facts test (Tempo Test Rekenen, TTR; de Vos, 1992), children must solve as many number fact problems as possible in 5 min, to get a picture of eventual semantic memory disabilities. Finally, a test or checklist of geometry, interpretation of spatially represented information and insight in and notions of space is given to assess eventual visual spatial deficits (Cornoldi et al., 2003). However, not many tools are available to provide an explanation for student errors (Gre´goire, 2005). There are some instruments (Butterworth, 2003; von Aster & Weinhold, 2002) that can provide a first screening of the child’s learning problem. However, screeners often do not give us a sound foundation for remediation. There is also the Key Math-Revised (Connolly, 1988). Although designed with care, the Key Math-Revised has no support by a validated theoretical model of mathematics learning, and no explanation is proposed for understanding the errors children make. For young children, an instrument that is validated by a combination of theoretical models and therefore can be used for an in-depth diagnostic assessment seems to be the TEDI-MATH (Van Nieuwenhoven, Gre´goire, & Noe¨l, 2001). This multi-componential instrument (see Table 6) is based on a combination of neuropsychological (developmental) models of number processing and calculation. It has an age range from four to eight years of age (kindergarten to 3rd grade) and has already been translated into a German, Dutch and French version. It was standardized on a sample of 550 Dutch-speaking Belgian children from the beginning of the 2nd grade of the nursery school to the end of the 3rd grade of primary school. The test


193

Table 6. Subsets and Examples of Test Items of the TEDI-MATH. Subtest

Content and Example of Item

1. Knowledge of the number-word sequence

2. Counting sets of items

3. Knowledge of the numerical system

3.1. Arab numerical system Judge if a written symbol is a number Which of two written numbers is the larger 3.2. Oral numerical system Judge if a word is a number Judge if a number word is syntactically correct Which of the two numbers is larger 3.3. Base-ten system Representation of numbers with sticks Representation of numbers with coins Recognition of hundreds, tens and units in written numbers 3.4. Transcoding Write in Arab code a dictated number Read a number written in Arab code

4. Logical operations on numbers

4.1. Seriation of numbers Sort the cards from the one with fewer trees to the one with the most trees 4.2. Classification of numbers Make groups with the cards that go together 4.3. Conservation of numbers For example: Do you have more counters than me? Do I have more counters than you? Or do we have the same number of counters? Why? 4.4. Inclusion of numbers For example: You put 6 counters in the envelope. Are there enough counters inside the envelope if you want to take out 8 of them? Why? 4.5. Additive decomposition of numbers For example: A shepherd had 6 sheep. He put 4 sheep in the first prairie, and 2 in the other one. In what other way could he put his sheep in the two prairies?

Counting as far as possible Counting forward to an upper bound (e.g., ‘‘up to 9’’) Counting forward from a lower bound (e.g., ‘‘from 7’’) Counting forward from a lower bound to an upper bound (e.g., ‘‘from 4 up to 8’’) Count backward Count by step (by 2 and by 10) Counting linear pattern of items Counting random pattern of items Counting a heterogeneous set of items Understanding of the cardinal

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Table 6. (Continued ) Subtest

Content and Example of Item

5. Arithmetical operations

5.1. Presented on pictures For example: There are 2 red balloons and 3 blue balloons. How many balloons are there in all? 5.2. Presented in arithmetical format Addition (e.g.,: ‘‘6+3’’; ‘‘5+y ¼ 9’’; ‘‘y+3 ¼ 6’’) Subtraction (e.g.,: ‘‘95’’; ‘‘9y ¼ 1’’; ‘‘y2 ¼ 3’’) Multiplication (e.g.,: ‘‘2 4’’; ‘‘10 2’’) 5.3. Presented in verbal format For example: ‘‘Denis had 2 marbles. He won two others. How many marbles had Denis in all?’’ 5.4. Understanding arithmetical operation properties (conditional knowledge) For example: Addition commutativity: ‘‘You know that 29+66 ¼ 95. Would this information help you to compute 66+29? Why?’’

6. Estimation of the size

6.1 Comparison of dot sets (subitising) 6.2. Estimation of size Comparison of distance between numbers. For example: target number is 5. What number is close to this (3 or 9)?

highlights five facets of arithmetical and numerical knowledge: logical knowledge, counting, representation of numerosity, knowledge of the numerical system and computation. A validation study showed that the TEDI-MATH could discriminate among pupils with different levels of mathematical knowledge according to the teachers. The raw scores of the TEDI-MATH are converted into percentiles. It is suggested that attention be paid to scores under the 25th percentile and to consider possible disabilities under the 10th percentile (Desoete, Roeyers, Schittekatte, & Gre´goire, 2006). However, the authors state that these cut-off scores are only indications and should be used with great caution. The diagnosis of learning disability can only be drawn from a global assessment of the child, including learning, intelligence, emotions, family and school context. In sum, it is important to distinguish delay of deficits and to consider consistency in performance – both at a point in time and overtime. (Mazzocco & Myers, 2003). Since mathematical capacities are dynamic, there is much variability in the developmental process (Shalev, 2004). The individual profile of strengths and weaknesses can shift overtime as a function of the growth process. This makes a one-time assessment unreliable (Mazzocco & Myers, 2003).


195

For older students, there is even a bigger problem (Maccini & Ruhl, 2000; Strawser & Miller, 2001). Not many instruments are currently available for adolescents or adults. There is a test (Trott, Beacham, & Robertson, 2006) that is currently being tested on a large sample of Belgian adults with and without a clinical diagnosis of mathematical learning disabilities. In addition, practitioners often use the KRT-R and TTR comparing with the grade 6 (or 4) norms, combined with checklists and observations during mathematical problem solving. For Belgium, there is also the Cognitive Developmental skills in aRithmetics (CDR), based on a nine-skill model (Desoete & Roeyers, 2005a). According to the nine-skills model, mathematical problem solving depends on adequate number naming or reading (NR), dealing with operation symbols (S), knowledge (K) of the base-ten structural relationships, procedural (P) skills to solve mathematical tasks in a number problem format (e.g., 479 ¼ _), linguistic skills (L) enabling children to understand and to solve one-sentence mathematical problems in a word-problem format (e.g., 9 less than 47 is _), mental representation (M) skills, contextual skills (C) enabling the mathematical problem solving in a more than one-sentence word problem, skills to select relevant information (R) and number sense skills (N). The CDR has a test for grades 1 and 2 and there is a version for grades 3 and 4. For grades 2 and 3, there is also a computer version (EPA2000) (De Clercq, Desoete, & Roeyers, 2000). In addition, there is a CDR test for grades 5 and 6 and one test for higher education (CDR 5th grade) based on these nine mathematics building blocks (NR, S, K, P, L, C, M, R and N) (see Table 7). Currently, the CDR 5th grade is used in combination with the KRT-R, the TTR and the DyscalculIUM (version 2.4.0) (Trott, Beacham, & Robertson, 2006) as well as a dyscalculia checklist and a semi-structured interview on a large sample of Belgian adults with and without a clinical diagnosis of mathematical learning disabilities. In clinical practice in Belgium, rarely used tests are the only indicators of mathematical learning disabilities. Often, checklists are used to get an additional picture of the severity, the exclusion and the resistance criterion. In such checklists, familial and medical conditions are examined, and students and parents are asked when the problems started, what the difficulties were in mathematics, if there are family members with learning disabilities, what was attempted when encountering the problems, and if this has made any difference (resistance criterion) and so on (see checklist in the appendix).

196

Table 7. Cognitive Building Blocks for Mathematical Problem Solving in Higher Education (Desoete & Roeyers, 2006a). Symbols NR S K P L M C R

N

ANNEMIE DESOETE

Numeral reading and production: e.g., read (or write down) 1309,03 Operation symbol reading and production: e.g., put the correct sign (o, > or ¼ ) on y 4 (12,7 – 0,9)y 30+20 Number system knowledge: e.g., put in order, start with the smallest number: 8,52 95,02 85,2 9,25 Procedural calculation: e.g., 30563,7–137,95 ¼ Language comprehension: e.g., 283 more than 71 is _ Mental representation: e.g., 1250,8 is 4 tens more than _ Context information: e.g., Lisse has a temperature of 36,41C. After 1 h the temperature raised to 37,21C. What is the raise? Selecting relevant information: e.g., a bottle of camping gas has a weight of 6.750 kg. There can be 2.7 kg gas in a bottle. Before you go on holiday the bottle weights 5 kg. After the holiday the bottle weights 4.050 kg. How much gas was there before the holiday in the bottle? Number sense: e.g., 18.15 is nearest to? Choose between: 6 am 15.00 half past 3 in the morning 18.55


197

Assessment of Metacognition Presently, it is widely accepted that metacognition also influences mathematical problem solving (Desoete & Veenman, 2006; Montague, 1998; Veenman, Kok, & Blote, 2005). Metacognition has traditionally been differentiated into two central components, namely metacognitive knowledge and metacognitive processes. ‘‘Metacognitive knowledge’’ has been described as knowledge and deeper understanding of one’s own cognitive skills and products (Flavell, 1976). In mathematics, children may know, for example, that they have to check themselves in multi-digit division but not while solving one-digit addition problems. In addition, metacognitive processes or ‘‘skills’’ can be seen as the actual regulation of and control over the cognitive processes. From a developmental point of view, metacognitive knowledge precedes metacognitive skills. Metacognitive self-regulating skills revealed to be growing until early adulthood (Berk, 1997; Shute, 1996). Metacognition allows students to use the acquired knowledge in a flexible, strategic way (Desoete, Roeyers, & Buysse, 2001; Lucangeli, Cornoldi, & Tellarini, 1998). There are different methods for assessing metacognitive knowledge and skills. Prospective methods, such as self-report questionnaires and hypothetical interviews are frequently used to assess metacognitive skills. Retrospective techniques, such as questionnaires, interviews and stimulated recall situations, are also being used to assess metacognitive skills. In addition to prospective and retrospective techniques, concurrent assessment, such as think-aloud protocols or a systematic observation of regulation and planning behaviour can take place. Recently, more indirect assessment techniques are also being used. Often, these techniques combine prospective and concurrent or concurrent and retrospective measures of metacognitive skills and/or knowledge (Desoete & Roeyers, 2005b, 2006a, 2006b). About one-third of the elementary school children with mathematical learning disabilities in grade 3 were found to show inadequate metacognitive prediction and evaluation skills (Desoete & Roeyers, 2002). In addition, four out of five children with procedural and semantic memory mathematical learning disabilities, half of the children with procedural disabilities and only 5% of the children with only a semantic memory deficiency had low metacognitive skills. Moreover, a majority of the children with mathematical learning disabilities and inadequate metacognitive skills had problems with prediction and evaluation skills. Most 3rd graders with low metacognitive skills only appeared to have problems predicting the level of difficulty of tasks. Inaccurate evaluations were found on a more regular basis in

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children with mathematical learning disabilities and inadequate metacognitive skills, as opposed to the sample of children with inadequate metacognitive skills but without learning difficulties, where their occurrence was closer to the correct estimate (Desoete, Roeyers, & Huylebroecke, 2006). To summarize, especially children with a procedural or combined subtype of mathematical learning disabilities were found to lack metacognitive skills. It may therefore be advisable to assess these skills, in order to develop an adequate therapeutic intervention in children with mathematical learning disabilities.

HELPING STUDENTS WITH MATHEMATICAL DISABILITIES Adolescents and Adults with Mathematical Disabilities: What are Their Problems? The average mathematical performance of 16- and 17-year-old students with mathematical learning disabilities is approximately at the 5th grade level (Cawley & Miller, 1989). Students with mathematical disabilities have documented deficits in the areas of basic facts, subtraction, solving word problems, acquiring concepts and problem solving (Riccomini, 2005). Sullivan (2005) described the following characteristics as common among students with mathematical learning disabilities: writing and/or copying number of figures incorrectly, difficulty with sequences of mathematical steps, difficulty with naming mathematical concepts, terms or operations, decoding mathematical context into mathematical symbols incorrectly, incorrect interpretation and use of numerical symbols and/of arithmetic signs, incorrect computations, trial-and-error sequence of calculator keystrokes and immature appearance of work on paper. In addition, problems in adolescents with mathematical disabilities are documented with ordering fractions, decimals and place value. Most adolescents with mathematical learning disabilities were better at arithmetical reasoning than calculation. However, some subjects were highly erratic at reasoning and calculation tasks (Dowker, 2005). In Belgium we found, in accordance with Geary (2004), in a still ongoing study (Desoete, 2006), that almost all students with mathematical learning disabilities in post-secondary education could read and write isolated whole numbers such as 8, 543 or 543 and operation symbols such as + or % in a ‘‘non-time limited condition’’. However, in Dutch, the number 43 is spoken as three and forty (driee¨nveertig) and not as forty three, and 543 is spoken as


199

five-hundred-three and forty (vijfhonderd driee¨nveertig) and not as fivehundred-forty-three, a lot of these students were highly erratic in the same tasks in a ‘‘dual task-condition’’ (such as performing the tasks with the radio on) or in a ‘‘time limited task-condition’’, meaning that these translation skills were not automatized and students needed to concentrate not to violate the rule on how to read printed symbols. Adolescents and adults with mathematical learning disabilities also were less certain, and needed more time for tasks with decimals (such as 543.9) or zeros (such as 5,043) in them, and kept reversing ‘‘o’’ and ‘‘>’’, and the conventional names for the top and bottom numbers of a fraction. In line with Dowker (2005), most Belgian adolescents with mathematical learning disabilities were better at arithmetical reasoning than calculation. Many of them had problems in following the sequence in long algorithms, especially in time-restricted tasks. They displayed a series of errors in the implementation of arithmetic procedures and had difficulties in keeping track of the sequence of steps in longer calculations. They also had a rather limited memory for the lay out of tasks, and got more lost or disoriented than peers without learning disabilities did in the same tasks (Coppens, 2004). Often also it was difficult for them to combine tasks or change their approach during a task (executive control, automatization). Adolescents and adults with mathematical learning disabilities often succeeded in all subtasks separately, but not in the combination of subtasks or in keeping track of the sequences. Most adolescents with mathematical learning disabilities were better at mathematical reasoning and written calculation than in mental calculation. They had low accuracy in mental calculation. Often especially subtraction and division tasks had high error rates and irregular reaction times. If those students could write down steps or perform written calculations the problems disappeared. However, some subjects were highly erratic at mental calculation and written calculation tasks. The mechanical process of subtraction and division, especially the long division multi-step process, remained confusing for those students. Calculators helped to master these difficulties. There were, however, also a number of Belgian adolescents and adults with mathematical learning disabilities with retrieval dysfunctions, which generally implied that the processing of arithmetic number facts did not become automatized and that there were deficiencies in number fact retrieval. These adolescents and adults were highly erratic at retrieving fast derived-facts. Those students still did not know the tables of multiplication and the decomposition of small numbers. It required an unreasonable effort for them to solve the multiplications facts. They knew that ‘‘ ’’ is like ‘‘+’’,

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rolling along and repeating the addition time and again. So, they solved 6 5 by adding (6 5 ¼ in Belgium learned as ‘‘5+5+5+5+5+5’’ or 30) as back-up strategy, which took them a considerable amount of time. Using a calculator or a ‘‘maths memo book’’ with number facts, working methods and mnemonics helped to deal with that problem. Often, those students had age-adequate metacognitive knowledge and skills. Other stumbling blocks in almost all adolescents with mathematical learning disabilities were, as Sullivan (2005) has stated, naming mathematical concepts, terms or operations. Terms (such as product, acute, area and perimeter, radius, diameter and circumference) and operations (such as calculating with fractions, links between fractions, percentages and decimals, solving equations in algebra, multiplying algebraic expressions and angle properties) were difficult for many students and adults with mathematical learning disabilities. Especially abstract concepts of time and direction in mathematical contexts lead to incorrect interpretation, as did use of numerical symbols and/of arithmetic signs. Many of the adolescents and adults also lacked accurate estimation skills. Most students had to read assignments more attentively than peers without learning disabilities, due to reading comprehension deficits. They did not develop spontaneously an accurate mathematics glossary of terms and concepts, frequently had a deficient task and problem presentation, and often focused on superficial aspects of an assignment (see N- and R-tasks in Table 7), so that they had to be reminded of definitions as the completed assignments and tests. In line with Levine (1999) and Die-’s-Lekti-kus (2004), our dataset revealed that instruction, including ways to translate specific words into numerical symbols or processes, was needed to support student’s mastery of word problems and definitions. Adults often asked their partner or parents to provide this support. Some of the adolescents with mathematical learning disabilities appeared to have problems with visual–spatial and mental representation tasks (see also Geary, 2004; Levine, 1999). They rotated (horizontal or vertical) the numbers and failed in spatial placement of numbers on a number line and in geometric tasks where they have to rely on algebraic notations or graphical plots. Calculations, where they had to borrow (e.g., 546+76), also needed remediation. Moreover, these adolescents and adults had problems in explaining tables and charts and made interpretation errors on such tasks. Students could not easily understand/see mechanical processes and had difficulties to integrate different parts of a figure as a whole. A lot of the adolescents and adults used digital clocks because they still had problems to


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understand the analogical clocks. They also failed to represent drawing a plan of the surrounding streets, and to locate lands and oceans on a map (Coppens, 2004). Such students were encouraged to use graph paper to aid in the spatial placement of numbers and to use concrete materials to understand math concepts. Explicit verbal instructions, so that students really did understand what the setting out of an algorithm actually represented, and the use of calculators often helped. In addition, it was investigated if students with mathematical learning disabilities had less adequate metacognitive skills than peers without learning problems. Many adolescents with mathematical learning disabilities were found to have problems with planning and keeping track of steps (Coppens, 2004). Almost all students with mathematical learning disabilities, who succeeded in post-secondary education, were above-average intelligent and had a good amount of metacognitive knowledge and adequate metacognitive skills. However, some students did not always make good use of their metacognitive skills. For example, they studied for the wrong exam, did not work further on an assignment if they could not solve the previous question, they forgot things and could not plan efficiently, their working place was not very well organized, they often could not select main ideas from less important topics or they had problems to act according to appointments. Supporting surroundings were important protective factors towards the chances of success of those students. A protocolic metacognitive intervention was not indicated, since it was found that some students, and especially those with mathematical learning disabilities, due to retrieval problems of number facts, did not have below-average performances on tasks depending on those skills (Desoete, Roeyers, & Huylebroeck, 2006). How Can We Help Them? There have been fewer interventions developed for students with mathematical disabilities than for children with reading disabilities (Dowker, 2005). Without claiming to be exhaustive, we will discuss some results and practical implications of these studies. Sullivan (2005) inventored some effective instructional principles and action plans for successful learning in mathematics: 1. Make the mathematics content relevant and authentic. 2. Employ a concrete to abstract sequence.

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3. Provide opportunities for guided practice in solving problems prior to independent practice. 4. Provide opportunities for students to verbalize their process to other students and practice writing solutions. In addition, Daley (1994) recommended that instruction include concepts as well as when and how to apply them, include age-appropriate materials, utilize visual, auditory and kinesthetic methods of learning, and specify mastery criteria for each skill based on student’s conceptual and cognitive level. Most studies supported the view that mathematical difficulties are highly susceptible to intervention. The effect size of intervention studies varied from 0.45 (Baker, Gersten, & Lee, 2002) or 0.63 (Kroesbergen & Van Luit, 2003) to 0.82 (Swanson & Sachse-Lee, 2001), depending on the content trained, and the action plan employed. Especially, task-oriented approaches and direct and strategy interventions were highly efficient (Baker et al., 2002; Swanson, Hoskyn, & Lee, 1999). Higher effect sizes were attributed to the intensity of the intervention, new contents of skills and ‘‘advanced organizers’’, meaning that subjects had to study the material first, focus attention and relate the new content to previously learned information (Swanson & Sachse-Lee, 2001). Fuchs et al. (2005) draw the same conclusion and demonstrated that a combination of explicit instruction and self-regulated learning strategies were effective interventions on mathematical problem solving. Transfer could be enhanced by explicit transfer instruction, although this remained a difficult topic for children with learning disabilities (Fuchs, Fuchs, Hamlett, & Appleton, 2002). Inconsistent results were found for peer tutoring or collaborative interventions (Davenport & Howe, 1999; Kroesbergen & Van Luit, 2003). Traditional interventions were more effective than computer-based intervention (Desoete, Roeyers, & De Clercq, 2003; Kroesbergen & Van Luit, 2003). Adey and Shayer (1994) and Adhami, Johnson, and Shayer (1998) indicated that training in formal operations appeared to have a positive impact on the mathematical development of older children and adolescents. Gersten, Jordan, and Flojo (2005) found that effective interventions should focus on the speed and accuracy of arithmetic fact retrieval, on adequate counting strategies and the development of a good number sense based on the comparison of numbers and the use of some kind of number line. The meta-analysis of Miller et al.(1998) revealed that the use of ‘‘constant time delay’’ cards was efficient to automatize multiplication and division tables. In addition, self-regulation (with verbal instruction), cognitive behaviour


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modification therapy and/or token-economy were also efficient approaches. Maccini and colleagues revealed in their meta-analysis that algebra in adolescents has to be approached with an explicit strategic intervention. Adolescents with mathematical learning disabilities needed an individual and intensive programme on this topic (Maccini & Gagnon, 2006; Maccini, Mcnaughton, & Ruhl, 1999). Xin and Jitendra (1997) found in a first metaanalysis that four practices were efficient: an explicitating representation technique, a strategical training, variations on the tasks (on complexity of word problems) and computer instruction. In a second meta-analysis they found that the explicitating representation techniques and the strategic instructions were the most effective programmes (Xin, Jintendra, & Deatline-Buchman, 2005; Xin et al., 2005). Kroesbergen and Van Luit (2003) found that self-instruction appeared effective in problem solving domains. Miller et al. (1998) also studied problem solving in children with learning disabilities. Most of the strategic programmes and all studies with explicit instructions had a positive effect. Especially the methods with concrete (material) and semi-concrete (schema) tools appeared effective. Finally, many metacognitive-oriented trainings improved mathematical problem solving, even in adolescence (Montague, 1998; Montague, Woodward, & Bryant, 2004). On a more concrete level, studies revealed that ‘‘rehearsal’’ is an important tool in the improvement of mathematical skills. Students should, however, rehearse without making mistakes (Siegler & Lemaire, 1997; Lemaire, 1998). In addition, it seemed important to focus on insight and not to overrely on teaching-derived facts. Drill and practice of the mini-strategy ‘‘2+7 ¼ 7+2’’ is found superior in terms of speed and accuracy of the answers compared with other types of training (Thornton, Langrall, & Jones, 1997; Jaspers & Van Lieshout, 1994). Subjects with learning disabilities could also learn to be better word problem solvers (Stellingwerf & Van Lieshout, 1999; Jaspers & Van Lieshout, 1994) and to learn to solve more additions up to 100 with explicit and strategic programmes. (Ruijssenaars, Van Luit, & Van Lieshout, 2004).

STICORDI Students with mathematical disabilities need remediation techniques designed to address deficits. Error identification and analysis is an important first step for remedial or corrective instruction. When students make errors and formulate mathematical misconceptions, teachers or therapists should

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Table 8.

STICORDI Devices.

In general The support is always tailored to the individual needs of a particular student and their strengths and weaknesses. The strengths are used to compensate for the deficiencies. College and university always ask if students are in need of additional mathematical support. All new teachers are informed of the ‘‘reasonable adjustments’’ to ensure that disabled students are not placed at a substantial disadvantage compared to non-disabled students. The reasonable adjustments also depend on the initiative of the student, who writes (on tasks, exams, y) the abbreviation CH (from charter) on the left upper corner of each paper he or she uses. If this sign is not on the paper, no special support is provided. Instructions for teaching Implement multiple, flexible methods of content presentation, content expression and individual engagement in material. Utilize visual, auditory and kinesthetic methods of learning. Instructional techniques should incorporate a verbal approach of explaining concepts in addition to algebraic notation and graphical plots. Visual models accompany written explanations. Always start with repeating the essence of the previous course. Check that the students understand the concepts you want to use. Instruction should include concepts as well as when and how to apply them. Instruction should also include ways to translate specific words into numerical symbols or processes, to support a student’s mastery of word problems. Students need more intensive, explicit teaching and practice of the number system, the use of maps and atlases, the use of measuring devices, using a wide range of names for measuring units, the relationship between decimals and fractions. Use colour-coded concept diagrams and formula to support the insight of students. Students need support and explicit instruction and more time on skills and content (e.g., arithmetic facts and concepts) that are automatized in peers without mathematical learning disabilities. Students with mathematical learning disabilities have prolonged difficulty with learning and retaining number facts. Teach in gradual stages so that students do not feel overwhelmed. Explicitly teach short cuts and a small number of derived facts. Underpin rote learning with understanding. Avoid mechanical recitation of the short cuts and derived facts. Avoid too many derived facts in students with memory deficits. Explicitly teach the method of working. Students should be provided with timely and good structured handouts in a mathematical learning disabilities friendly format. Students should get textbooks, structured charts and information sheets, so that they do not only have to rely on what they copied during the lectures. Students can use recording devices or lap tops within lectures. Utilize flashcards to develop automaticity for basic arithmetic and more advanced algebraic concepts, calculations and manipulations. Provide the technology needed for problem solving. Use calculator and computer spreadsheets to compensate for difficulties in recalling number facts. Students should develop an individualized mathematics glossary of terms, concepts, information (number facts, working methods, mnemonics, etc.) and formulae so that they can be reminded of these definitions as they complete homework assignments. In some cases this booklet can be used in exams.


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Table 8. (Continued ) Specify mastery criteria for each skills on students’ conceptual and cognitive level. Provide one-to-one or group support to students with learning disabilities. Instructions for assessment Students need more practice and an extended period of time to acquire the basics. Therefore assessments are planned a lot in advance. Support the student in the planning of when he or she is going to study for exams. Make this planning together in a one-to-one support session with student and tutor. Time can also be spent on examination techniques and the best use of the 20–30% extra time that has been awarded. Students get extended time to complete examinations (20–30% additional time for timed assessments and examinations – starting earlier than peers without mathematical learning disabilities). The formulae booklet and calculator are available in examinations. Students get assistance in highlighting key words in examination tasks and in deciding which questions they will answer. Use an adequate font, double space and off-white paper for text in examination papers and printed handouts. The provision of squared paper in examination papers can assist in the lining up of rows and columns of numbers. Examination can be sat in a special room, without disturbance of other students. No big numbers, fractions or decimals are used in tests, if not really necessary. Students should never have to come unexpectedly to the blackboard, answer a question or make a test. Students do not need to rely on mental computation; they can always use a calculator. Students may perform one task or subtask at a time and develop definite and consistent stepwise approaches to problem solving. Students may use self-monitoring techniques (talking their way through a problem) to aid in problem solution. Students may use stepwise approaches to problem solving. Students may use graph/squared paper to aid in the spatial placement of numbers. Students may use multi-sensory equipment or concrete applications of the math concept as an example of the problem to be solved. In informal assessment an analysis of error pattern and a diagnostic interview in which students verbalize their thought processes while they solve problems is added. Alternative assessment methods can be used to replace multiple choice examinations, class tests, coursework, group project work or written examinations during the school years. For some students it is recommended to let them explain their answers orally.

recognize the errors, prescribe an appropriate instructional focus and implement an effective and efficient reteaching plan (Riccomini, 2005). Levine (1999) suggested the following learning support for math fluency errors: utilize flashcards and mathematics-related software to develop automaticity for basic arithmetic and more advanced algebraic concepts,

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calculations and manipulations. For students with working memory deficits Levine recommended that students concentrate on performing one task or subtask at a time, develop definite and consistent stepwise approaches to problem solving, use self-monitoring techniques (talking their way through a problem) and summarize complex instructions or solution processes before attempting the solution. For non-verbal reasoning deficits, Levine advocated that students use graph paper to aid in the spatial placement of numbers as well as manipulatives of numbers or concrete applications of the math concept as example of the problem to be solved. Instructional techniques should incorporate a highly verbal approach of explaining geometric concepts rather than relying solely on graphical plots. In Belgium and the Netherlands such recommendations designed to help students with disabilities are described as ‘‘STICORDI’’. STICORDI is an acronym introduced by Henneman (1989) referring to STI(mulation), CO(mpensation), R(emediation) and DI(spensation). With such devices ‘‘reasonable’’ adjustments are provided to ensure that disabled students are not placed at a substantial disadvantage compared to non-disabled students. Students with mathematical learning disabilities work through this remediation device with specific mathematics techniques (see also Levine, 1999) and they perform at a higher level than without this STICORDI device. We give a list of such frequently used recommendations to students with mathematical learning disabilities in Table 8. It is obvious that not all of these recommendations are needed for people with mathematical learning disabilities. We must adapt the device, after an extensive assessment, to the strengths and weaknesses of each individual.

CONCLUSIONS As already emphasized by Stock et al. (2006), focus on the literature in mathematical learning disabilities points out that many gaps in this domain still remain. First of all, consensus must be reached in the search for a theory-based definition for mathematical disabilities. Different criteria are currently being used, and it appears that a valid definition must be based on the discrepancy as well as the severity, the exclusion and the resistance criteria. With such a consensus, prevalence studies will also be more comparable. Second, in this chapter we provided evidence for four main subtypes in mathematical disabilities: a subtype with procedural deficits, semantic memory deficits, visual–spatial deficits and number knowledge deficits.


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Further research on the different manifestations of mathematical disabilities is needed to discern the causes of those different patterns. Moreover, we need to investigate whether these subtypes are stable over time, and if different remediation based upon strengths and weaknesses of these children is needed. Those insights in turn suggest that assessment can be tuned to the different profiles of children with mathematical disabilities since comprehensive tests are needed in order to offer a solid remediation based on the strengths and weaknesses of every child. Third, additional research is needed on good tests to give us explanations for understanding the errors made by students with mathematical learning disabilities. Presently, often a cocktail of performance tests is employed to get a picture of number knowledge, procedural calculation, number fact retrieval and visual–spatial skills. It seems advisable also to assess metacognitive skills, since in half of the children with procedural mathematical learning disabilities and in four out of five children with a combined disability, a metacognitive co-pathology is found. For adolescents and adults, good assessment is even a bigger problem, since very few performance tests are currently available for this age range. In clinical practice, additional checklists often are used on all children to get an additional picture of the severity, exclusion and the resistance criteria. Fourth, we documented that problems with mathematical learning disabilities are life affecting, and that impact of poor mathematical skills on employment prospects is even bigger than the influence of poor reading skills (Dowker, 2005). Adolescents and adults with mathematical learning disabilities had an average mathematical performance of 10- and 11-yearold elementary school children. These adolescents or adults still seem to have problems to write and read whole numbers and operation symbols in dual-task or limited-time conditions. Most of them were better in arithmetical reasoning than in calculation. They often had especially low accuracy in mental calculation, but some also failed in written calculation tasks. A lot of adolescents and adults had deficiencies in number fact retrieval. It took them an unreasonable amount of time to solve multiplication facts, because they had to solve this task not by retrieving facts from long-term memory (7 5 ¼ 35) but by using back strategies (7 5 ¼ 5+5+5+5+5+5+5 ¼ 35). Other stumbling blocks in adolescents and adults with mathematical learning disabilities included naming mathematical concepts, terms and operations. In addition, many students with mathematical learning disabilities had an additional reading comprehension deficit. They often focused on superficial aspects of an assignment, and had to be reminded of definitions as they completed tests. Some of these

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adolescents also had visual–spatial problems with geometry, algebraic notations, tables, charts, maps and analogical clocks. In addition, although most students succeeding post-secondary education were above average in intelligence and had good metacognitive knowledge and skills, students, particularly those with a number knowledge, procedural or visual–spatial (or combined) mathematical learning disability, did not always make good use of those skills. Finally, we focused on instructional principles and action plans for successful learning in mathematics. Although the prevalence of reading and mathematical learning disabilities is the same, there have been fewer intervention programmes for students with mathematical disabilities. Explicit strategic training with a substantial amount of rehearsal, combined with self-instruction, was found to be very powerful. In addition, STICORDI devices were important for providing ‘‘reasonable’’ adjustments to ensure that disabled students are not placed at a substantial disadvantage compared to non-disabled students.

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APPENDIX. CHECKLIST FOR MATHEMATICAL LEARNING DISABILITIES Checklist for mathematical learning disabilities – relevant items Date: Name: Date of birth: PART 1: REASON FOR THE ASSESSMENT Name of the school: What kind of education are you following? When did you start? What are your previous schools? Kindergarten Elementary school Did you repeat a year in school? What kind of secondary education did you follow?

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APPENDIX. (Continued) What were your grades in secondary education? Overall academic achievement; general grade Grade obtained for mathematics Grade obtained for language General

Yes

No

1. Are there problems at school, according to you? Learning problems Behavioural problems Inattention Other 2. What did you do about these problems? Nothing Extra lessons Extra exercises Assessment by y Other: y 3. Do you go to school on a regular basis? If not, why not: 4. How would you describe your working habits? Motivated Attentive 5. How would you describe your working fluency? Slow Irregular Depending on what has to be studied 6. How would you describe your relationship with other students? Nothing special to mention Afraid Being teased often 7. How would you describe your relationship with your teachers? Nothing special to mention Introvert Squared to fail

Remarks


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APPENDIX. (Continued) General

Yes

No

Remarks

8 Are there problems at home? Please add some information, if you answer yes: 9. How would you describe your mood? Nothing special to mention Irregular Depressed 10. Do you have problems with hearing/vision? 11. Are you on medication? Add some information, if yes:

In which area do you have problems? 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Yes

No

Are there problems with reading comprehension? Do you have problems with reading fluency? Do you have problems with written language? Do you have problems with language? Do you have problems applying rules?

How do you do in mathematics/ economics/statistics? Speed Insight Techniques Automatizaton Other remarks:

Good

Normal

Bad

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APPENDIX. (Continued) Other questions Why do you think you are being tested by us? What is the problem according to you? Do you agree with these problems? What is the biggest problem according to you? What do you worry most about? What do you currently do about these problems? What do you think about this approach? What do your parents/friends/school do about the problems? What do you think about this approach? Can you do something yourself about the problems? What are you satisfied about: what does go well for you, what are you good at, what do you like about your family/friends/school y? Yourself: Your school/teachers: Your parents: What do you expect from this test? Please give your opinion on the following skills Good Remembering arbitrary facts (e.g., osign) Time tables Division facts Writing and/of copying number of figures Naming mathematical concepts, terms or operations Decoding context into mathematical symbols

Normal

Poor


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APPENDIX. (Continued) Good Interpretation and use of symbols and signs Remembering formula in measurement Estimate approximate answers to problems Remembering arbitrary data in history Following a working direction Writing numbers without reversions Diagrams, maps, tables, charts, abbreviations, arrows Understanding terminology (product, acute, vulgarl y) Placing numbers on a number line Reading the clock Measurement Use of a calendar Knowing what exercises will be correct Knowing if an exercise is correct Working in an efficient way Being able to predict one’s result Knowing when to start to be ready in time Knowing how to handle a task Adapting the working speed to the task Remembering terminology and symbolisms Knowing how to study Knowing one’s own strengths and weaknesses Being sure of oneself Enjoyment and pleasure in arithmetic Feeling good in the group Having friends Not panicking if something goes wrong

Normal

Poor

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APPENDIX. (Continued) PART 2: ACTUAL SITUATION IN HIGHER EDUCATION Why did you choose this course, college, university? Do you like this kind of education? What do you do after college hours? What are your hobbies or interests? What do you like most? Do you have problems with studying at home? What courses are you good at? Do you have problems concentrating on tasks? Are you motivated for your tasks? Are you unsure about your tasks? Do you often think ‘‘here I will fail’’? Do you give up if work gets hard? Here you find problems students can encounter. Look what fits you and give some examples.

Problems

Examples

Getting in fights, being angry, oppositional behaviour Introvert, quiet, sad, afraid, defeatist attitude Hyperactive, restless, impulsive Problems with peers, family and friends Problems with adults, teachers and parents Other problems

Do you have ideas about your problems with mathematics? What caused them, according to you? It is because of me High school/university y My parents


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APPENDIX. (Continued) What should change? What solutions are there for your problem, according to you? I can High school/university, y can My parents can

Social contact

Yes No Remarks

1. Do you have good contact with your mother? 2. Do you have good contact with your father? 3. Do you have good contact with brothers/sisters? 4. Do you have regular friends? 5. Do you have good contact with teachers? If no, what are the problems? On who can you rely? With who can you talk and who can help you? (Think about: teachers, mentor, grand parents, uncle/aunt, a previous partner of your parents, family, friends, neighbours.) Do you have problems with eating/sleeping? Do you drink alcohol? Do you use drugs? Other information that you find relevant:

PART 3: INFORMATION ON THE PAST What are nice memories of your past? What events in your life were not nice? Are there problems at school or at home? When did they start, according to you? Are there other things about the past that we should know about?


ADHD AT FIVE: A DIAGNOSIS-INTERVENTION PROGRAM Anna Maria Re and Cesare Cornoldi ABSTRACT The study of 5-year-old children with symptoms of attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) is important because it provides an opportunity to discover early intervention strategies for children who are expected to develop severe problems later in life. This chapter presents a research program intended to develop assessment and interventions tools for kindergarten children. Specifically, we present two rating scales (one for teachers and one for parents), two neuropsychological tests, and an intervention program intended to promote controlled attention and working memory. Finally, we present an investigation, with a small group of 5-year-old children with ADHD symptoms, validating the program.

Attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) is the most frequent diagnostic label used to define a disorder of childhood and adolescence characterised by three main categories of symptoms: inattention, hyperactivity and impulsivity. Symptoms of ADHD are pervasive (observed across all life environments), persistent (across the entire lifespan) and debilitating, as much so in social life as in work and scholastic life. International Perspectives Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 20, 223–240 Copyright r 2007 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(07)20009-6

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Based on DSM-IV (APA, 1994) diagnostic criteria, three subtypes of ADHD can be distinguished: one with prevalence of inattentive symptoms (ADHD inattention subtype), one with prevalence of hyperactive and impulsive behaviours (ADHD hyperactive subtype) and a combined type with the presence of both the types of symptoms. ADHD is often associated with a range of problems, not only with respect to long-term educational failure, social exclusion and learning disabilities, but also deviant behaviours, delinquency and substance abuse (Swanson et al., 1998). Concerning the core problems of ADHD children associated with school difficulties, many different hypotheses have been proposed, but there is convergent evidence that controlled attention and working memory (two aspects closely related, Heitz, Unsworth, & Engle, 2005) may be critically involved (e.g., Barkley, 1997; Cornoldi et al., 2001). Usually, assessment procedures and the consequent treatment are administered when the child is well along in the primary grades, and probably has already been exposed to negative experiences. So, ADHD symptoms can have been compounded by complications such as school failure and social exclusion. All these considerations can make the disorder more resistant to psychological treatment. For this reason, early diagnosis and early psychological intervention in preschool years should be recommended (Sonuga-Barke, Daley, Thompson, Laver-Bradbury, & Weeks, 2001). Many advantages can accrue from an early diagnosis of ADHD: 1. At kindergarten, children are more flexible, relations with peers and with parents are still easily modifiable, and negative experiences can be avoided. At later ages, it is usually more difficult to treat observed symptoms (Mazzoncini, Freda, Cannarsa, & Sordellini, 1996). 2. By reducing the probability of future school failure, a positive degree of self-esteem and motivation can be maintained. 3. It is possible to avoid learning difficulties, often associated with ADHD, which can increase the learning gap between ADHD children and other classmates. Unfortunately, early identification of children with ADHD symptoms is often difficult, especially during preschool years, in part because few assessment instruments have been designed and validated, and in part because the same symptoms can be found in children who will not present symptoms of ADHD as well in the future. For these reasons, ADHD is usually diagnosed during the school period.

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However, some indexes can help in the identification of those children who have a high probability of developing ADHD in their lifetime (Connor, 2002), including the following: 1. Severity of symptoms: Children who show very deep inattention, impulsivity and hyperactivity behaviours are more likely to develop ADHD. 2. Pervasiveness: Children who show symptomatic behaviours in several environments, and with different caregivers, are more likely to develop ADHD. 3. Social skills impairment: Children who have problems with peers at home, at school or in simple play contexts are more likely to develop ADHD. Features of the disorder can be identified in early childhood, and researchers are very interested in the issue of early identification of ADHD. Also the DSM-IV (APA, 1994) reports that symptoms of the disorder should appear before the age of 7. For these reasons, some recent investigations have explored the presence of ADHD symptoms in preschool children. Zito et al. (2000) found an increase in the number of preschool children (e.g., under the age of 5) receiving the diagnosis of ADHD, and subsequently a treatment with psychostimulants. In a study (Stormont & Zentall, 1999), parents of ADHD children reported that symptoms were already evident even when the child was only two years old. In another study, Wilens et al. (2002) collected data from 1,658 children, followed by the paediatric psychiatry service of Massachusetts General Hospital, from 1991 to 1999. They found that, out of 200 children younger than 6 with psychiatric problems (12%), 86% exhibited ADHD symptoms, sometimes associated with other diagnoses, with a mean age of inception of 2.3 years (SD ¼ 1.4). In another investigation (Keenan, Shaw, & Walsh, 1997), from a pool of 104 preschool children, 5.7% exhibited an ADHD profile. In summary, all these investigations suggest that early identification of ADHD is possible even if it is difficult and delicate. An important issue in the diagnosis of ADHD is the pervasiveness of the simptomatology, which is one of the main criteria for the diagnosis. In fact, the two most prominent diagnostic manuals, DSM-IV (APA, 1994) and ICD-10 (WHO, 1992), require that children exhibit ADHD symptoms in more than one setting (Hartman et al., 2001). Consequently, as home and school are the most important settings in which children’s behaviours can be observed, parents and teachers are the most important informants for the clinical psychologist. For this reason, in many studies parents are interviewed, and represent the most important and reliable informants on the health of the children (Pless & Pless, 1995).

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Biederman, Faraone, Monuteaux, and Grossbard (2004) asserted that parent reports are as sensitive as teacher reports in assessing changes in ADHD children. However, parents’ reports may present problems when they are used for the identification of young children. Some researchers (Phillips, Greenson, Collett, & Gimpel, 2002), in fact, have reported that there is low agreement between parents and teachers in the identification of symptomatic behaviours. Overall, parents tend to overemphasise the frequency of problematic behaviours (Re & Cornoldi, submitted), so their contribution, even if very important, should be always associated with a teachers rating scale. In general, parents do not have the same experiences as teachers, and they do not have other children with whom to compare their own child, as do teachers. Parents, therefore, offer more subjective ratings and tend sometimes to overemphasise even normal, lively behaviours, attributing them to hyperactivity. Furthermore, school and family are very different settings: at school, children are involved in activities that require attention and self-control, while at home children are largely involved in substantially different and less engaging activities (Bronfenbrenner, 1979). Therefore, observations from both informants are very important in order to understand children’s behaviours. The present chapter presents a research program devoted to the development of assessment and intervention tools for kindergarten children. Specifically, we present two rating scales, one for teachers and one for parents, two neuropsychological tests and an intervention program, respectively assessing and promoting controlled attention and working memory, two aspects which seem strictly related and critically involved in young children with ADHD. Finally, we present an investigation, with a small group of 5-year-old children with ADHD symptoms, validating the program.

TEACHERS’ AND PARENTS’ RATING SCALES FOR THE IDENTIFICATION OF ADHD SYMPTOMS IN KINDERGARTEN: IPDDAI AND IPPDAG IPPDAI is an acronym for ‘‘Identificazione Precoce del Disturbo da Deficit di Attenzione/iperattivita` per Insegnanti’’ [‘‘Early Identification of ADHD for Teachers’’] (Marcotto, Paltenghi, & Cornoldi, 2002). It is a teacher rating scale for the early identification of children at risk for ADHD. It is based on the 14 symptoms described by DSM-IV (APA, 1994) identified as the most predictive in an exploratory study (for both scales we decided to reduce the number of symptoms from the standard DSM-IV list of 18 symptoms to


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14 symptoms, in order to make the scales simpler and to avoid making a diagnosis based on a simple scale for such young children). The rating scale IPDDAI (see Appendix 1) includes 18 items: 7 concerning inattention (items 1, 2, 4, 5, 12, 13, 14), 7 concerning hyperactivity/ impulsivity (items 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11) and 4 additional items (15, 16, 17, 18) concerning ‘‘risk factors’’. These last items describe four aspects that can increase problematic behaviours of children, i.e., ‘‘coming from a disadvantaged family’’ (item 15), ‘‘having problematic situations at home’’ (item 16), ‘‘having poor cognitive abilities’’ (item 17) and ‘‘having emotional and relational problems’’ (item 18). The IPDDAI scale has been validated and standardised for the Italian population and demonstrates good psychometric properties and predictive validity: in a study correlating the IPDDAI scores given by kindergarten teachers with the identification of ADHD symptoms one year later by primary school teachers, Marcotto et al. (2002) identified a positive correlation of r ¼ .56. IPDDAG (Riello, Re, & Cornoldi, 2005) is an acronym for the Italian expression ‘‘Identificazione Precoce del Disturbo da Deficit di Attenzione/ iperattivita` per Genitori’’ [Early identification of ADHD for parents]. IPDDAG is the complementary form of IPDDAI, because it is the parent version of a rating scale for early identification of children at risk for ADHD. Using both rating scales, it is possible to know the child’s behaviours in the most important contexts in which a child lives. Comparing evaluations of parents and teachers, it is possible to identify those children who are likely to develop ADHD in the future. IPDDAG is parallel to the IPDDAI, and includes the 14 symptoms considered most representative and discriminative in a preliminary investigation with parents (Riello et al., 2005). It consists of 19 items, 7 for inattention, 7 for hyperactivity/impulsivity and the remaining 5 for ‘‘risk factors’’, just as IPDDAI. Risk factors concern poor cognitive abilities (item 15), languages difficulties (item 16), aggressive behaviours (item 17), emotional problems (item 18) and relational problems (item 19). Also this scale has good psychometric properties (although lower than the IPDDAI) (Riello et al., 2005), and in particular a Cronbach a ¼ .88 and the following test–retest reliabilities calculated for a small sample of children (N ¼ 51): r ¼ .59, po.001 for total score, r ¼ .48, po.001 for inattention and r ¼ .65, po.001 for hyperactivity. Both rating scales have a similar structure. In fact, items are always expressed in negative form and describe a symptomatic behaviour, so that a higher score corresponds to a more problematic situation and/or to a greater frequency of symptomatic behaviours. Furthermore, as all items are expressed in negative form, scoring is very simple, and can be done rapidly.

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Teachers and parents indicate the presence and the overall frequency of each behaviour, using a 4-point Likert scale, ranging from 0 to 3 (0 ¼ behaviour never present/not at all, 1 ¼ behaviour sometimes present, 2 ¼ behaviour often present, 4 ¼ behaviour always/very much present). Summing the values of each item results in the total score. The highest score a child can obtain for each item is 3, so the highest total score is 42 (risk factor items not included). It is possible to calculate separate scores for attention and hyperactivity, adding only items of inattention or only items for hyperactivity, respectively. The highest score obtainable is 21 for each dimension. Risk factors are separately considered as indexes of increased risk.

A CONTROLLED ATTENTION TEST: WALK–NO WALK As many theories, such as Barkley’s theory of ADHD (Barkley, 1997), have considered attentional control and the associated lack of inhibition to be critical aspects of ADHD, we investigated inhibition processes in preschool children, and we adapted, with the help of G.M. Marzocchi, a procedure based upon existing literature. Walk/no walk is a paper and pencil test that evaluates control of attention and the inhibition of an ongoing response. It is derived from the ‘‘stop signal task’’ of Logan and Cowan (1984). The task requires children to follow a series of directions and stop an ongoing response when a particular event (a signal) occurs. The test includes two A4 sheets of paper in which 20 stairs (one for each trial) are drawn with a little frog at the first step. The child is asked to cancel a step each time he or she hears the ‘‘GO’’ signal, while s/he has to stop every time s/he hears the ‘‘STOP’’ signal. The ‘‘STOP’’ signal is very similar to the ‘‘GO’’ signal but is different in its ending. Obviously, for every trail there are many go signals and only 1 stop signal. Instructions are the following: ‘‘In this game there are many frogs which climb the stairs, but to go up there are some rules: first, the frog must move only one step at a time; second, the frog can go up when it hears this sound (experimenter lets the child listen the go sound), that we’ll call ‘go signal’, while it must stop when it hears this other sound (experimenter lets the child listen the stop signal), we’ll call it the ‘stop signal’. OK, now let’s do this example’’! There are two training trials that can be used several times until the child demonstrates understanding of the task. If necessary, the task can be interrupted, but only between one trial and another, and only twice. It is not permissible to interrupt a trial.


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The difficulty of this task is that the stop signal is made in two parts, and the first part has the same sound of the go signal. Therefore, the child must wait to hear the entire sound before providing the response, in order to understand if it is a go or stop signal. Three different types of errors can be distinguished: 1. A child ‘‘goes’’ even with the presence of the stop signal. So s/he cannot inhibit the ongoing response. 2. A child ‘‘stops’’ before the appearance of the stop signal. 3. More generally, a child is not able to maintain attention along the trial and to move in correspondence with the sounds. Usually the first type of error is the most frequent, and describes lack of inhibitory control. The second type of error could be an expression of anxiety. The third type of error also is frequent, and describes lack of controlled prolonged attention. Basic scores (determined by the sums of the correct trials) can be between 0 and 20. The administration of the task to a child requires about 15 min.

A CONTROLLED WORKING MEMORY TEST: THE DUAL REQUEST SELECTIVE TASK It has been suggested that not only the control of attention, but also the attentional control of information maintained in a temporary store can represent a problem for the child with ADHD (Cornoldi et al., 2001). The Dual Request Selective Task (DRST, derived from Cornoldi et al., 2001; see also Lanfranchi, Cornoldi, & Vianello, 2004) is a visual spatial working memory task, assessing ability to control information maintenance in working memory, and to inhibit irrelevant information. The test is based on a 4 4 matrix (17 cm 17 cm) divided into 16 cells. The matrix is blank with a red square, situated always in the same position. DRST requires the examinee to perform a double task: 1. Remembering the first position indicated by the experimenter. 2. Clapping hands when the experimenter indicates the red square. (To make the task more attractive, we use a little plastic frog moving into the matrix.) There are 10 trials, ordered for difficulty level. Difficulty depends on the number of cells touched by the frog (length of the pathway), from a minimum

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of 2 to a maximum of 6 cells. There are two trials for each level. The child must complete the entire task. Because it is very important that the child understand the task, instructions are divided into two parts. First, the child is trained to clap hands when the frog is in the red cell: ‘‘you can see a red cell, here, can you see? The frog can move through the entire matrix (experimenter moves the frog through the matrix), but when the frog reaches the red cell, you have to clap your hands, let’s try’’! The experimenter moves the frog through the matrix many times, underlining with his/her voice when the frog is in the red cell. When the child demonstrates that s/he is able to do this task well, the experimenter explains the second task: ‘‘Let’s make the game more difficult now! As well as clapping your hands when the frog is in the red cell, you have to remember the first cell the frog has jumped in. So you have to do two things: clapping your hands when the frog is in the red cell and remembering the first cell the frog jumped in’’. Before starting with the experimental session, the experimenter proposes some practice trials, moving the frog through 2 cells only. When s/he is completely sure that the child has understood the task, s/he can start with the experimental session. A trial is considered correct only when the child carries out both tasks correctly, clapping hands and remembering the first position. Average time for this task is 10 min. Several types of errors can be considered: 1. Omission: The child completely forgets the first position. 2. Invention: The child remembers a position which has never been touched. 3. Intrusion: The child remembers a cell which has been touched by the experimenter but it was not in the first position. 4. Errors in hand clapping.

WORKING MEMORY CONTROL (WMC): A PROGRAM FOR PROMOTING CONTROLLED ATTENTION AND WORKING MEMORY IN 5-YEAR-OLD CHILDREN The development of a program for 5-year-old children was inspired by the idea of promoting controlled attention and working memory, two critical characteristics of children with ADHD, and thus affecting their subsequent


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Table 1. Units of Working Memory Control Intervention Program. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

6.

7. 8.

9.

10.

11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

The boxes game – Use of sequential short-term memory in remembering objects concealed into three different boxes The game of reversals (Bastian Contrario) – Memory of a series of visual stimuli in the backward order The two bears – Two teddy bears give orders but only those of one bear must be executed by the children The numbers – Selective short-term memory (recall of the last number of a series) in association with another task (clap the hands and turn the body); strategy stimulation The Bizarre animals (Stroop Task) – A series of animals resulting from the combination of the body of an animal and the head of another one are presented and children must name them making reference only to the animals heads The pizza – Selective working memory based on a criterion: Memory for the ingredients necessary for a pizza (to-be-remembered) presented together with the ingredients used for a sandwich Bremen musicians – Selective working memory for relevant information (the names of the animals presented in the narrated story) The critical movements – Extending to movement the selective task by only repeating (immediately and successively) the movements made by teacher when she had a cap on her head The elephants – Extending controlled processes beyond working memory: Counting forwards and backwards 10 elephants which, in the jungle, are described swinging on a spider’s web The word puzzle – Selective working memory in association with an interpolated task: Remembering the last word of each presented sentence after having counted until 10 (the final combinations of the words produce stories) The Crystal Rooster (Gallo Cristallo) – Extending memory for a backward order to a story of a series of animals which meet along a pathway The modest pictures – Inhibiting highly salient stimuli and remembering only the most ‘‘modest’’ ones The opposite behaviours – Extending inhibition to movements, by doing the movement opposite to the one made by the teacher The changing criterion (Wisconsin task) – Grouping cards according to a criterion and after a while according to another criterion The changing positions – Remembering the positions only of the friends with a cap on their head and then updating the positions as a consequence of changes in the context The soccer team – Remembering at each moment the names of the main players of a favourite team by updating information due to changes of team of the players

performance, with particular reference to the behaviours shown at school, where the appropriate use of attention and working memory appears particularly critical. Table 1 presents a recent version of the overall program. Table 2 provides a better description of an example of a unit (Unit 4). The unit is described with reference to the trained components, the goal, the materials, the context and the sequence of activities.

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Table 2.

Detailed Description of a Unit (Unit 4 – The numbers).

General Information Trained components Activity Materials Required time Class organisation Number of required teachers Place Sequence of teacher activities and instructions 1. Metacognitive introduction 2. Presentation of the cognitive requests

3. Instructions and practice with the two separate tasks

4. Organisation of the group

5. Practice with the complete task 6. Promotion of strategic reflections

7. Introspection and feedbacks 8. Evaluation 9. Conclusions

Selective working memory; ignoring irrelevant information Given an interfering task, remembering the last number of a series in order to find a mysterious object Strings of numbers, paper sheets with concealed objects 40 min Subgroups of 3 to 5 children 1 or 2 The classroom

The teacher says: For the today play, it is necessary to open well the ears, use well the brain and hold well things in mind. Are you ready? The teacher informs the children on the expected results: With this today play we will learn how to well listen to a series of numbers, to hold them in memory and to also do another thing. In fact we will learn to remember the important last number in order to colour some parts of a sheet and find the mysterious object. The teacher exercises the children with the two tasks and says: First, we will learn how to attentively listen and hold in mind the last number of a series. If for example I say ‘‘3, 7, 3, 2, 5’’, which is the last number? ... you will also have clap your hands and turn around yourself. Try to do it! The teacher organises the play: Now, I will divide you in groups. Each child in a group will listen to the series of numbers, then clap the hands, then turn around and finally repeat the number, etc. The teacher invites one or two children to do the complete task The teacher primes the children’s strategic reflections. ‘‘What can we do in order to be sure to do everything and remember the number’’? (The teacher waits for answers and guides the children towards the indication of strategies.) The teacher asks to the children how they did the task, gives feedbacks to the children and discusses reasons for eventual failures The teacher evaluates the children’s success in the overall tasks The teacher concludes the unit, by positively commenting on the children’s performances


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AN INVESTIGATION WITH A GROUP OF KINDERGARTEN CHILDREN EXHIBITING SYMPTOMS OF ADHD During the preparation of the program, we decided to conduct a pilot study testing the validity of some of our assumptions. At that time, we had only prepared the IPDDAI scale, and a portion of the treatment units presented in the preceding section. We now describe this study, developed with the assistance of Dr. Elena Collini. Method Participants From an initial sample of 176 children attending the last year of a ‘‘Scuola per l’infanzia’’ [kindergarten] located in the area of Udine (Northeastern Italy), we selected 21 children, 10 exhibiting ADHD symptoms (from now on referred to as ADHD) and 11 controls. Children were selected on the basis of the IPDDAI scores: the ADHD group had a score greater than 11 either in the attention or in the hyperactivity subscale, or both, and the control group had scores near zero in both subscales. The two groups were also administered the two tests above presented in a single session. Each group was divided into two subgroups (based upon the schools arrangements), one given the intervention and one control group. The intervention subgroups (IG: 5 children with ADHD, 3 males and 2 females, and 5 controls, 2 males and 3 females) participated in 17 intervention units. The 17 intervention units lasted one hour and were presented in a 9-week period, twice a week, to the entire group treated by Dr. Collini with the assistance of the classroom teacher. The units corresponded to an early version of the program presented above. The control subgroups (CG) were composed of 5 children with ADHD, all males, and 6 controls, 3 males and 3 females, which during the same time attended school activities proposed by their teachers. Results All children were assessed before and after intervention in order to identify any possible improvement. We present here the results of all groups in the

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IPPDAI test, in the Walk/No Walk test and in the DRST, comparing preand post-scores. Teacher Rating Scale (IPDDAI) As can be seen in Fig. 1, there was a general improvement of behaviours for all children, but this change was more evident for the intervention groups receiving our program. For the intervention group of children with ADHD (IG-ADHD), this change was statistically significant. For this group (IG-ADHD), the mean overall score on IPDDAI before intervention was M ¼ 32.8 (SD ¼ 3.11) while after the intervention it was M ¼ 13.6 (SD ¼ 4.22), and this difference was significant (po.05). For the intervention control group (IG), we found an important difference between the pre- and post-assessment (pre-intervention M ¼ 5.2, SD ¼ 4.44; post-intervention M ¼ 1.2, SD ¼ 2.17) but, in this case, probably because of the already low initial scores, the difference only approached significance (p ¼ .06). 40 35

1st IPDDAI 2nd IPDDAI

30

scores

25 20 15 10 5 0 IG

IG_ADHD

CG

CG_ADHD

Fig. 1. Means and Standard Deviations of IPDDAI Scores for All Groups. Note: IG ¼ Intervention Group with Control Children; IG_ADHD ¼ Intervention Group with Children with ADHD; CG ¼ Control Group Who Did Not Take Part in the Intervention; and CG_ADHD Control Group of Children with ADHD Who Did Not Take Part in the Intervention.


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Walk/Don’t Walk It must be noted that the test did not produce clear differences between groups at the assessment before intervention. However, the test was sensitive to the treatment. Children of both intervention groups exhibited a significant increase of correct responses on the Walk/Don’t Walk test. Children with ADHD (IG_ADHD) had a mean score of correct responses of about 6 (SD ¼ 4.56) prior to the intervention, and a mean score of 11.8 (SD ¼ 3.56) subsequent to the intervention. This difference was significant (po.05). We found the same pattern of results with the IG: M ¼ 6 (SD ¼ 2.74) before intervention and M ¼ 12 (SD ¼ 5.57) after the intervention; again this difference was significant, po.05. No significant difference was found in the other two groups (CG and CG_ADHD), who were not involved in the intervention (p>.05). In particular, the control group children with ADHD 20

1st W_DW 2nd W_DW

18 16

correct responces

14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0 IG

IG_ADHD

CG

CG_ADHD

Fig. 2. Means and Standard Deviations of Correct Responses on the Walk/Don’t Walk Test. Note: IG ¼ Intervention Group with Control Children; IG_ADHD ¼ Intervention Group with Children with ADHD; CG ¼ Control Group Who Did Not Take Part in the Intervention; and CG_ADHD Control Group of Children with ADHD Who Did Not Take Part in the Intervention.

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(CG_ADHD) performed worse on the second assessment than on the first one (M ¼ 4.4, SD ¼ 3.13 vs. M ¼ 7.4, SD ¼ 2.3). These results are displayed graphically in Fig. 2.

Dual Request Selective Task The test clearly discriminated between ADHD and controls. Furthermore, concerning treatment, we found a pattern similar to that observed for IPDDAI and Walk/Don’t Walk, also for this test. We did not find any significant difference between the two assessments in the control groups (CG and CG_ADHD), p>.05. We found a significant improvement for children who took part in the WMC intervention (IG and IG_ADHD). The children with ADHD who followed the intervention (IG_ADHD) had a mean score of correct responses of 4.4 (SD ¼ .89) before intervention and a mean of 7.4 (SD ¼ .89) after the intervention, po.01. The IG had a mean 10 1st DRST 2nd DRST

9

Correct responces%

8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0 IG

IG_ADHD

CG

CG_ADHD

Fig. 3. Means and Standard Deviations on Dual Request Selective Test (DRST). Note: IG ¼ Intervention Group with Control Children; IG_ADHD ¼ Intervention Group with Children with ADHD; CG ¼ Control Group Who Did Not Take Part in the Intervention; and CG_ADHD Control Group of Children with ADHD Who Did Not Take Part in the Intervention.


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score of 4.2 (SD ¼ 1.3) before intervention and a mean score of 8.4 (SD ¼ .89) after the intervention, p ¼ .002. These results are displayed graphically in Fig. 3.

GENERAL CONCLUSION This chapter was intended to present a program in course of development in the field of ADHD in preschool children. Our purpose was to develop assessment instruments and intervention tools for kindergarten children. In particular, we have developed and presented here two ratings scales, one for teachers and one for parents, in order to assess the ADHD behaviours in the most important contexts for a preschool child, that is, home and school. We have also developed and presented here two cognitive/neuropsychological tests intended to assess controlled attention and working memory (and inhibition responses), important cognitive functions impaired in children with ADHD (Barkley, 1997). Finally, we have presented an experience with a small group of 5-years-old children with ADHD symptoms, validating the program. The overall purpose of this work was to promote an improvement of the behaviour of children with ADHD, in the unique and delicate period represented by the preschool years. We have presented some preliminary results (which must be cautiously considered because of the small sample size) of the WMC Intervention. These preliminary results seem to be very positive. That is, children with ADHD who participated in the intervention showed an improvement as in the two neuropsychological tasks we proposed (Walk/Don’t Walk and Dual Request Selective Task) as in the rating scale. This could mean that by working on some cognitive aspects, as working memory, controlled attention and inhibition, it is possible to affect the everyday behaviour of child. This could be done at an early age. In fact, as we suggested in the beginning of this paper, preschool children are more flexible and less affected by negative experiences related to cognitive and academic tasks. For these reasons, it might be better to bring about positive results and changes with very young children. Even if a diagnosis of ADHD is very difficult in the preschool years, early identification and intervention seems to be very beneficial for the future of these children. In summary, the results we observed suggest that further attention should be devoted to preventions/ early interventions with children with ADHD.

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Based upon these results, further research will explore the generalisability of the present results (with additional subjects and better control of teacher expectation effects), and investigate how long these positive changes remain. In fact, if it is true that it seems easier to obtain positive results working with preschool children, it also could be easier to lose these positive results. Therefore, follow up studies are needed in order to assess the maintenance of the positive outcomes obtained with children with ADHD.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The program here presented was developed with the assistance of a large group of teachers and psychologists (K. Gemin, M. Bacchion, D. Cesarin, E. Collini, F. Zen, B. Caponi, A. Pellizzari and others). We are grateful to all of them, and in particular to Dr. E. Collini who conducted the pilot study described in the last part of this paper.

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APPENDIX 1 IPDDAI The teacher must evaluate on a 0–3 scale the intensity/frequency with which each of the following aspects characterise the child (0 ¼ substantially never/ not at all; 3 ¼ very frequently/very much): 1. Meets difficulty in attending a task for a prolonged time 2. Rather than doing a task, s/he looks around and does not work 3. When there is a noise, s/he immediately leaves the task in order to see what happened 4. S/he is easily tired when doing a task 5. S/he meets difficulty in paying attention to the details, when it should be necessary 6. If questioned, s/he replies precipitately 7. S/he is not able to remain seated when it is necessary 8. S/he waves hands or swings on the seat 9. S/he is in continuous movement 10. S/he meets difficulty in waiting for his/her turn 11. When playing games with playmates, s/he exhibits difficulty in respecting the rules and in collaborating 12. S/he is easily discouraged and resistant when faced with difficult tasks 13. S/he does not reflect before acting 14. S/he moves from a game (or activity) to another without focusing on a task per time 15. S/he comes from a disadvantaged sociocultural background 16. S/he presents overall modest cognitive capacities 17. There is a history of family problems 18. S/he presents relational and/or emotional difficulties.

EVALUATION OF SOCIAL ABILITIES IN EDUCATIONAL CONTEXTS: A CHALLENGE FOR STUDENTS WITH COMMUNICATION DIFFICULTIES Mońica Elisabeth Castilla ABSTRACT This chapter develops theoretical aspects of an investigation conducted in Mendoza, Argentina, at the national University of Cuyo (UNCuyo), concerning the learning and development of social abilities on challenged students attending special education schools. First, the concepts of social abilities/social competence are analyzed; the next step is to approach the complexity of the overall evaluation, and, more specifically the evaluation of social abilities in educational contexts. An instrument of qualitative evaluation is presented. Finally, we present an analysis of social abilities in the communicative interaction on students with communicational difficulties and recommend guidelines for school activities.


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MOŃICA ELISABETH CASTILLA

Evaluation of social abilities is necessary both for research purposes, and for elaboration of programs of learning and development of social abilities, on challenged students or students with communicational difficulties, specifically in an educational context. This evaluation has always been object of controversy, especially in the educational realm. It can be maintained that several evaluation instruments have been created that respond to the ongoing conceptualizations of social abilities and interpersonal conduct. Perhaps the greatest difficulty in evaluation is found, on one hand, by the complex nature of interpersonal relations and, on the other, by discrepancies existing in the scientific community about (a) the concepts of social abilities and social competence; (b) what is considered competent social behavior, and, especially, (c) the quest for guidelines for validation of evaluation procedures. In this chapter, we approach these and other considerations, with the intention of bringing elements to the debate about the evaluation of social abilities in special education.

SOCIAL ABILITIES AND SOCIAL COMPETENCE: DIFFERENT DESIGNATIONS FOR THE SAME CONCEPT? It is possible to find bibliographical references to the terms social abilities and social competence. Depending on the theoretical line of choice, some authors take them as synonymous, while others consider the abilities as previous to the social competence as such. Social competence is defined as a hypothetical and theoretical global construction, broad and multidimentional, while social abilities may be seen as part of the social competence construction. Social abilities are specific social behaviors that, together, represent the bases of competent social behavior. The term competence refers to a generalization of evaluation, and the term ‘‘abilities’’ refers to specific behaviors. (Monjas Casares, 1999, trans., p. 28)

Competence does not constitute a personality feature, but a group of acquired behaviors learned in social interaction, in the primary environment (the family), and in the secondary environment (the school), where entering school favors the consolidation of the socialization process. Social competence can also be defined as ‘‘cognitive, social, affective and emotional process that sustain behaviors, evaluated as able or fit by social agents, keeping in mind the context demands and restrictions’’ (Trianes Torres, de la Morena Fernańdez, & Munõz Sańchez, 1999, p. 18). According to these authors,

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awareness of these processes becomes necessary to successfully develop personal interactions. These processes have to do with self-efficacy, regarding the perception of one’s own competence to achieve desired goals; and also with emotional competence, given that the self-regulation of emotions is key to accomplishing successful interpersonal relations, that require respect for social rules of the interpersonal environment. The term social competence refers to ‘‘an overall evaluation judgment referring to the quality or adequacy of one individual’s social behavior in a context given by a social agent of the environment (father, teacher, classmates) in a position to make an informal judgment. For an action to be evaluated as competent it doesn’t need to be exceptional, it just needs to fit’’ (Mc Fall, 1982, p. 12). Social abilities are the ‘‘specific social conducts or skills required to execute in a competent way an interpersonal task. It implies a group of behaviors acquired and learned, instead of a personality feature. These complex interpersonal behaviors manifest in the interaction with other people’’ (Monjas Casares, 1999, p. 28). Social abilities are behaviors that can be observed, described, and categorized according to predetermined guidelines. In the theory–practice field, social abilities present themselves as interfaces within psychology (clinical, developmental, and social), sociology, and anthropology, whose studies have been expanding progressively around the world (Del Prette & Del Prette, 1999, 2001). For these authors, social abilities can be defined as a descriptive construction within a group of actions a person executes before the demands of a specific interpersonal situation. The acquisition of social abilities is considered by many authors to be a key factor in cognitive and linguistic development, and in the future emotional and social adaptation of individuals (e.g., Michelson, Sugai, Wood, & Kazdin, 1987; Sugai, 1978; Wood, Michelsson, & Flynn 1978; Kazdin, 1980). Interpersonal relations always assume two directions and reciprocity between those involved as web as an active implication in social exchange, including different experiences and previous knowledge that become abilities. Ability can be defined as an organized activity, coordinated in relation to an object or situation that involves a chain of central and motor sensory mechanisms. One of their main characteristics is that the sequence of acts is constantly under the influence of sensory information. A social ability is a complex pattern of answers that lead to success and social recognition, on behalf of others, and that turn out efficacious to control both others and oneself in interpersonal contexts (Boluarte, Meńdez, & Martell, 2000).

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SOCIAL ABILITIES OF STUDENTS WITH COMMUNICATION DIFFICULTIES The concept social abilities are multidimentional and complex. Its nature is intimately related to different communication possibilities. As explained in previous paragraphs, social abilities are a repertoire of behaviors that can be acquired through learning, by observation, motivated interaction, or imitation. They include verbal and non-verbal behaviors. They are influenced by social context and different actors involved. The subject employs them in different situations, which allows him or her to be socially competent. Given the strong relations that different researchers have been found between a well-developed social competence and later cognitive development, it is important to include activities for the development of social competence in the academic curriculum, in general and in special education. This conceptualization leads to the terms social abilities and social competence, which some authors use interchangeably, but have been specified in previous paragraphs. It is important to remember that social competence is part of the subject’s adaptive behavior. This includes independent functioning skills, physical development, language development, as well as functional academic competencies. According to Pe´rez Paula and Alo´s (2001), focusing on the educational context, social skills include interpersonal behaviors (e.g., authority acceptance, conversational skills, cooperative behaviors); behaviors related to the individual (e.g., expression of feelings, positive attitudes towards oneself, ethical conduct); behaviors related to tasks (e.g., independent work, following instructions, completing tasks); and acceptance of peers. There seems to be a relative consensus to consider social competence as the adequacy of social behaviors applied to a specific social context. This adequacy implies value judgments, which are different depending on the cultural contexts, and their own rules and values. Social competence is the impact of specific behaviors on the environments social agents; meaning that social competence is a complex, multimentional construct, that appears when a person acts and, according to its interlocutor, this action is competent and fit to the ongoing situation. In conclusion, we maintain that social abilities are discrete and observable behaviors, whereas social


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competence can be defined as the efficacy and adequacy of a person’s behaviors to the social environment in which he or she interacts.

SOCIAL ABILITIES: ARE THEY ACQUIRED? ARE THEY LEARNED? OR ARE THEY DEVELOPED? In the last few years, the issue of social abilities in children has promoted remarkable interest, both in common schooling children and those with disabilities and difficulties in their communicative interactions. Those who work with children and teenagers can see that they develop certain social abilities. However, these are not always put to practice correctly in different contexts. This is why the need to propitiate learning situations of social abilities from the school environment, with the important help of the family, becomes evident. At birth, the human being cannot rely on him or herself. He or she needs others to grow and develop. This interaction marks the development process. The newly born is inserted in a social group that constitutes his identity womb and on which he depends for his physiological, psychological, and social needs. At the beginning, this womb is basically linked to physiological processes; then, and in conjunction with the child’s physical development, is linked to psychological and social processes. The primary womb provides the child with physical, psychic, and social nutrition. It is through this that the cultural heritage of the subject’s group is transmitted, and where the subject prepares for his later access to society (Rojas Bermu´dez, 1984). In this primary womb, the child acquires the mother tongue in interaction with others and diverse models of communicative interaction. If family is considered the fundamental core of society, where the human being is born, grows, and develops, it is ideal for the members of this natural habitat to maintain steady interpersonal relations, sharing and fulfilling their basic needs. In previous publications (Castilla, 2004) we postulate that social abilities can be internalized through a complex process of acquisition, learning, and development. And so, a process of acquisition is defined, the kind that appears spontaneously and intuitively, without the need for a deliberated strategy to that effect. However, it adheres to the motion that states that learning requires the intervention of another subject who functions as a mediator between the content to be learned and the person who learns. School learning requires clear goals, deliberated strategies and an intentional, planned process for goals achievement.

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When we speak about development, we agree with e.g., Vygotsky (1978), who maintained that learning and development are linked, that one process nurtures the other. This work claims that, since social abilities are a part of social learning, it is important for the school to take a much more active role in this process, which should involve family and society in general. According to recent investigations, difficulties in social abilities are often associated with school failure and emotional rupture, with the consequent repercussions for harmonious school living. Teachers’ knowledge of special education, on social abilities-related work strategies, is often insufficient. However, it is often considered in their publications intuitively and in a nonsystematic manner. This is why, besides considering the role of the family, it is also necessary to know the teachers’ education, since these have a very important role of social cultural transmission within the school institution. The work on social abilities requires the teachers’ permanent theoretical and practical reflection about their actions at school and their activities concerning curricular development. Incorporating this theme into classes requires the teacher’s improvement of their practice, by being more creative and flexible handling of different strategies. This demands a permanent process of individual and group forming. It is indispensable to go deeper into the theoretical aspects of social abilities. This means to acquire knowledge, strategies, and technical and professional abilities to be able to apply them in the classroom. It is also absolutely necessary to represent oneself as an educator that, as a human being, generates an ethical belief in the students. According to Waddington (1963), the human being is the only living animal who has generated a system of social and cultural transmitting as predominant as genetics. This system appears at school. This social and cultural transmitting happening at school is impossible if the teacher is not believable to the students, that is, if he or she is not a model for socially competent behavior. It is necessary to outline that working for the achievement of students’ social competence implies a previous fundamental task: the self-knowledge of each teacher as a person who acts and relates with other people. These aspects should be dealt with explicitly in the process of teachers’ training. It is true that it is impossible to institute the hour of social learning; acquiring, learning and developing social abilities is a continuous process throughout the life of every human being and, when it comes to the classroom, we can say that this happens all the time. Nonetheless, it is possible to identify some components, described in this chapter, which may favor the elaboration of efficacious strategies to the achievement of social competence.


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WHAT ARE THE COMMON COMPONENTS OF SOCIAL ABILITIES? Social abilities are composed of intersecting cognitive–emotional and behavioral components. To better understand this construct, we present the following diagram (Table 1), synthesizing the components and dimensions of social abilities, as well as the types of abilities in which those elements can be observed, described and categorized. Within the cognitive–emotional components, two dimensions can be identified: intrapersonal and interpersonal. The intrapersonal dimension refers to the internal processes that a person builds from his or her relation with the world, how he/she internalizes the world, and how he/she acts in it. In this dimension is found Self-concept. This is an organized configuration of perceptions, relative to oneself. It gives a framework to the organization and perception of one’s own experience, and it makes up a parameter that regulates social behavior. Table 1.

Components and Dimensions of Social Abilities.

Components

Definition

Behavioral or motoric

Their denomination comes from the possibilities of motor expression, and because they can be observed and evaluated according to their frequency, intensity and duration They are internal processes that contribute to the behavior of social interaction, more specifically related to the intrapersonal

Cognitive and emotionalaffective

Dimensions Verbal Non-verbal Paralinguistic

Intrapersonal: the selfconcept, self-efficacy, expectations, selfcontrol Interpersonal: Environment perception, locus of inner or outer control, beliefs or values

Source: Castilla, Garay, Garcı´ a, Pare´s, and Videla (2004, p. 141).

Types of Abilities Abilities of initiation of social interaction and conversations Abilities to cooperate and share Abilities related to motions and feelings Abilities of selfconfirmation Abilities of interpersonal problems resolution

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Self-efficacy. This is the perception a person has about his or her performance in specific situations. Expectations. Expectations have to do with the prediction a person makes about the consequences of his or her behavior. Self-control. This is the ability to direct the behavior, without the need for an external stimulus (Castilla, 2004). The interpersonal dimension refers to the internal and external processes of rules, norms and values acquisition, and the view and interaction with the world of the environment’s culture. In this dimension exists the following: Environment perception. It assumes the possibility to discriminate different communicative environments, such as: formal, warm, private, familiar, and restrictive, among others. Locus of control refers to attributing casualty to the consequences of behavior; meaning, if what happens to a person is always ascribed to external factors (the others) or internal factors (oneself) (Castilla, 2004). Beliefs and values correspond to the value judgments a person sustains, in relation to the ones the social-cultural environment sustains. Within the behavioral components, three dimensions can be identified: verbal, non-verbal, and paralinguistic. The verbal dimension consists of the linguistic aspects involved in the production of the message, for example, the use of different formulas to initiate and maintain interaction according to the interlocutors’ roles. These formulas can be colloquial or formal, they can reflect symmetrical or asymmetrical situations between the interacting persons, and they can be observed in the selection of words for the communicative interaction. The non-verbal dimension consists of the elements that go with the verbal message. They include look, smile, gestures, as well as body posture, in which we can identify directionality, static or dynamic energy and speed of motion, all aspects related with kinesis. This also includes bodily disposition for active listening, and friendly and/or polite attitude. Another important aspect of this dimension is the use of space, furniture and materials in relation to oneself and the group. The paralinguistic dimension, as indicated in the name, consists of the elements of prosody that go with verbal expression; this is, those that involve diction, voice volume, toning, speed and variations. It also includes the use of pauses and silence with a communicative purpose.


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In this work, we emphasize the social abilities of communicative interaction initiation, which is why we will approach a synthetic description of the abilities of social interaction initiation and the initiation of conversations. These are directly linked to the acquisition and development of a linguistic language that favors interaction, meaning exchange and consensus construction. If we take the manifested behavioral and cognitive–emotional components together, to be able to implement activities both for their evaluation and application of development of social abilities programs, these components can be described in detail within the abilities of interaction and initiation of conversations: Facial expression. The expression of the face is important, but more important is the look and the smile. The look is defined as the eye contact established with other people, and it takes communicative value depending on its direction and intensity. The smile is defined as a facial expression that expresses joy and satisfaction. Body posture is the position of a person’s body, in relation with orientation, directionality, and muscle tone, which appears in the communicative act. Speech groups the linguistic and paralinguistic components of verbal expression: articulation, voice volume, speed, toning, clarity, pauses, and silences. Active listening includes the ability to pay attention to what others are saying. Cordial and friendly attitude. Affective responsiveness towards others, expressed through smile and look. These aspects can be observed in three specific moments, which appear in every communicative interaction. (a) Initiating interaction. Here we can observe the beginning of the interaction by one’s own initiative, meaning, relating to other persons through play, other specific activity or conversation. One can also initiate interaction by responding to someone else’s desire to communicate. (b) Maintaining the interaction, once initiated. This implies the ability to relate during a period of time with other persons, in a way that becomes enjoyable to the interlocutors. (c) Ending the interaction. It is possible to end the relation that had been initiated, by one’s own will or that of the other person. In this case it is

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important to react correctly to the intention of the implied social agent of ending the interaction.

WHEN DO A PERSON’S BEHAVIORS DEMONSTRATE A SPECIFIC LEVEL OF SOCIAL ABILITIES? Different authors mention, as a characteristic inherent to social abilities, their specificity in a determined context of interpersonal communication, and these authors maintain that the influence of the context in the development and practice of social abilities is broadly documented (e.g., Del Prette & Del Prette, 2001). This is why we can say that social abilities, to be considered as such, depend on many factors, such as the situation and its protagonists, and the context in which they are executed. Because of this, it is necessary to contextualize social abilities in a determined cultural framework, since the patterns of communication are very different between cultures, and even within the same culture, according to age, genre, social status and education (Neme Campos, Pereira Del Prette, & Del Prette, 2000). However, there is a consensus about some difficulties, which we describe here. If we consider personal interaction as communicative exchange, when there is a low level of interaction and/or an inappropriate interaction, in students with disabilities, it means that they do not initiate communicative interactions by themselves or they do so only from time to time. Social acceptance is how much a person is liked or rejected by others, and is directly related to social abilities. When there is low social acceptance, situations of social isolation can result, and, in some cases, can generate aggression. These difficulties may have their source in the lack of an appropriate repertoire of social abilities. The student does not have these abilities established; has not developed them, because of the lack of opportunities to incorporate them as valid options of interaction. In contrast, when there is an execution deficit, the difficulties are presented to the student when he acts. He knows what the correct form of behavior is, but cannot put it into practice. This is why the evaluation of social abilities is necessary, since identifying the source of the difficulties in social abilities will allow us to build appropriate strategies for the elaboration and implementation of programs of learning and development of social abilities, in this case, in schools of special education.


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WHAT MODELS ARE USED FOR EVALUATION? It is necessary for the concept of evaluation to be clear. To that effect, we will review the most common practices and applications of evaluation in the educational context. In pedagogy and psychology, different models of evaluation have ruled. In the first one, evaluation is understood as another stage of the educational process, whose main objective is to demonstrate systematically, not only the learning process, but also the achievement of results, foreseen in the work objectives discussed in relation to a specific academic content. That is why we speak of evaluation of processes and results, with the application of different instruments such as written or oral tests, multiple choice and case resolution, among others. In psychology, different models of evaluation have been employed and, through the use of clinical observation and different experimental and correlational strategies, projective techniques, tests, questionnaires, observation scales, self-informs, etc., to describe and identify human beings behavior and trying to understand the mechanisms that produce it. The subject of the evaluation of social abilities has always been controversial; we could say that there are as many instruments of evaluation as there are standing conceptualizations about interpersonal behavior. Perhaps the biggest difficulty when it comes to evaluate is given, on one hand, by the complex nature of interpersonal relations, and, on the other, by the discrepancies within the scientific community about the aspects involved in this evaluation, and which are the procedural selection guidelines to that activity, in the psychological and educative context. However, in spite of these inconveniences, evaluation of social abilities is a necessary condition for the investigation and intervention, both clinical and educative, and especially in the context of special education, keeping in mind the multidimensionality and situational specificity of our study object. According to Fernańdez-Ballesteros (2000, p. 27), ‘‘evaluation is a wider term than the correspondent to the sheer application of instruments to collect determined facts. With evaluation goes integration and appreciation of the collected information.’’ Evaluating social abilities in the educative context is also a challenge that includes the different actors involved in discussions about evaluation in general and these abilities in particular. In the domain of evaluation, there has always been a tendency to dichotomize discussions. Next, we present some dichotomies, analyzing their impact on the evaluation of social abilities:

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(a) Generality versus specificity. Here the discussion is focused on the possibility to generalize the observations made of a person in a determined context. Of course, according to the epistemological point of view from which the object is studied, one might think that it is possible to generalize a person’s behavior in different situations, or, by recognizing the specificity of human behaviors, that it is necessary, every time a particular evaluation is made, to value personal conditions, environmental conditions, and the interactions between the two. This means that a correct instrument for the evaluation of social abilities is the one that, keeping in mind scientific breakthroughs, particularizes its study object, contextualizing it on the here and now of the educational stage. It is necessary to elaborate a protocol or observation guide that reflects the variety and specificity of social interactions of disabled students, which appear in the classroom, in recess, with peers or adults. (b) Qualitative versus quantitative. In the application of quantitative approaches of evaluation, standard tests have been privileged, typified instruments, selection and control of the subjects to whom these instruments are applied, because the main objective has been to explain and predict potential behaviors of individuals. In contrast, in qualitative approaches, the intent is to make an integral analysis of the subject’s behaviors, keeping in mind the specificity of the situations and their multiplicity of relevant data. Methodological rigor is placed in the construction of the observation guidelines and in their systematization and triangulation. The goal is to understand the subject’s behavior, and the potential to come up with information to prevent the consequences of those behaviors. This is an argument also presented in the evaluation of social abilities. Today it is possible to maintain that both approaches are being used in a way that any of the techniques allow other investigators to reapply what has been done, as a necessary warranty of any scientific work, no matter the answers achieved or the techniques used for their elaboration. For example, quantitative studies from the application of standardized protocols evaluate the social competence of disabled students, with the objective of elaborating intervention programs appropriate for remediation of identified deficits. In the educational realm, particularly, there is also a development of qualitative studies that allow us to make a diagnosis of the situations that generate either socially accepted or disruptive behaviors. The objective is shared, because it means to create strategies for the elaboration of learning and development programs that optimize social abilities in disabled students.


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(c) Explanation versus comprehension. These two concepts are not necessarily dichotic, even though sometimes they are treated as such. This dichotomization comes from epistemology, because of the diversity of study objects of the natural and social sciences. Dilthey (cited in Fernańdez Ballesteros, 2000) maintained that the explanation was the objective of natural science, whose study object is static or has millimetrical changes, while comprehension had more to do with psychology. It is in this direction that we speak of comprehension of senses according to a determined situation or reality. According to Samaja Scientific knowledge is developed like a coming and going motion between experience and theory. The explanation or scientific comprehension is the operation that results from this motion. It is a mediation motion: mediation of the experience by theory and theory by experienceyMeaning that the explanation emerges as a result of reformulating the original experience into new terms. (Samaja, 1999, pp. 147–148, trans.)

If we return to this conceptualization we will see that both processes, explanation and comprehension, complement themselves, and they bring up another concept to be referred to when we speak of evaluation: description. In this line of thought, it is recognized that reality is not a given, but a construction made of reality. That is why the same character must be attributed to description. Therefore, when we evaluate social abilities it is necessary to recognize that we come from previous knowledge, sustained by past experiences that will be observed in a determined context, described from the re-elaboration of the spontaneous experience. Meaning, we make a re-description that allows us to reorient the quest for the meaning of the hypothesis at hand. Now, what is involved when these terms are dichotomized is the conception of explanation as the search for causalities in an unequivocal relation of cause and effect. When we evaluate social abilities, we do not pretend to isolate the causes of any behavior, whether socially acceptable or not. We are interested in evaluating students with disabilities in specific contexts and interacting with different actors, so we can describe the situations and behaviors and implement social abilities development programs in school contexts. This is why we are in favor of the application of procedures that can bring us information about the individual and the context. In summary, when we speak of evaluation we must keep in mind its goal (social abilities of students with communication difficulties); the multidimensionality of the construct (cognitive, social-affective, verbal and

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non-verbal components); the techniques or instruments for the compilation of facts that allow its identification (e.g., observation protocols, selfreports); the specificity of the contexts in which the required information is compiled (the classroom, the playground, other school domains); and the uniqueness of interactions (with peers, with teachers, with other adults). Having developed in previous paragraphs the concepts of social abilities and social competence, and considering their multidimensionality, in the following sections we will approach the aspects referred to their evaluation.

WITH WHAT INSTRUMENTS CAN WE CONDUCT THIS EVALUATION? In the evaluation of social abilities, in special education classrooms, many procedures are used whose combination can help identify true needs at the time of creating development and learning programs for these abilities. According to Rabazo and Fajardo (2004) we can include as instruments of evaluation, among others: Natural observation, which consists of observing the student, for example how he behaves when initiating and maintaining a conversation, or expressing emotions and feelings in the academic realm in interaction with his peers, teachers and school administrators. Other persons’ reports. They are important for collecting opinions of parents, teachers and classmates. The elaboration of descriptive qualitative reports and/or control lists or scales are often used as instruments, and this way we can ask for information, for example about students’ actions to resolve difficulties of interaction between them. This is, the teachers are asked to describe everyday situations of conflict in the classroom, what activities students do to resolve them, if they always turn to the adult for help, or whether they can find the solution themselves. Another ability that can also be evaluated is cooperation and sharing; the record of solitary attitudes to their classmates and the responsibility manifested in group tasks. Self-reports. Their goal is to collect the perception that the subject has about his or her own abilities or difficulties. In the case of social abilities, self-reports can be used to evaluate the students’ self-confirmation, what virtues and defects they are able to recognize in themselves. The instruments often used are questionnaires, records of self-observation and personal interviews, which may favor the analysis of what the student thinks about his relational difficulties.


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In conclusion, we believe it is necessary to point out that, no matter what instruments are used to evaluate social abilities, what is important is to keep in mind not only the person’s characteristics, but also the environmental variables present in the interaction of students with disabilities, with other students, their teachers and directives, both in class and in other scholastic domains. It is important to remember that the evaluation by others is only a technique of information gathering about a specific person’s behavior in a real context, and that the evaluators themselves are also a part of the social context of the evaluated person. This reality must always be present at the moment of elaborating a report about the evaluations being conducted. Next, we present a reporting form for the evaluation of social abilities, developed for the school context (Table 2). This form is qualitative– descriptive, and it must be filled out by the evaluated student’s teacher. The social abilities to be evaluated are presented, and an example is provided. The teacher must describe the behaviors observed in those situations. The analysis of the information that this instrument of evaluation brings is qualitative, and it is realized through the identification of recurrences in the observed behaviors, in a determined context and situation, which favors the articulation of strategies to solve the presented difficulties.

DIFFICULTIES IN SOCIAL ABILITIES: WHEN DO THESE BECOME A BEHAVIORAL DISORDER? Difficulties in social abilities, particularly those of communicative interaction, exist in today’s society, both in general education and special education students. This situation could bring negative consequences to the social interactions and the assimilation of roles and social rules (Michelson et al., 1987) both in the educational community, and society in general. We can also maintain that appropriate social competence in childhood is often associated with superior academic and social accomplishments, and with personal and social adjustment in childhood and adult life (Monjas Casares, 1997). Both from the educational system and from society in general, we can observe the increased frequency of manifestations of difficulties in academic life and in communicative interactions between students. There are also difficulties in interactions with adults, in both general and special education. This is why it is necessary to go deeper into the subject of social competence, not only because of its great impact in everyday school living, but because it is a complex, multidimentional construct that can only be

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Table 2. Social Abilities Evaluation Report Form. SOCIAL ABILITIES EVALUATION CARD CONTEXT: SCHOOL Date: Evaluator: SITUATIONS Basic Abilities of Social Interaction In a case in which the child approaches another person with the intention of initiating and maintaining a conversation, which verbal and non-verbal characteristics are manifested? (Describe the situation with another child and an adult, in known as well as unknown cases.) How does he answer a question? In a case in which someone is speaking, how does the child act? (Describe the case of another child, and with an adult.) Initiation of Social and Conversational Abilities During a recess, a person approaches the child and starts talking, which attitudes are manifested? (Describe the case with another child and with an adult.) If the child does not want to talk or play with someone, how does he or she end the interaction? (Describe the case with another child and with an adult.) If the other person must end the conversation, how does the child react? (Describe the case with another child and with an adult.) Abilities for Cooperating and Sharing If a classmate forgets schoolwork material, how does the student act? (Does he or she ask for it or not?) If a child has forgotten needed schoolwork material, what does he do to get it? (Describe the case with another child and with an adult.) Faced with non-compliance with the unstated rules of sharing, how does the child react if the error is noted? (Describe the case with another child and with an adult.) Abilities Related to Emotions and Feelings If a rewarding experience is presented, how does the child respond to it? Faced with a negative situation, how does the student express his or her mood? (Describe the case with another child and with an adult.) If another expresses joy, how does the child respond? (Describe the case with another child and with an adult.) If a third party has been through a negative experience, how does the child react to that situation? (Describe the case with another child and with an adult.) Self-Confirmation Abilities If the student does not understand a concept or task, or a question asked by the teacher, how does he or she behave? If someone mocks him or corrects the student, how does he respond? (Describe the case with another child and with an adult.) If a classmate is congratulated, how does the child respond? (Describe the case with another child and with an adult.)


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Table 2. (Continued ) SOCIAL ABILITIES EVALUATION CARD CONTEXT: SCHOOL Faced with a situation generated in the classroom, the child is the only one who can resolve it correctly, and is congratulated for it. How does he or she react? (Describe the case with another child and with an adult.) Ability to Solve Interpersonal Problems If he wants an object that someone else has, what does he do? (Describe the case with another child and with an adult.) Consider a situation in which a group of children is playing in the yard, and the child wants to play with them. How does he or she resolve the situation? (Describe the case with another child and with an adult.) Observations:

evaluated by others when the actualized behavior achieves the desired objective, and is accepted positively by the persons with whom one interacts. According to Trianes, Garcı´ a, Blanca, and Jimeńez (2004), social acceptance or rejection is directly related to social competence. For this reason, these authors conclude, ‘‘a fine characterization of the processes that mediate social acceptance and rejection requires complex models of social competence, that describe internal processes and feelings besides observable behaviors’’ (p. 2, trans.). This is the reason why today’s models emphasize the consideration of internal processes in the analysis of social competence. It is possible to consider that, when difficulties in social abilities appear and are not understood from the educational context, we are faced with a possible behavioral disorder that requires the implementation of specific strategies. Integral attention to students with difficulties in communication processes must be understood from a broad spectrum of alternatives. In other words, the concept of attention is defined as being alert, expectant before the needs that each person can present according to developmental level and the difficulties at hand. When we speak of integral attention to students with difficulties in communicative interaction processes, we emphasize an examination that allows us to identify the communication difficulties from different points of view. In this chapter, we analyze particularly the difficulties in these processes, originating specifically in auditory aspects and language disorders, but fundamentally manifested by disorders of social competence. Within the difficulties of communication of auditiory origin we find persons whose potential for communication are limited, by organic characteristics

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(deafness and hypoacoustics) or perceptual (e.g., phonological disorders, disorders of comprehension and/or production). The auditory input deficit obstructs learning of oral language that most people use, for example in the particular case of deaf or hypoacoustic persons. Although the value of sign language to solve communication and interaction problems, at least with peers, is recognized today, it is not always possible to connect (at least in the first years of life) deaf children with young people or adults to interact with, in a way that students can acquire naturally and spontaneously this visuogestural language. Without question, sign language can provide individuals with access to the meaning of world, to the semiotic womb his minority cultural group shares, and in this way promote more fluent and efficacious roots of communicative interaction, to communicate not just with his peers. A person that grows up communicating with his family is a person with better opportunities of communication in his social context, near or far. Within the difficulties of communicative interaction caused by linguistic disorders, we find those related to comprehension or with production of language. In both cases, different aspects can be affected: phonological, lexical, syntactical, semantic and pragmatic. In the phonological level, we find difficulties of recognition of language sounds, meaning, the ability the child has to identify whether the sounds he hears belong to his or her language. In the lexical level, it is possible to assert that the student has access to it through two routes: a direct route, where he or she transforms graphic signs into sounds, and from that has access to meaning. However, in the syntactical level we must keep in mind the order of linguistic structures, meaning the value of words according to where in the sentence are they located. In the semantic level, the meaning given to words comes into play, and finally, in the pragmatic level we see the intention of the child to choose one way or another to communicate his or her messages. These difficulties need, according to their complexity, a specific approach with different options for understanding the world, or to find the way to address the environment in a clear and precise manner. It is not an object of this chapter to go deeper into this subject, because its magnitude is beyond the scope of the present effort. When we analyze difficulties in the communication processes that originated in the social aspect, we refer to these persons’ socially competent actions. In this sense, it is possible to find in persons with difficulties in communication processes: (a) A low level of interaction and/or an unsuitable interaction. Interaction is considered an exchange, that is, the behaviors a person sends to others


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as an initiation or as a response with the purpose of initiating or maintaining an exchange. Facts taken from recent investigations reveal that students with disabilities present a low level of interaction and do not initiate interactions, or do so less frequently than other students without difficulties in communication. This low level of interaction often increases alterations in the communicative situations between peers and with adults. (b) A low level of social acceptance by peers. We understand by social acceptance how much a person is loved and accepted or rejected by others, in this case by his peers. In the investigation conducted in Mendoza, we could observe that there is a good level of acceptance between students with disabilities who go to special schools. (c) A deficit in the social abilities repertoire. In this area, we observed alterations in the cognitive–social abilities of the solution of interpersonal problems; we also find difficulties in generating alternative solutions to conflicts coming from interaction and the general use of inefficacious strategies. In some cases, we see high levels of anxiety and a higher degree of loneliness than in their socially competent classmates. It is necessary to point out that there are different causes for problems in social competence. Children with problems or deficits in social abilities do not learn them by simple observation, nor do they acquire them by mere exposure to socially able classmates. Direct instruction is needed. Possible causes for these difficulties may be the inappropriate history of reinforcement, absence of appropriate models, and lack of stimulation and learning opportunities. Several authors refer to a repertoire deficit when the child has not incorporated these abilities, that is, he or she has not developed them. In contrast, execution deficit refers to difficulties the student presents at the moment of action. This is, he knows the correct way to behave, but cannot put it into practice. As an example, we describe in Table 3 a classification of difficulties in social abilities. The identification of these difficulties in social abilities leads to the need to implement specific didactic strategies for the acquisition, learning and development of improved social abilities. That implementation is necessary to clarify whether the deficit is in the repertoire or in the execution. If it is a deficit of repertoire, we must propose planned activities that put the child in contact with competent social roles, so he can, when he identifies them, take them as models for competent social interaction. If there is a deficit of execution, the planning should be directed specifically to


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Table 3. Social Ability Abilities to initiate social interaction Initiation of conversations

Classification of Social Difficulties. Repertoire Deficit

Execution Deficit

Does not know the guidelines for initiating a conversation Does not know the rules established in a specific group to initiate, maintain and end a conversation, with peers or adults

Describe the guidelines, but does not execute them Recognizes the different communicative formats (with peers and adults) but does not respect them

the implementation of activities of meta-reflection about his or her conduct and its consequences. It is necessary to remember and emphasize that, for these activities to be carried out, we need to start with a correct evaluation of students’ social abilities, which is a subject already developed in a previous section.

SUGGESTIONS FOR THE INCORPORATION OF SOCIAL ABILITIES INTO THE SCHOOL CURRICULUM Once the source of the difficulties in social abilities is identified, it is necessary to implement actions for their resolution. This is why, as a first step, it is of primary importance to make the educational community aware of the need to implement concrete actions for the incorporation of teaching of everyday life social abilities. This requires ongoing effort, collaboration, and coherence by every member of the educational community: parents, teachers, directors, administrators, and students. It is necessary to consider that many investigators have already reported a relationship between well-developed social competence and later social and cognitive development; in addition, social competence can facilitate good academic performance. The need to train social abilities in disabled persons is based upon studies that maintain that poor social competence is often the result of specific deficiencies in verbal and non-verbal abilities, necessary to develop an efficacious interaction. Among the most useful programs we can find are the Alternative Behavioral Programs (PCA), Social Abilities Programs (PHS) and Work Orientation Abilities Programs (POT) by Verdugo Alonso (1997) and Verdugo


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Alonso and Jordań de Urrı´ es (2001); the Program of Social Interaction Abilities (PHIS) by Monjas Casares (1997) and the Program of Social Abilities for every day life by Schumaker, Hazel, and Pederson in Verdugo Alonso and Jordań de Urrı´ es (2001). These programs have already been used in many studies conducted by the previously mentioned authors, and this proposal is not an imitation of programs that have developed apart from reality of Latin-American countries. We begin by asserting that social abilities can be learned by observation and imitation of models; that is why this proposal is of a reflective observation that keeps in mind the social and educational context to which it will be applied. An example of the proposed activities is presented in Table 4. These activities are part of a strategy defined as a group of procedures, supported by teaching techniques with the objective of carrying on successfully the didactic activity, that is, achieving the learning objectives. The strategy’s main characteristic is that it offers different ways to reach the same objective. In relation to social abilities, the proposal reflects a strategy that considers at least three essential moments (a) A first moment of physical life experience, in which we incorporate activities that favor the experience, the expression, the physical mobilization about the ability we want to work with, in this case communication with others through different physical resources. (b) A second moment of graphic representation, also called acting, in which children can use different forms of representation: for example, Table 4. Proposed Activities. First Moment Bodily experience Playing to communicate messages through look, gestures, postures, sounds, and words, in that order The idea is to use the different message emitters that we have, so that the other can interpret them and respond without the need for words in the first instance

Second Moment Activities in the plan Completing in a written form or through images in dialog

Third Moment Meta-cognitive reflection Analyzing and reflecting about the aspects that appear at the time to interact communicatively with others

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completing images, dialog writing, creation of posters, modeling, always according to their own representation abilities. (c) A third moment involves reflecting about the performed activity. A metacognitive activity is proposed that allows us to analyze lived and represented experiences, trying to critically analyze the situations. The basic abilities of communicative interaction are necessary to signify our lives. School’s main task must be to prepare the student to coexist in harmony with the world. That is why it is fundamental to consider the school as the appropriate space to learn and develop social abilities since, in the school, many interactions happen between peers and adults. Families’ contribution to this task will also favor the positive development of social competence, in both students and their families. It is also necessary to increase the number of investigations about these or other programs applied in Latin-American contexts, so they can be used as guides for other educators to apply them systematically.

REFERENCES Boluarte, A., Meńdez, J., & Martell, R. (2000). Influencia de un programa de entrenamiento en habilidades sociales en las habilidades de comunicacioń e integracioń social de jo´venes con retraso mental leve y moderado. Instituto Especializado de Rehabilitacioń. Me´xico. Castilla, M. (2004). Habilidades sociales y educacioń: Estudio sobre una comunidad sorda. Mendoza: EFE. Castilla, M., Garay, P., Garcı´ a, M., Pare´s, B., & Videla, G. (2004). Habilidades sociales. Aproximaciones teo´ricas. In: M. Castilla & M. Sartori (Eds), Educar en la diversidad: Realidad o utopıá? San Juan: Editorial FFHA. Del Prette, Z. A. P., & Del Prette, A. (1999). Psicologia das habilidades sociais: Terapia e educac- aõ. Petro´polis: Vozes. Del Prette, Z. A. P., & Del Prette, A. (2001). Inventa´rio de Habilidades Sociais (IHS-DelPrette): Manual de aplicac- aõ, apurac- aõ e interpretac- aõ. Saõ Paulo: Casa do Psico´logo. Fernańdez Ballesteros, R. (2000). Introduccioń a la evaluacioń psicolo´gica I. Salamanca: Psicologı´ a Pira´mide. Kazdin, A. E. (1980). Behavior modification in applied settings. Homewood, IL: Dorsey. Mc Fall, R. M. (1982). A review and reformulation of the concept of social skills. Behavioral Assessment, 4, 1–33. Michelson, L., Sugai, D., Wood, R., & Kazdin, A. (1987). Las habilidades sociales en la infancia: Evaluacioń y tratamiento. Barcelona: Ediciones Martı´ nez Roca. Monjas Casares, Ma. I. (1997). Programa de ensenãnza de habilidades de interaccioń social (PEHIS): Para ninõs/as y adolescentes (3rd ed.). Madrid: CEPE. Monjas Casares, Ma. I. (1999). Las habilidades sociales: Un elemento clave de la intervencioń psicopedago´gica para el alumnado con necesidades educativas especiales. In: M. Marı´ n (Ed.), Sociedad y Educacioń. Seville: Eudeba.


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Neme Campos, T., Pereira Del Prette, Z. A., & Del Prette, A. (2000). Habilidades sociais. (sobre)vivendo nas ruas: Habilidades sociais e valores de crianc- as e adolescentes [on line] en Psicol. Reflex. Crit., 13(3), Porto Allegre 2000 Curriculum ScienTI, retrieved March 20, 2006. Pe´rez Paula, I., & Alo´s, J. G. (2001). Comprender las habilidades sociales en la educacioń. Buenos Aires: FUNDEC. Rabazo, M. J., & Fajardo, M. I. (2004). Propiedades psicome´tricas de una escala de observacioń de la expresioń motora de las habilidades sociales: Escala-C. Revista Electrońica de Investigacioń Educativa, 6(2). Retrieved June 23, 2006, from http://redie.uabc.mx/ vol6no2/contenido-rabazo.html Rojas Bermu´dez, J. (1984). Que´ es el psicodrama. Buenos Aires: Celsius. Samaja, J. (1999). Epistemologıá y metodologıá. Elementos para una teorıá de la investigacioń cientı´fica. Buenos Aires: Eudeba. Sugai, G. (1978). The implementation and evaluation of a social skills training program for preadolescents: A preventive approach. Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Association for Advancement of Behavior Therapy, Chicago, IL. Trianes Torres, M. V., de la Morena Fernańdez, M. L., & Munõz Sańchez, A. M. (1999). Relaciones sociales y prevencioń de la inadaptacioń social y escolar. Ma´laga: Ediciones Aljibe. Trianes, M. V., Garcı´ a, J., Blanca, M. J., & Jimeńez, A. (2004). Competencia social en ninõs retrasados mentales educables integrados versus educacioń especial, en Memorias del IV congreso Internacional de Educacioń Especial – XIII Jornadas de Ca´tedras y carreras de Educacioń Especial. San Luis, Universidad de San Luis. Verdugo Alonso, M. (1997). Programa de habilidades sociales. Premio Nacional de Investigacioń e Innovacioń Educativa for Doctoral Thesis, University of Salamanca, Spain. Verdugo Alonso, M., & Jordań de Urrı´ es, F. (2001). Apoyos, autoderminacioń y calidad de vida. Salamanca: Amaru´. Vygotsky, L. S. (1978). Mind in society: The development of higher psychological processes. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Waddington, C. (1963). El animal e´tico. Buenos Aries: Eudeba. Wood, R., Michelsson, L., & Flynn, J. (1978, November) Assessment of assertive behavior in elementary school children. Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Association for Advancement of Behavior Therapy, Chicago, IL.


FOCUS ON INTERNATIONAL SCHOOLS: SERVING STUDENTS WITH LEARNING DISABILITIES$ Beverly D. Shaklee ABSTRACT This chapter is an overview of the status of international education with regard to services for special needs students and more specifically learning disabled students in international schools. While some 1,000+schools describe themselves as international, being international does not necessarily describe the services provided to students and families, the philosophical stance of the school or school board, nor does it describe the intent of being international for teachers and students alike. International schools have a very mixed history of serving special education students. This chapter provides a review of the situation for learning disabled and special needs students in international schools, examines the current status of services and provides examples of sponsored projects, professional development programs and international schools created to embrace special needs students.

$

The author extends her appreciation to Dr. Keith D. Miller and the Office of Overseas Schools, U.S. Department of State for assistance in the preparation of this chapter.


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The notion of being international in a school setting has with it connotations that would lead one to believe that as a school it embraces diversity, global issues and other attributes associated in the public with the notion of internationalism. In fact, that is not the case. The term international school has as many definitions as does the notion of education. Hayden and Thompson (2000a, 2000b) note that ‘‘at least one thousand international schools exist differing in philosophy either: utilitarian, pragmatic or ideological’’ (p. 2). Indeed the definition of international in international school escapes a clear and well-defined set of principles or characteristics. While many would agree that an international school should embrace different nationalities, different cultural backgrounds, different languages spoken, different religions, traditions and beliefs (Hayden & Thompson, 1995, 2000a; Wilkinson, 1998) when in fact, they do not. The most basic definition of an international school is one that has the presence of diversity, primarily in language and culture (Hayden & Thompson, 2000a). Gellar (2002) maintains that an international school should hold a mindset of international mindedness where universal values are an integral and enacted part of the lives of the learning community. Primary in his thinking are the values of truth, fairness, trust with a focus on world peace, compassion for all and justice (p. 31). If an international school is devoted to the principles of world peace, compassion and justice and if they are comprised of students who are by definition a very diverse population; where then do children with special needs fit? Parents and teachers living overseas are often involved in international schools and quickly find that these schools are ‘‘not run like the public ones back home nor are they run like the national schools of the host country’’ (p. 1), indeed they are private institutions and have no requirement to serve special needs students (van Alsenoy, 2001). While diversity of culture and language are hallmarks of international schools, Bradley (2000) noted, ‘‘such provisions rarely seem to extend to the diversity of ability’’ (p. 29). There are a number of reasons, children of special needs are not often served by the international schools and if they are served, it is often on an unintended basis. Bradley further comments, ‘‘whether due to economics, lack of expertise, or negative attitudes toward persons with disabilities by the host country; students with special needs are the forgotten children in this web’’ (p. 29). Bradley (2000) maintains that it is critically important that the international schools open their doors to children from a wider range of abilities and provide for an inclusive education for all. Basing part of her argument on the principles outlined by the Salamanca Statement on Special Needs Education (1994, United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural

International Schools

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Organization, UNESCO), focusing on the rights of persons with disabilities, Bradley contends that the failure of international schools to address the needs of disabled students and to accept them as members of the international community is a failure of international education. Further, in the August 2006 meeting of the Ad Hoc Committee on Convention on Persons with Disabilities of the General Assembly of the United Nations a new draft of the UN Convention to Protect Disabled Person’s Rights was conceived. This document outlines the current status of service for special needs children and adults and concludes that ‘‘persons with disabilities remain among the most marginalized of all populations and are barred by a wide range of physical, legal and social barriers from achieving their full potential’’ (Ad Hoc Committee on Convention of Persons with Disabilities 20th Meeting, UNESCO, August 25, 2006, p. 1). If a school is to proclaim that it is international, is it reasonable to assert that the school should be an exemplar of inclusion of all kinds of diversity represented in our world? There are an increasing number of international school teams who believe and have implemented plans to better serve the special needs of all children but there are also policies and practices that prevent full inclusion. In fact, Bradley maintains, ‘‘examples of truly inclusive education in international schools are very hard to find’’ (2000, p. 33). Further, Haldimann (1998/2004) asserts that ‘‘research pertaining to special needs populations in international schools is relatively uncommon’’ (p. 133). Reporting on member schools in the European Council of International Schools (ECIS), which encompasses some 450 schools in 90 countries worldwide, Halidmann wrote, ‘‘Many schools in the ECIS Directory list support programs y the concept is not defined in any way and often refers to ELS students. Fewer schools refer to special education services for learning disabled y or students of exceptional abilities or talents’’ (p. 10). Although the examples might be sparse and there is a dearth of research, some common barriers exist to implementation of special services and some very good examples of overcoming the barriers also provide insight into the issue of serving special needs children in international schools.

BARRIERS TO SERVING SPECIAL NEEDS CHILDREN IN INTERNATIONAL SCHOOLS A number of logistical and philosophical barriers exist for the international schools in serving special needs students. Among the students most often served in international schools, either intentionally or unintentionally, are

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children with multiple languages, mildly learning disabled and those identified as gifted (Haldimann, 1998/2004). This may be because the student falls under the radar screen of selective admissions and/or the focus on recruiting a culturally diverse school population makes more allowances for minimal diversity in ability. Seldom are children with severe disabilities of any sort served by the international schools including severely learning disabled or behavior disordered (Bureau of Administration, Office of Overseas Schools (A/OS), Transitioning to an Overseas Assignment with a Special Needs Child, 2006). International schools in one sense have existed for a very long time; however, the more contemporary versions and subsequent expansion of international schools came during the 1960s and 1970s. The United States government established its Office of Overseas Schools in 1964. The American-International schools were seen as a way in which to promote quality educational opportunities at the elementary and secondary level for dependents of American citizens carrying out our programs and interests of the U.S. government abroad. Further, the U.S.-based philosophy was also designed to increase mutual understanding between the people of the United States and the people of other countries by upgrading educational institutions, which serve to demonstrate American educational principles and methods employed in the United States (Bureau of Administration, Office of Overseas Schools (A/OS), U.S. Department of State, 2006). Other organizations such as the International Baccalaureate Organization (IBO), founded in 1968, saw the growth of international schools as encouraging students to be active learners, well-rounded individuals and engaged world citizens (2005). Still other schools adopted the title international as a marketing tool designed to attract an upper socio-economic population for enrollment with little or no thought to what it means to be an international school. In addition to entrepreneurial reasons, religious and non-profit entities also use the term international schools. Along with issues of why a school chooses to title itself international are other elements of international schools that can prohibit participation of children with learning disabilities, behavior disorders or any of the special needs conditions identified and served in the United States.

Legal Aspects of Service It may seem simplistic but one of the first issues that influence access for learning disabled and exceptional children is that as private entities the


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international schools by in large have no legal requirement to accept or serve students with disabilities of any kind. Most internationally mobile families recognize that the independent or private international schools are not governed by the laws of their home country as to whom they must accept or what services they must provide (Transitioning, A/OS, 2006). Further, international schools that remain unaccredited have no other means by which they could be encouraged to serve students with disabilities. Those that do choose accreditation by either the national host country system and/ or external agencies (e.g., Council of International Schools (CIS, 2003), Southern Association of Colleges & Schools (SACS) or IBO) often have requirements for documentation of services and learning support for students with identified disabilities. For example, ECIS School Evaluation and Accreditation Unit (2001) (now associated with CIS) requires that accredited schools demonstrate: 1. There shall be effective procedures for identifying and addressing the special needs of students with learning disabilities. 2. There shall be effective procedures for identifying and addressing the special needs of students with exceptionally high ability and/or exceptional talent. 3. The school shall have an adequate number of trained special needs personnel. 4. If children with learning disabilities or who have remedial needs are admitted, the school shall provide specific curriculums and programs to meet the identified needs.

(van Alsenoy, 2001, p. 5)

SACS (2005) requires that accredited American-International schools have a ‘‘comprehensive program of guidance and other services that supports the development and well being of all students y provides appropriate support for students with special needs’’ (p. 12). Further, international schools authorized by IBO (2005) must appoint a full-time special education needs (SEN) manager onsite including the use of assistive technology, special arrangements for assessment and curricular adaptations to the IBO programs. The process of engaging in accreditation is not simply to meet the standards the process is intended to foster continuous reflection based in part on the philosophy of the international schools and then in comparison to the accreditation standards. With this process is the belief that schools will engage in self-examination and improvement that will become part of the ongoing environment for students and teachers alike (Murphy, 1998). It is likely that international schools that engage in accreditation will find as part of their reflective process ways in which to better serve exceptional students.

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Marketing, Recruitment and Admissions Second to the legal aspects of service for special needs students in international schools are the issues regarding marketing, recruitment and admissions. As a privately funded institution, international schools are keenly aware of their reputation in the eyes of host country nationals, Foreign Service personnel and other international professional families who are looking for the best schools the country can provide. This often means advertising Advanced Placement and SAT scores, IB diplomas, quality of graduates, admissions to prestigious institutions of higher education and other recognizable international achievements to attract students and their families to the institution. In order to recruit such families, the majority of international schools also have selective admissions policies primarily dependent on prior grades, standardized testing and teacher recommendations that show student to be average or above average in academic performance with few behavioral problems. Some would argue that this is a reasonable notion to match the goals of the schools with the students admitted to provide a higher probability of success for all. However, there are many international families who would disagree. For example, in a report entitled Students Who Learn Differently from the Federation of Women’s Clubs Overseas (FAWCO, van Alsenoy, 2001) parents reported that while they could arrange a conference regarding their learning disabled child and found the international school staff helpful, the school would ‘‘decline to take the student’’ if the child did not fit the curriculum or in one case the school policy clearly states, the school ‘‘will not accept students who because of cognitive or physical disabilities require special education classes or services’’ (p. 1). The most repeated advice to parents of learning disabled children in international settings was ‘‘one must be strong minded, persistent and very direct’’ (p. 4). As Allen (2002) points out, ‘‘selection and inclusion are uncomfortable bedfellows’’ (p. 132). It is difficult to sustain an argument that international schools support the value of diversity, compassion, justice and fairness while at the same time engaging in highly selective admissions processes designed to allow access for only a chosen few. When international schools do allow access for exceptional students the definition of exceptionality is often very narrow and seldom includes more than mild learning disabilities, highly able or English as a second language (ESL) learners (Haldimann, 1998/2004). An additional issue is manifested with the selective admissions process; parents are sometimes less than forthcoming about their child’s past history, special needs services or learning supports needed in order to acquire access


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for their child to an international school. Once enrolled it can be very difficult to provide appropriate services for the student’s needs, creating serious frustration for all stakeholders and can lead to change of placements for the child and/or parents. Other parents come armed with records, files and prior services as rendered by more sophisticated educational systems and demand similar services be provided by the school. Neither of these scenarios is likely to result in the provisions of appropriate services for students in international schools when the resources, accessibility and staffing issues are still underdeveloped (Transitioning, A/OS, 2006).

Resources, Staffing and Access The size and location of international schools can vary from an all-age school of five students to a comprehensive primary and secondary system of some 1,500 international students. The ability to provide for the needs of students with learning disabilities, behavior disabilities or other exceptionalities is directly related to the size of the school, the resource base and the educational expertise of the teaching faculty as well as the host country national view of exceptional students. Speaking of the assisted American-International schools, committee members wrote, ‘‘only a few schools will provide specialized services such as speech, occupational or physical therapy, but a number will have learning disabilities specialists, especially in the elementary grades y there are now many schools abroad that can serve well some students with mild to moderate needs, especially at the elementary level’’ (Transitioning, A/OS, 2006, p. 5). Smaller schools may provide de facto inclusion, they are also less likely to have a well-developed resource base, trained personnel and buildings that are accessible to students with disabilities. Teachers in smaller settings may vary the curriculum to meet the needs of students; however, there is no guarantee that it will be the correct variation to meet the learning or guidance needs of students with disabilities. An example from the FAWCO report (2001) provides an illustration, ‘‘We are a small family school with small classes which allows us to give individual attention within the mainstream teaching. Although we are a small school, we are always prepared to consider any application for entry into the school. Naturally, our size, physical layout and teacher capacity would play a part in our accepting children who have special needs or physical disabilities’’ (p. 3). Of course, critical to providing services for learning disabled or exceptional children is the first acceptance into the school.

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Larger international schools often have Learning Support Services (LSS) primarily for students who are not achieving (Haldimann & Hollinger, 1998). The LSS services have been developed in response to the number of students with high-intensity SEN who are presently enrolling in international schools (ET EARCOS TRIANNUAL, 2006). These may be students with learning disabilities, behavior disorders or ESL learners. The LSS staff is typically comprised of guidance counselors and learning specialists. The responsibilities are similar to those in U.S.-based schools, student learning support, teacher support and assessment. One of the questions influencing the additional hiring of resource specialists to serve learning disabled or other students with exceptionalities in international schools involves tuition. Should families whose children require more services pay more tuition? It appears that in some international schools the cost of financial support for children with special needs has to be paid by the parents (van Alsenoy, 2001). In the case of Department of State employees posted to international settings, a special needs education allowance is made available to parents of special needs children in order to provide appropriate educational services (Weiss, 2001). Of primary concern is the expertise of the teaching faculty to identify and serve students with disabilities. International schools that are accredited have clear guidelines on the degree requirements and continued professional development of the faculty. Increasingly international schools are requiring teachers to hold a teaching credential and to demonstrate continued professional growth; this has caused an expansion in degree programs offered to international educators. For example, jointly established in 1990 by A/OS, Virginia Department of Education and George Mason University, the Foreign Affairs Spouses Teacher Training Program (FASTTRAIN) licensure or master’s degree program in elementary education was established. FASTTRAIN (2006) has since expanded to include ESL and special education programs that have been specifically designed to meet U.S.-based and international requirements for teacher educators. ECIS has designed and implemented a teacher credential program in partnership with University of Cambridge International Examinations (2006). The IBO has designed the Teacher Award Programme as a means by which teachers in authorized IB schools can obtain a teaching credential (J. Marsh, personal correspondence, June 15, 2006). All of these programs have specific elements to focus on differentiated curricula and inclusion of special needs students. International schools that lack accreditation may also lack an expert teaching force, relying on in-service or staff development programs to provide much needed skills, content knowledge and knowledge of


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exceptionalities. Too often unaccredited schools also rely on an underprepared teaching force, hiring newly degreed persons who lack any teaching credential or experience in teaching. Increasingly, parents are looking for international schools that have obtained accreditation and teachers who are licensed to teach (Murphy, 1998). Continued efforts are being made by the international regional associations who hold professional conferences each year and provide specific information and workshops on special learning/challenged children for international educators. For example, the Association for the Advancement of International Education (AAIE, 2006) annually hosts the Exceptional Child Institute to address the needs of students and teachers of the international schools. Nonetheless, the degree to which international educators are prepared to address the learning needs of exceptional children is questionable. Further, the specific expertise of resource specialists to identify and serve learning disabled or behavior disordered students in international settings is lacking in all, but a small number of international schools and children with severe needs are still very difficult to place (Transitioning, A/OS, 2006).

Cultural Norms of the Host Country Creating and sustaining an international school is not an easy task. Administrators and teachers alike who may be from very disparate parts of the world themselves, work together to forge a common philosophy, curricula and practices that focus on the values and beliefs of the school within the national identity of the country. Respect for the host country traditions, beliefs and values are of paramount importance. This can present a unique dilemma for serving students with disabilities. While the school personnel might embrace the ideal of serving a diverse population including those with learning disabilities or behavior disorders, the cultural norms of the host country itself might not support those ideals. Worldwide approaches to serving special needs students vary tremendously philosophically as well as logistically. In nations, beginning to develop their first universal education system, the focus is often on providing sufficient numbers of schools, classrooms and teachers so that the general population has access to an education (Plan of Action for the Development of the Education Sector, Republic of Burundi, 2005). Learning disabled students may be included in the groups of students served but they are not identified and no special provisions are made. Kusuma-Powell’s (1997) early work to

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determine the level of service for learning disabled, ESL and highly capable students in African-International schools confirmed that over 70 percent of schools had policies to serve learning disabled, gifted or children for whom English was a second language. However, she also commented that the nature of the programs varied widely, tuition may be higher for special needs children, few specialists existed to support learning and when training did exist the quality of the preparation program also varied widely (p. 7). In nations that have universal education for all, the notion of all does not necessarily extend to students with disabilities or if it does, the implementation of full inclusion is hampered by a number of issues including cultural norms, economic issues, teacher preparation and assessment requirements (Al-Zyoudi, 2006; Carter, 2006). Host-country schools in this case are often only for the most severe cases and once a student is admitted ‘‘it can be difficult to get him back into mainstream schools’’ (van Alsenoy, 2001, p. 3). Finally, in nations with well-developed universal education systems legal provisions are made for equal access and services to disabled students. As noted by van Alsenoy in the FAWCO report, Students Who Learn Differently, ‘‘provisions range from superior ones that can be found in countries like Great Britain ... international hubs like Athens and Brussels do offer many possible English-speaking schools from which to choose’’ (2001, p. 1). The degree to which the host country has embraced and created legislation to serve exceptional children may be reflective of the degree to which the international school embraces special needs students as well. For example, Israel has similar legislation as the United States that mandates inclusion of students with special needs into mainstream classrooms (Heiman, 2004) and among the international schools that have well-developed programs for special needs children is the Walworth Barbour American-International School in Tel Aviv, Israel (2006). However, even within each of the regions mentioned there are an increasing number of international schools with well-developed services for learning disabled students as well as other identified exceptionalities. Further, the regional organizations for international schools have continued to expand and provide services for special needs children enrolled in international schools.

SERVING LEARNING DISABLED STUDENTS IN INTERNATIONAL SCHOOLS As noted earlier, there is a lack of substantive research on the numbers of identified learning disabled students and services in international schools.


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While a number of host countries have specific legislation regarding special needs individuals, international schools are private entities that do not have to abide by host country legislation. Further, there are a number of journals related to international issues in special education (e.g., International Journal of Special Education or The International Journal of Inclusive Education); however, these research articles are often related to a specific country (e.g., special education in Thailand) and not to the international schools that may exist within the host country. Finally, research articles also include comparative information between countries (e.g., United States and Israel) and yet again, do not address the issue of serving special needs students in international schools in either setting. The International Schools Journal, a non-refereed publication for ECIS members, also publishes a number of articles, descriptive research and anecdotal reports from school programs regarding special needs students and inclusion. The lack of significant and sustained research on special needs students specific to international schools is of great concern and renders this chapter more descriptive than empirically based. Nonetheless, steps have been taken to address the issue of serving special needs students in international schools that are worthy of note and lead the way to research yet to be completed. The Office of Overseas Schools, U.S. Department of State provides a comprehensive model for supporting school-wide development of services for learning disabled, gifted and ESL learners.

A/OS: Advisory Committee on Exceptional Children and Youth As noted earlier, in the early 1960s the Office of Overseas Schools was designed to promote quality educational programs in international schools for dependents of American citizens abroad (Engleman, Rushton, Brody, & Brown, 1990). In 1986, under the auspices of A/OS, the Advisory Committee for Exceptional Children and Youth was created primarily to focus on students with high academic ability. In 1989, the mandate for the Advisory Committee was expanded to include students with mild-to-moderate learning disabilities (Advisory Committee for Exceptional Children and Youth, A/OS, 1998). As a result of the work of the Advisory Committee and A/OS focus on training teachers of children with special needs, the Optimal Match Network Institute was designed. The Institute was created in 1993 and based on the concept of optimal match; the adjustment of an appropriately challenging curriculum to match a student’s demonstrated pace and level of learning

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(Durden & Mills, 1996). Since its inception the Institute has provided over 1,000 teachers, resource specialists and school psychologists with training in assessing and providing services to students who are gifted, learning disabled and ESL learners (Selected Activities of the Office of Overseas Schools, 2005). In 1998, the Institute for the Academic Advancement of Youth at Johns Hopkins University conducted a survey of some 193 overseas schools to determine the impact of Advisory Committee projects and the Optimal Match Network Institute in advancing needs of highly able, learning disabled and ESL students. Respondents (some 36 percent of those contacted) indicated that services for learning disabled and gifted students had increased including the use of individual education plans, the use of specialists as support personnel for students and teachers as well as increased resources for teachers and students. The report concluded that since the inception of the Advisory Committee and A/OS focused work on exceptional children in international schools ‘‘an exceptional climate shift has taken place in American overseas schools y These changes have resulted not only in more appropriate services to the highly capable, ESL and/or students with learning disabilities, but higher-quality education for all students enrolled in American overseas schools’’ (p. 11). Finally, the report made a number of recommendations for continued development and service to exceptional students in the assisted American-International schools including: program and instruction; policy and administration; and, personnel hiring and training programs (Institute for the Academic Advancement of Youth, 1998). During 2005–2006 A/OS assisted 193 overseas schools. Approximately, 98,000 students were enrolled in these schools comprised of 30 percent U.S. citizens, 30 percent host-country nationals and 40 percent of third country nationals. Of the assisted international schools, 129 report programs and services available for mild-to-moderate learning disabled students (Report on Selected Activities of the Office of Overseas Schools, November 2005). The Advisory Committee on Exceptional Children and Youth, under the leadership of Dr. Nancy Robinson, University of Washington, continues to study and work on issues related to the needs of learning disabled and academically gifted students. The focus of the committee has continued to be ‘‘encouraging and assisting these schools to develop educational programs for elementary and secondary students who have special needs’’ (p. 20). Along with sponsored professional development opportunities, the Optimal Match Institute continues to be a primary means of professional development in A/OS-sponsored schools for teachers serving students who are gifted, learning disabled and ESL. Further, the Advisory Committee has


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created and circulated short papers such as ‘‘Defining Learning Disabilities for Instruction in Overseas Schools’’ (Keogh, 1999) and published, Transitioning to an Overseas Assignment with a Special Needs Child (2003/ 2006), a guide for families with special needs children considering an overseas post.

A/OS: Accreditation and Professional Development A part of the mission of A/OS is to provide technical support and sponsor projects through the Overseas Schools Advisory Council (OSAC, n.d.) that encourage American-International schools to maintain high-quality schools. Among the critical elements that indirectly support services to exceptional children has been the continual encouragement for all sponsored schools to undergo accreditation. Working with four of the six U.S. regional accrediting associations, 183 of the assisted schools have received accreditation A/OS also encourages the continued professional development of teachers and administrators through ongoing initiatives such as: George Mason University – FASTTRAIN programs; NASA/Central Florida University Summer Aerospace Science Institute; Lehigh University Educational Leadership Program; Jefferson Overseas Technology Institute (JOSTI); and, College of New Jersey Overseas Teachers Certificate and Master of Arts in Education Programs (Report on Selected Activities of the Office of Overseas Schools, November 2005). While not directly tied to services for learning disabled students, continuing support for accreditation and ongoing professional development provides a foundation upon which services for special needs students can be fostered. A second area that has provided increasing support for the A/OS-assisted schools has been the formation of regional associations to provide the international schools a variety of educational services; reducing the isolation from current educational developments and overcoming obstacles in the development of high-quality curricula and teachers. Eight regional associations have been in place since as early as 1961 (i.e., Association of American Schools in South America, AASSA). The regional associations go beyond the assisted American-International schools and in 2005–2006 reported well over 700 schools as members. Regional education associations, with continuous support from A/OS and OSAC grants, have long provided for the continued professional development of the international teaching and administrative force. Predominant among the topics sponsored by the regional associations have been workshops, conferences and

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sponsored websites that focus on learning disabled, learning challenged or special needs children (Selected Activities, A/OS, 2005). For example, the ECIS distributes a monthly newsletter to all members entitled Special Needs/Learning Support Newsletter. The newsletter not only contains reports from participating member schools, but also includes specific research-based information on dyslexia, gifted/learning disabled, dyscalculia and technology-assisted instruction for students with learning disabilities (ECIS, 2006). The continued interest in serving learning disabled students in international students is apparent in the content of the dialog in the newsletters and conferences of the regional associations. In addition to the interest in exceptional students exhibited by members of the regional associations, specific associations have launched projects to enhance understanding and service for learning disabled students. One such project, supported by the Association of International Schools in Africa (AISA), the OSAC and A/OS was a project entitled, Count Me In! Developing Inclusive International Schools (Kusuma-Powell & Powell, 2000). This book was created to provide awareness, understanding and applied examples of inclusion in international schools. It was primarily designed to address the needs of children with learning disabilities, ESL and highly capable (Kusuma-Powell & Powell, 2000). Currently, in its fourth printing it has been circulated around the world of international schools.

A/OS: Exemplar Schools There are an increasing number of schools associated with A/OS providing services to learning disabled, gifted and ESL students. As noted earlier, 129 of the 193 assisted American-International schools provide services to mild/ moderately learning disabled students. However, there are a few schools that have gone beyond providing some services to providing full services to special needs students and these international schools are unique. Parents seeking an international placement often turn to the website of the school in question where it becomes readily apparent in the opening pages, admissions information and learning support services whether or not their learning disabled child will be welcome and served in a particular school. Among the most well-developed international schools is the International School of Brussels (ISB, n.d.), the vision of the school on their website (http://www.isb.be) is stated as: Everyone included, challenged and successful. ISB is an inclusive school and provides mainstream faculty and all three


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school divisions have learning support teams. All teachers participate in differentiation instruction, co-teaching and peer reflections meetings. Three levels of student support are provided: Mild Support: provided by trained professionals who are increasingly working in coteaching situations with mainstream professionals. Moderate Support: a program through which children with more specialized needs are taught separately for a small portion of the day and co-taught for the remainder of the day. Intensive Support: Two special education classrooms (Early/Elementary and Middle/ High School) for children with cognitive or developmental disabilities working with a small team of specialized professionals. (ISB, 2006)

ISB is unique for several reasons. First, ISB advertises their vision and mission as an inclusive school for all learners. ISB provides a comprehensive program for a variety of exceptionalities and at different levels of service. Further, ISB provides for the continuous development of the faculty, support staff and all stakeholders. A second more fully developed international school is the International School of Kenya (ISK, n.d.). On the ISK website, (http://www.isk.ac.ke/), the student support services unit is described as providing a range of educational services including those for children with learning needs or mild learning disabilities. Six units provided services for students and their families including a Child Support Team, Counseling, Psychological Services (including speech language, social/emotional concerns, ADD/ADHD), Learning Resource Center, Speech and Language and ESL small group instruction. Finally, The American School Foundation (n.d.) (http://portal.asf.edu/ mx) in Mexico City provides services for English-speaking students with learning disabilities, ADHD, Speech and Language. The purpose of their program is to facilitate remediation and to close learning gaps to facilitate optional functioning in the regular classroom, helping students to become productive and self-fulfilled. No doubt there are more international schools that could be exemplars; however, three is sufficient to make the point, the international schools who serve learning disabled students do exist and have developed a sufficient base of expertise, resources and the physical capacity to expand services to other special needs students as well. However, many international schools have far to go before they develop sustained services for special needs children.

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CONTINUING DILEMMAS A number of issues are still unresolved in the quest for international schools that serve learning disabled or special needs students. First, we are still left confused over what it means to be an international school. In some instances international means everyone, in other cases selective admissions requirements and other policies preclude serving learning disabled or special needs children. This dilemma leads to the need for further discussion and study of policies and practices in international schools that are based in the vision and mission of a particular school, which in turn allows or denies access to special needs children. Second, there is an insufficient database or research evidence on the extent to which learning disabled students are currently admitted to international schools and levels of service provided. While, several authors have written about lack of service for learning disabled students or other exceptionalities in international schools, the reports are descriptive and rely primarily on anecdotal evidence (Bradley, 2000; Haldimann, 1998/2004). The research of Kusuma-Powell (1992, 1997) and Kusuma-Powell and Powell (2000) is a notable exception. Data provided by A/OS (2005) documents the continued growth of services for learning disabled students in assisted AmericanInternational schools, however, that data only includes 193 of some 1,000+international schools reported by Hayden and Thompson (2000a). Third, there are the issue of resources and personnel preparation which has at the heart of the discussion, funding. As private, independent schools governed by a head/director and school board, decisions must be made regarding the allocation of all resources. Expansion of an international school to include learning disabled or other exceptional children comes with a price tag. In international schools with scarce resources and limited budgets, expansion may not be an option. While some grants are available to international schools both by the host country and internationally, the amount of money available for international school development of special education services is minimal. Further, hiring faculty with expertise in special education or sending existing faculty for further preparation in special education is again a cost measured against the benefit for all students in the school. These are not easy decisions. Some Concluding Remarks As can be seen in the description of services to learning disabled students in international schools, the situation continues to be unresolved. A/OS provides


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a model for professional development that has offered sustained and continuous support for the identification and inclusion of learning disabled, ESL and gifted students in assisted American-International schools. Participation by the international schools is always voluntary and based on a number of elements. While not described fully in this chapter, IBO (2005) and regional organizations such as AAIE (2006) and ECIS (2001) also have a history of sustained professional development and an interest in supporting the needs of special learners. Even with these efforts, it is difficult to determine the overall effect on international schools and their provision of services to learning disabled and other exceptional children. A need for significant and sustained research on learning disabled students and other exceptionalities specific international schools is evident. Examination of policies, practices, resources, personnel also need further explanation. Finally, a study of the culture of international schools that serve learning disabled and other exceptional children may lead to a better understanding of the combination of elements that allow access for all in international schools.

REFERENCES Ad Hoc Committee on Convention on Persons with Disabilities 20th Meeting. (2006). Ad hoc committee agrees on new UN convention to protect disabled person’s rights. Retrieved 9/27/06 from http://www.un.org/News/Press/docs/w2006/soc4716.doc.htm Allen, K. (2002). Atolls, seas of culture and global nets. In: M. Hayden, J. Thompson & G. Walker (Eds), International education in practice (pp. 129–145). London, UK: Kogan Page. Al-Zyoudi, M. (2006). Teacher’s attitudes towards inclusive education in Jordanian schools. International Journal of Special Education, 21(2), 55–62. Association for the Advancement of International Education (AAIE). (2006). Exceptional child institute. Retrieved 9/20/06 from http://www.aaie.org/ Bradley, G. (2000). Inclusive education in international schools: A case study from Singapore. In: M. Hayden & J. Thompson (Eds), International schools & international education (pp. 29–41). London, UK: Kogan Page. Bureau of Administration, Office of Overseas Schools. (n.d.). Retrieved from U.S. Department of State website on 9/23/06 http://www.state.gov/m/a/os Carter, S. (2006). The development of special education services in Thailand. International Journal of Special Education, 21(2), 32–36. Council of International Schools. (September 2003). School improvement through accreditation: Guide to school evaluation and accreditation (7th ed.). London, UK: Council of International Schools. Durden, W., & Mills, C. (1996). Position paper: The optimal match: The middle path toward the renewal of education. Baltimore, MD: Institute for the Academic Advancement of Youth, The Johns Hopkins University, p. 1.

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Engleman, F., Rushton, E., Brody, L., & Brown, G. (1990). The history of AAIE. Washington, DC: Office of Overseas Schools, U.S. Department of State. ET EARCOS TRIANNUAL. (2006). Learning support in international schools (p. 18). Phillppines, Binan Laguna: East Asia Regional Council of Overseas Schools. European Council of International Schools. (2001). Special needs/learning support newsletter. Retrieved 9/15/06 from http://www.ecis.com/ FASTTRAIN. (2006). Program development. Retrieved 9/27/06 from http://gse.gmu.edu/ programs/fasttrain Gellar, C. (2002). International education: A commitment to universal values. In: M. Hayden, J. Thompson & G. Walker (Eds), International education in practice (pp. 30–38). London, UK: Kogan Page. Haldimann, M. (1998/2004). Special learning needs in international schools: The optimal match concept. In: M. Hayden, & J. Thompson (Eds), International education: Principles and practice (reprinted 2004) (pp. 132–145). London, UK: RoutledgeFalmer. Haldimann, M., & Hollinger, A. (1998). Effective learning support in international schools. London, UK: John Catt Educational. Hayden, M., & Thompson, J. J. (Eds). (1998/2004). International education: Principles and practice. London, UK: RoutledgeFalmer. Hayden, M., & Thompson, J. J. (Eds). (2000a). International schools and international education: Improving, teaching, management & quality. London, UK: Kogan Page. Hayden, M., & Thompson, J. J. (2000b). Quality in diversity. In: M. Hayden & J. Thompson (Eds), International schools and international education (pp. 1–14). London, UK: Kogan Page. Hayden, M. C., & Thompson, J. J. (1995). International education: The crossing of frontiers. International Schools Journal, 15(1), 13–20. Heiman, T. (2004). Teachers coping with changes: Including students with disabilities in mainstream classes: An international view. International Journal of Special Education, 19(2), 91–103. Institute for the Academic Advancement of Youth (1998). Ten year report on past activities and recommendations for action: Advisory committee on exceptional children and youth. Baltimore, MD: Institute for the Academic Advancement of Youth, The Johns Hopkins University. International Baccalaureate Organization. (2005). Professional development: Special education needs. Retrieved 9/27/06 from http://www.ibo.org/prgorammes/pd/special/ International School of Brussels (ISB). (n.d.). Learning support. Retrieved 9/27/06 from http://www.isb.be/page.cfm?p=6 International School of Kenya (ISK). (n.d.) Student support services. Retrieved 9/27/06 from http://www.isk.ac.ke/services.shtml Keogh, B. (1999). Defining learning disabilities for instruction in overseas schools. Washington, DC: Advisory Committee on Exceptional Children, Office of Overseas Schools, U.S. Department of State. Kusuma-Powell, O. (1992). Language and learning problems: Functionally multi-lingual students in international schools. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan. Kusuma-Powell, O. (1997). Assessing special education and ESL programs in American overseas/ international schools in Africa. Washington, DC: Overseas Schools Advisory Council, Department of State.


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Kusuma-Powell, O., & Powell, W. (Eds). (2000). Count me in! Developing inclusive international schools. Washington, DC: Overseas Schools Advisory Council, Department of State. Murphy, E. (1998). International school accreditation: Who needs it? In: M. Hayden & J. Thompson (Eds), International education: Principles and practice (reprinted 2004) (pp. 212–226). London, UK: RoutledgeFalmer. Overseas schools advisory council (OSAC). (n.d.). Retrieved 9/27/06 from U.S. Department of State website http://www.state.gov/m/a/os/c6971.htm Plan of action for the development of the education sector. (2005). Republic of Burundi: Ministry of Education and Culture. Selected activities of the office of overseas schools. (2005). Washington, DC: Department of State Publications, U.S. Department of State. Southern Association of Colleges and Schools. (2005). Accreditation standards 2005: For American-International schools. Retrieved 9/24/06 from http://sacs.com/ The American School Foundation, A.C. (n.d.). Services for academic success. Retrieved 9/17/06 from http://portal.asf.edu.mx/773371014115354/site/default.asp The Salamanca statement and framework for action on special needs education (1994). Spain, Salamanca: World Conference on Special Needs Education: Access and Quality. Retrieved 9/20/06 from http://unesco.gov/ Transitioning to an overseas assignment with a special needs child. (2006). Washington, DC: Advisory Committee on Exceptional Children and Youth, Office of Overseas Schools, U.S. Department of State. van Alsenoy, S. (2001). Students who learn differently. Educational Support Committee for Students with Special Challenges, Federation of American Women’s Clubs Overseas. Retrieved August 8, 2006 from http://studentswholearn.fawco.org/schools.html Weiss, A. (2001). Guidelines for evaluating children with learning disabilities or developmental delays: A handout for parents (pp. 1–3). Washington, DC: Family Liaison Office, U.S. Department of State. Wilkinson, D. (1998). International education: A question of access. In: M. Hayden, & J. Thompson (Eds), International education: Principles and practice (reprinted 2004) (pp. 227–234). London, UK: Routledge Falmer.


THE DEVELOPMENT OF NUMERICAL INTELLIGENCE IN PRESCHOOL CHILDREN WITH COCHLEAR IMPLANTS: A HYPOTHESIS ON MATHEMATICAL, VERBAL, AND NON-VERBAL COGNITIVE COMPETENCE Daniela Lucangeli, Elisabetta Genovese, Marco Gubernale, Silvia Cabrele and Daniele Manzoni ABSTRACT This study synthesizes some preliminary observations made by the clinicians of the Audiology and Phoniatrics Department of Padua-Treviso University on the development of numerical intelligence in deaf children who received cochlear implantation at an early age. This study collected data from clinical observation and standardized instruments, such as Leiter-R and PRCR-Numeri, on a group of 11 preschool deaf children. These data were then compared with those obtained from language performances and International Perspectives Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, Volume 20, 285–309 Copyright r 2007 by Elsevier Ltd. All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0735-004X/doi:10.1016/S0735-004X(07)20012-6

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audiometric examinations. It is generally recognized that a normal cognitive profile corresponds to scaled scores between 85 and 122. Specifically, the Numerical Intelligence competence is lower in deaf children than in normally hearing children. In particular, the most obvious difference is in the ‘‘number comparison’’ performance, which involves mental operations. In our study, we observed a meaningful connection between Intelligence Quotient (IQ) and the Fluid Reasoning (Fr) score, that is, the ability to solve non-verbal problems independent of previous learning. These results appear to demonstrate a pronounced connectivity of the subcomponents which, taken together, produce visual-spatial functionality. Early identification of hearing impairment is critical for reducing hearing impairments; interventions must begin at an early stage, and the assessment procedures require a complete and standardized protocol. In fact, speech and language disabilities are associated mostly with thresholds, while ultimately the degree of handicap depends upon the quality of the rehabilitation process, e.g., amplification with a cochlear implant (CI), or the quality of rehabilitation. In profound hearing loss (HL), it is necessary to take several steps into consideration for early identification and diagnosis. Screening procedures are necessary for identifying patients in the first year of life, by adopting steps to apply the correct diagnostic procedure aimed at assessing the exact threshold, and eventually the etiological diagnosis. When these measures are considered reliable, adjustments of hearing aid strategies or a CI may be determined. More specifically, it is important to consider that for most hearingimpaired children, early and appropriate amplification is the most important rehabilitative tool. The procedure adopted after the first hearing aid application involves many social agents, such as family, speech therapist, hearing aid dispenser, audiologist, and school, with the intention of obtaining the best and most reliable device and threshold. Table 1 summarizes some of the main aspects regarding HL in infancy, and how the audiological criteria address a number of impairments to the full development of children.

HOW CAN WE EVALUATE HEARING THRESHOLD AND LANGUAGE PERCEPTION ABILITIES IN VERY YOUNG CHILDREN? Based upon considerations made concerning motor–visual–acoustic development, we can perform a series of behavioural audiometric tests according

Numerical Intelligence

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Table 1. Summary of Main Aspects Involved in Hearing Loss in Infancy. Average Hearing Level 500–2000 Hz

Description

0–20 dB

Normal range Mild HL

20–40 dB

What Can be Heard without Amplification

Handicapping Effects (if not Treated in First Year of Life)

Probable Needs

All speech sounds

None

None

Only some speech sounds, the louder voiced sounds

Auditory learning dysfunction, mild language retardation, mild speech problems, inattention Speech problems, language retardation, learning dysfunction, inattention Severe speech problems, language retardation, learning dysfunction, inattention Severe speech problems, language retardation, learning dysfunction, inattention

40–70 dB

Moderate HL

Almost no speech sounds at normal conversational level

70–90 dB

Severe HL

No speech sounds at normal conversational level

> 90 dB

Profound HL

No speech or other sounds

Hearing aids, auditory training, speech therapy All of the above, plus consideration of special classroom situation All of the above

All of the above

to age. In order to compare the benefits achieved by different sensory aids, it is first of all necessary to carefully examine the impact of each device on the child’s auditory performance. Subsequently, it is important to describe auditory ability not just in terms of threshold levels, but also in terms of speech perception skills obtained with each device. The purpose of the investigation of Guarnaccia, Galizia, Genovese, Basso, and Arslan (in press), was to explain the assessment modalities for speech and language development in 47 children with and without

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associated disabilities, affected by profound sensory–neural deafness with an average HL of 500–1000–2000 Hz (PTA) of 118 dB nHL without amplification, and 81 dB nHL with amplification, who underwent cochlear implantation between January 2000 and May 2005 in the Audiology and Phoniatrics Department of Padua University-Treviso Hospital. For the purpose of our research, we selected a sample of 16 children implanted between the ages of 3 and 5, whose cognitive performance matched that of the sample group from the numerical knowledge (NK) study described in a following section. Each patient wore a hearing aid with powerful features for at least 5 months and underwent speech therapy before surgery. The auditory threshold (aided and unaided), perceptive skills and communication–verbal skills were studied preoperatively. Preoperative data was compared with that obtained during the follow-up. The functional gain with optimal amplification during the preoperative stage in children aged between 3 and 5 was compared with the gain obtained with CI after device activation, and 6–12 and 24 months after the activation. The auditory threshold level was evident and very similar to that obtained from children younger than age three. Verbal assessment was conducted by means of the following tests, broken down into specific competences: Evaluation of the perceptive skills with instruments that provide for classification into the categories suggested by Moog and Gears (1990): o P.Ca.P (Arslan, Genovese, Orzan, & Turrini, 1997), as a measure of first perceptive abilities o T.I.P.I.1 (Arslan et al., 1997), for the child’s ability to differentiate words differing in their vowel sounds in four selected pictures o T.I.P.I.2 (Arslan et al., 1997), for the child’s ability to differentiate words differing in their vowel sounds in six selected pictures o The child’s two-syllable word recognition in open set Evaluation of phonetic–phonologic skills: o Bortolini’s test of phonemes acquired by the child (Bortolini, 1995) Evaluation of lexical–semantic skills: o Peabody Picture Vocabulary Test (Dunn & Dunn, 1981; Stella, Pizzoli, & Tressoldi, 2000) Evaluation of morpho-syntactic skills: o TCGB (Chilosi & Cipriani, 1995) for the child’s grammatical comprehension o Phrase Repetition Test in older children (De Vescovi & Caselli, 2001).


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The results of the protocol identify a spread and relevant drop in verbal– perceptive, phonetical–phonological, lexical, semantic and morpho-syntactic abilities at different levels, depending on the stage of the assessment. For the purpose of this research, we report some data on the outcome of the verbal assessments, at least 12 months after activation of the device. The results confirm the advantages of CI in prelingual profoundly deaf children, particularly in the following areas:

Improvement of pure tone audiometry threshold Functional hearing gain, especially at acute frequencies (2,000–4,000 Hz) Development of verbal–perceptive categories Acquisition of a nearly complete phonetic inventory during spontaneous production, characterized by a significant but not consistent development Phonologic learning of the principal rules of grammar Progressive and steady development of morpho-syntactical abilities, resulting in a moderately variable range of outcomes Progressive and continuous building of vocabulary with a moderately variable range of results. It was interesting to note the substantial effect of the variable CI Duration, i.e., linguistic gain related to the time that has elapsed since surgery. These observations are also confirmed by previous research, such as that of Szagun (2001), where the author emphasizes the role of improvement in acquisition of language from the level of verbal competence prior to the CI. In addition, audiological remediation produces a restoration of the language abilities – particularly lexical and grammatical abilities – characterized by the pace and progress of the individual clinical case; therefore, it is clear that linguistic development subsequent to a CI improves more and more over time, ultimately approaching normality. Moreover, these data are consistent with another study conducted on the same group at the Audiology and Phoniatrics Department of Padova University-Treviso Hospital, on the linguistic follow-up after IC for a period of 2 years of a group of 30 children, aged 2–10 years, and without associated pathologies, cognitive impairment and social–cultural disadvantage. Here can be seen the same trend of improved perceptive, phonological, lexical–semantic and morpho-syntactic performance; therefore, the CI device – restoring hearing feedback – enables perceptive–verbal development, learning of phonemes and the development of language abilities.

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NUMERICAL KNOWLEDGE NK is a composite of cognitive functions specifically associated with mental operations with and through numbers (Lucangeli & Tressoldi, 2002; Lucangeli, 2003). The development of NK determines the individual skills of interacting with real context through quantities. These skills are innate and pertain to a functionally autonomous cognitive domain within a wider perspective of intelligence, considered not only in an epigenetic way (Case, 2000, cf., Genovese, Galizia, Gubernale, Arslan, & Lucangeli, 2005) but also from a phylogenetic point of view. In fact, the presence of a relatively wide range of numerical achievements consisting of some numerical subcompetences – such as in the experimental paradigms of quantity comparisons and the relative distance between different quantities – is demonstrated even in non-human primates, and seems to be the potential precursor of the more complex skills which arise from human development (Brannon & Terrace, 2002). The hypothesis of the functional autonomy of NK is also supported by neural–anatomic evidence highlighted by functional neuroimaging methodology and the neurophysiology of non-human primates. Dehaene (1992) and Dehaene, Molko, Cohen, and Wilson (2004) documented the existence of functional–anatomic circuits of arithmetical competence observing, in experimental tasks, the systematic activation of specific structures – such as the intraparietal sulcus (counting and quantity representation) – and the activation of areas of the prefrontal cortex (mental calculation) during Functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging (fMRI). This suggests that these tasks represent the consequence of abilities, which are partially controlled by genetics. The development of NK is based on a three-step sequence within the chronological range of 36–72 months and consists of Innate skills of representing quantities made up of not more than three elements during preverbal infancy (Wynn, 1999). Counting skill, such as codification of quantities through the verbal numerical system (Fuson & Hall, 1983). Number reading and writing skill through access to the numerical symbolic system (Haskell, 2000). The NK developmental trend can be monitored through the ‘‘PRCR numbers’’ battery (Lucangeli, Molin, Poli, & Cortesi, 2001), a set of numerical tests specifically formulated to isolate the crucial aspects of preschool numerical competence. These numerical tests adapt the modular model of cognitive neuropsychology (McCloskey, Caramazza, & Basili, 1985) to the more precocious evolution instances. The ‘‘PRCR numbers’’


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battery is composed of subtests, each of which isolates a distinct variable coherent with subsystems of the model (McCloskey et al., 1985), and other cognitive aspects, some of which are described in literature, such as Arabic number writing up to 5 with conventional notation: o Systems of Arabic numerals production through a graphemic code o Efficacy of phonemic–graphemic transcoding Forward counting to 10 without regressions or omissions, and an attempt at reverse counting Systems of verbal production: o Efficiency of attentive and mnemonic-strategic control systems in the short term (Dehaene, 1992; Willstedt-Svensson, Lo¨fqvist, Almqvist, & Sahleń, 2004) Reading of Arabic numbers up to 9, including those not in sequence: o Development of the lexical numerical system (Lucangeli, 2003) Name-number correspondence, such as the association between verbal names and the respective numerals within three possibilities: o Mnestic consolidation of the related semantic representation of numbers in Arabic code Comparison of Arabic numbers with identification of the greater between two numbers: o Processing of number semantic representation o Recovery and comparison of numerical quantities within an abstract semantic representation system Number-quantity correspondence: identification of the dot quantity (among three) which corresponds to the numeral written on a card: o Reversibility of mnestic consolidation processes of semantic representation of Arabic numerals Ability of finding correspondence between a visual numerical quantity and its graphemic Arabic code Comparison of numbers or dots: comparison of different groups of items composed of no more than nine elements: o Counting visual elements o Comparisons of visually represented quantities o Presyntax A and Presyntax B o Estimations of identification abilities and use of object classes Prerequisites of syntactic numerical competence Arabic number sequence A and Arabic number sequence B, such as, respectively, ordering a series of increasing numerals out of 5, and correctly inserting the missing number in a group of 5 numbers

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It should be observed that the enumeration task clearly reveals a deficit upon the first administration. This fact suggests the exclusion of this task from the battery, based upon the reasons discussed in a following section.

THE RESEARCH CONTEXT Definition of the Experimental Question In the previous paragraph, we identified the independent functioning of NK as one of the most important dimensions of this cognitive domain; that is, that this faculty, irrespective of other cognitive fields, is determined during development and is structured on the basis of its own modality and pace within overall psychological development. This assumption is even more difficult if we consider the crucial role of verbal language in child development. In fact, language may affect competencies in the numerical world that would otherwise be unexpressed: the verbal system provides the neural substratum so that mathematical language can express quantities and operations with quantities through different channels (auditory–vocal and visual gesture) – and codes (verbal, Arabic, graphic–analogical, and gesture) – which identify a specific lexicon (Lucangeli, 2003; Lucangeli & Iannitti, 2004). It should be considered, then, that the cognitive operations involved in mental representations of numerical quantity are analogical and not verbal (Dehaene, 1992; Gallistel & Gelman, 1992); for example, subitizing, which is the immediate quantification of a group of four to five items without counting, and quantity estimation, which is a less precise but similar process with greater quantities (Lucangeli, 2003). Therefore, if the brain does not process by means of verbal codes – although it uses these specific channels to directly manipulate an abstract concept such as a number – NK could have its own longitudinal developmental trend similar to other cognitive domains, and it could be functionally linked to other abilities. Regarding our experimental setting, the clinical phenomenology of the hypo-acoustic child assimilates a functional system which is relatively isolated from the language learning context and results in a great deal of sufficiently pure data on numbers and their phenomena; that is, linguistic developmental delay represents a sort of experimentum naturae useful for developing a more reliable measure of NK development. With respect to application, it is assumed that comparing observations on verbal skills with numerical skills in a hypo-acoustic group, the judgement on the development of this specific


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competence becomes clearer and more reliable. In order to improve the level of articulation between this information and its overall cognitive functional structure, it is necessary to quantify and interpret the non-verbal cognitive profile in addition to the specific sub-functions, which can help us better understand the intelligence of quantities in the development age. Characteristics of the Experimental Setting From the paediatric population of the Phoniatrics and Audiology Department of Padua University-A.S.L. in Treviso, a group of 11 hypo-acoustic children were identified – four of them females – aged between 35 and 72 months, with an average age of 53 months. These children were from different Italian localities, and were free from social–cultural disadvantage. The clinical diagnosis indicated ‘‘Profound Bilateral Bradyacusia’’ (dullness of hearing) with etiology linked to pre-perinatal risk factors – such as testing positive for ‘‘TORCH’’ infections in pregnancy, foetal injury at birth, neonatal intensive therapy – and to infections after birth, such as meningitis from streptococcus, or other causes. Audiological compensation was addressed by CI, with the duration of remediation between 7 and 48 months (M ¼ 25 months). The audiological benefits were on different levels of functional advantage, which nevertheless assured a sufficient level of attention and processing of spoken language. Because of this, the subjects who could not understand verbal instructions were excluded. Additionally, the subjects lacked neurological and cognitive sequelae. The control group was composed of 61 subjects aged between 60 and 72 months attending the last year of infant school in Padua and Treviso (for a more detailed discussion, see Lucangeli et al., 2001). We tested the pathological group with the ‘‘PRCR numbers’’ battery and the non-verbal intelligence scale (Leiter International Performance Scale Revised (LIPS-R); Roid & Miller, 1997) in order to extract the characteristics of numerical cognition in profound deafness, highlighting the global characteristics different from normal children and the characterization of the qualitative– quantitative relation between the numerical and the non-verbal cognitive development. The balance of verbal competence of the sample group highlights a diffuse and relevant deficit in perceptive–verbal, phonetic–phonologic, lexical, semantic and morpho-syntactic abilities. However, because the data on linguistic retardation were taken from different statistics – in fact, the specific reactive tests used defined the points in terms of percentage ranks,

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standardized points or category judgement – it was difficult to obtain a single coefficient which assimilated the significance. Therefore, in order to support the qualitative data expressed before and to explain the overall cognitive outcome, we were able to apply the clinical evidence on linguistic skill obtained from Guarnaccia, previously described. Test Results Fig. 1 highlights a different qualitative trend in the numerical tests; however, from a quantitative point of view, the performance of deaf children is significantly different from that of normal children in two abilities: ‘‘Arabic number writing’’, where the deaf children scored higher than the normal group. ‘‘Comparison of Arabic numbers’’, where the deaf children achieved a lower score. The performance obtained in ‘‘Sequence A’’ probably depends on the scoring methods, which does not allow distributing the different levels of skill on a sufficiently representative scale. For this reason, so as to avoid the effects of insufficiently controllable variables, we decided to exclude this task from the research with the consideration of evaluating it in the future. In fact, as we can see from processing of the experimental data, it is possible that the sequence tasks involved specific cognitive components, which do not yet need to be considered as hypotheses. Tables 2 and 3 highlight the correlations among the ‘‘PRCR number’’ subtests in the normally hearing and the hearing-impaired group, respectively. (Kendall’s tc coefficient (Kendall, 1970) was calculated because of the ordinal nature of the data.) From the tables, we can observe a more unitary correlational profile within the normally hearing group. This trend is a likely index of some clinical variability in the development of IN because of the deafness effect. In particular, in the subjects with CI, there are some elements that must be interpreted in the best way possible, such as Some correlations – highlighted in bold – which should indicate a deepening of the correspondence with the correlational trend of the normal group, such as the links between forward enumeration and sequence B; number reading and number comparison; number-quantity correspondence and sequence A; quantity comparison and sequence A; sequence A and sequence B.


295 Mediana degli indici normalizzati delle prove di IN

1.2

indice normalizzato

1 0.8 0.6 0.4 0.2

Bambini normali Bambini sordi 11 - Seriazione B

10 - Seriazione A

9 -Presintassi B

7 - Confronto numerosità

6 - Corrisp.numeri quantità

5 - Comparazione numeri

4 - Corrisp.nome numero

3 - Lettura di numeri

2A - Enumerazione

1 - Scrittura

0

Prove intelligenza numerica

Fig. 1.

Trend of Median ‘‘PRCR Number’’ within the Samples.

The lack of significant correlations between the length of compensation and numerical variables. Some correlations – highlighted in bold – may indicate a different trend in comparison with the normal group, such as the appearance of a link between the number writing tasks and name-number correspondence; forward enumeration and quantity comparison with sequence A; number reading and quantity comparison; quantity comparison and sequence B. Moreover, different from the normal group, the correlation between number reading and name-number correspondence disappears. Table 4 presents the values of non-verbal intelligence in the hearingimpaired group. These values are characterized by a general – and specific – average competence.

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Table 2. Age in Months

(1) Writing

(2A) Counting

(3) Reading Numbers

1.000 0.226 0.253

0.226 1.000 0.253 0.205 0.332

0.253 0.253 1.000 0.745 0.482 0.399

0.215

0.240 0.502 0.438

(4) NameNumber Correspondence

(5) Number Comparisons

(6) NumberQuantity Correspondence

0.205 0.482 0.408 1.000 0.407

0.332 0.399 0.402 0.407 1.000

0.258 0.258 0.266

0.286 0.294 0.298

(7) NumberDots Comparison

(9) Prerequisites B

(10) Seriation A

0.240 0.223 0.258 0.286

0.502 0.531 0.258 0.294 0.246 0.407 1.000 0.311

(11) Seriation B

1.000 0.19

0.745 1.000 0.408 0.402 0.231 0.223 0.531 0.385

0.231

1.000 0.246

1.000 0.407 0.329

0.215 0.438 0.385 0.266 0.298 0.329 0.311 1.000


Age 1 2A 3 4 5 6 7 9 10 11

Correlations for ‘‘PRCR Numero’’ within the Normally Hearing Sample (po0.05).


Table 3.

Age Duration 1 2A 3 4 5 6 7 9 10

Age in Months

Duration

1.000 0.531

0.531 1.000

Profile of Correlations for ‘‘PRCR Number’’ within the Deaf Sample (po0.05). (1) Writing

(2A) Counting

(3) Reading Numbers

(4) NameNumber Correspondence

(5) Number Comparisons

(6) Number(7) NumberQuantity Dots Correspondence Comparison

10. Seriation A

11. Seriation B

0.782

0.558

0.656 0.741

0.569

1.000

0.835

0.620 1.000

0.557 1.000 1.000

0.620

9. Prerequisites B

0.557

0.695 0.557

0.525 1.000

0.525

1.000 1.000

0.695

0.557

1.000 1.000

0.782

0.656

0.741

297

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Table 4. Prove IQ Fr Vf FG FC M SO RP PC C

LIPS-R Results.

Media

Media Camp.ne

t

100 100 100 10 10 10 10 10 10 10

107.8 92.5 107.8 13.2 12.5 12 9.6 8.6 10.5 11.1

0.17 0.18 0.16 o0.01 0.02 0.03 0.73 0.23 0.69 0.23

Note: Prove, test; Media, average; IQ, intelligence quotient; Fr, fluid reasoning; Vf, fundamental visualization; FG, figure-ground; FC, form completion; M, matching; SO, sequential order; RP, repeated patterns; PC, picture context; C, classification.

Specifically, we observed three significantly different scores relating to the following performances: FG (figure-ground). Ability of extracting the visual–perceptive detail grounds with an increasing texture complexity, control, and inhibition of irrelevant visual information. FC (form completion). Ability of finishing a two-dimensional configuration without any details by deduction and mental manipulation of the visual information. M (matching). Ability to make associations on a visual-perceptive basis through inductive reasoning. Table 5 documents the correlational profile within the scores of the Leiter-R Battery Regarding to the overall cognitive status, we can find some potentially interesting correlations for the results’ comment. These correlations are highlighted in bold type:

Intelligence Quotient with Fr and Fundamental Visualization (Vf) Fr with Form Completion Vf with Classification Figure-ground with Form Completion and Repeated Sequences Form Completion with Matching and Repeated Sequence Sequential Order with Classification Figured Context with Classification Finally, Table 6 indicates the correlation between the results of the ‘‘PRCR number’’ battery and the Leiter-R battery. In this profile there is no

Age Duration IQ Fr Vf FG FC M SO RP PC C

Age

Duration

1.000 0.713

0.713 1.000


Table 5.

Correlations within the LIPS-R Results (po0.05).

IQ

Fr

Vf

FG

FC

M

SO

RP

1.000 0.845 0.696 0.666 0.868 0.769 0.637 0.823

0.845 1.000

0.696

0.666

0.868 0.592

0.769

0.637 0.737

0.823 0.916

1.000 0.595

0.595 1.000 0.789

0.561

0.596

0.624

1.000 0.592

0.799

0.799 0.737 0.916

PC

0.624 0.909

0.802

0.561 0.596

0.789 1.000 1.000

0.909 0.802

C

0.592 1.000

0.592

1.000 0.829

0.829 1.000

Note: IQ, intelligence quotient; Fr, fluid reasoning; Vf, fundamental visualization; FG, figure-ground; FC, form completion; M, matching; SO, sequential order; RP, repeated patterns; PC, picture context; C, classification.

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Table 6.

Correlations within ‘‘PRCR Number’’ and LIPS-R Results (po0.05). IQ

Vf

FG

FC

M

SO

0.68

RP

PC

C

0.814 0.66

0.64

0.63

0.61

0.6 0.83

0.75 0.81

0.64 0.88

0.64

Note: IQ, intelligence quotient; Fr, fluid reasoning; Vf, fundamental visualization; FG, figure-ground; FC, form completion; M, matching; SO, sequential order; RP, repeated patterns; PC, picture context; C, classification.


(1) Writing (2A) Counting (3) Reading numbers (4) Name-number correspondence 5. Number comparisons 6. Number-quantity correspondence 7. Number-dots comparison 9. Prerequisites B 10. Seriation A 11. Seriation B

Fr


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clear unity. It is characterized by some significant indexes. We decided to consider the index of the association between Writing and Vf, since with our current data, it offers a more probable interpretation level. In particular, because the Vf score is the result of a summation of scores (M+PC), the PC performance appears to be fundamental in this skill within the correctional analysis.

DISCUSSION Domains with Functional Similarities The tasks, which do not discriminate between the two groups, include the following:

Forward enumeration Reading of Arabic numbers Name-number correspondence Number-quantity correspondence Number comparison

Nonetheless, consider that the reverse enumeration test in children with CI does not appear to be administrable, unlike what Genovese et al. found in a previous study (Genovese et al., 2005) where a sample of ten deaf children were examined, eight of whom with hearing aids and two with CI, and where the performance in this test did not significantly differ from that of normally hearing children. Reflecting on the abilities of reverse enumeration, we are faced with a number of cognitive variables, such as the phonological components of working memory or the structures for verbal production of numbers, meaning that the chief impairment of the linguistic system involves a developmental loss in a range of competences. More specifically, this fact highlights the relevance of language structure as a medium for perfecting the mathematical structures.

Domains with Different Performances The hearing-impaired sample appeared more efficient in the Arabic number writing test compared to normally hearing children. This result led to some hypotheses on the faculty of transcoding from a verbal to a written number to demonstrate that McCloskey’s systems of comprehension and production

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of numbers, at least in those components regarding the conversion from phonological to graphemic number format, are more evolved when compared to normally hearing peers. This also occurred with the Campbell (1994) modelcompared to the continuance between comprehension and production systems. It should also be considered that understanding and processing the semantic properties of numbers does not necessarily inform the abstract representation of quantity (Biancardi & Nicoletti, 2003), and that the best performances of deaf children could be of an instrumental or peripheral nature, rather than executive or central. It is difficult to posit a ‘‘central’’ root of some neurological or developmental source regarding the greater consistency of these structural characteristics of NK, in which other variables might be involved depending on the environmental context, such as the effect of extensive exposure to speech therapy. The tests of number comparison revealed a lower performance compared with the normally hearing sample. For cognitive modelling, we hypothesize that, after encoding the graphemic representation, some difficulties in processing the written number arise in the conceptual nucleus which, in McCloskey’s model, belongs to the semantic–representational system. Since it appears that the instrumental skills of transcoding are clearly undamaged or normally aged and that the effectiveness of the domains to process the number following the transcoding is reduced, the hypothesis is that the impairment specifically regards the task of comparison of quantities within the semantic system by means of their abstract representation. In other words, if the deaf child is unable to achieve a quantitative comparison by inputs made up of quantities expressed through a symbolic code, then we recognize a specific alteration of the functionality of the processes for abstract representation of numbers within the semantic system. Moreover, we suspect that these cognitive modalities could represent a precursor of lexical and syntax deficit of the developmental dyscalculia, embodied in a pool of difficulties in assigning to the digit the value that depends on the position within the whole number. The decrease of the comparison of Arabic numbers shows a dissociating trend with regard to the Arabic number writing skill: if we applied a neuropsychological methodology to interpret this result, we might find a couple of different domains on which these faculties depend. As a matter of fact, we previously thought that the best compliance in writing numbers could reveal a more effective ability in instrumental competences, meaning that instrumental learning is applied instead of activation of some kind of executive modularity.


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Correlational Profile within the ‘‘PRCR Number’’ Battery We can argue that numerical ability does not appear sensitive to functional changes deriving from audiological compensation, or rather to improvement of language abilities. Table 3 makes clear the absence of a meaningful relation between each ‘‘PRCR number’’ subtest and the ‘‘CI duration’’ variable, otherwise with respect to what occurs within the linguistic development in which we see an increase directly proportional to the duration of the restoration, even if some other individual functional factors play a role. Examining the correspondences between the correlational profile – which are the cognitive areas characterized by a deeper level of correlation compared to the healthy sample – a qualitatively transversal dimension emerges with regard to the cognitive skills involved, since it contains some similar functional backgrounds, represented by a general kind of visual–perceptive activation during the performance requested. More specifically, we refer to a generic visual–perceptive factor as a pool of resources which are shared by the task of number-quantity correspondence, number comparison and perhaps a number sequence, as these concern many modalities of comparison, evaluation, and counting on a specifically visual basis with a reduced coefficient of symbolic information processing. Theorizing further, this so-called visual–perceptive hypothesis could consider the correlation between reading of Arabic numbers and comparison of Arabic numbers – which also occurs in the healthy sample – such an effort as to take out the semantic attributes from the iconic feature of the number: therefore, it needs to be clarified if deaf children read the numbers and understand their meaning, or if they limit themselves to applying their instrumental abilities of encoding–decoding in a mechanical way, leaving their role out of consideration to the advantage of the pathway of access to the respective semantic attributes. Those niches of differences between correlational trends – the areas where a cograduation appears compared to the normal sample – regard skills in Arabic number reading and writing, forward enumeration and numberquantity correspondence, whose specificities let us presume the possession of a cognitive instrumental faculty rather than the ability of a strategic approach to the task. In addition, the links between the test on number-quantity correspondence and the other variables are lacking, so pronounced in the normal sample, to suggest that the route of the visual input – made up of a certain number of dots in many boxes, one of which represents the target – is

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independent, detached from the whole numerical intellective context and that it would not be recruited from the cognitive wave, so that the symbolic representation of the number is effectively triggered. If this were the case, it could mean a stronger functional cohesion among the different tasks of ‘‘PRCR number’’ for the normal subject for whom, seemingly, the iconic input as prerequisite for symbolic–abstract awareness of numbers is right, perhaps with epigenetic modalities along the evolutive arch. It could also be that there is a sort of link between the cognitive domains specifically employed to encode the number and those that perform the access to the numerical lexicon by means of counting the elements of a visual set: in this case, it seems to resemble a functional continuum, in which the ceiling is the ability of abstract–symbolic representation of quantities, and the floor indicates the need to access a higher level by passing through the more peripheral competences. We now believe that during the development age, the subject computes the quantities visually presented as an absolute and purely cognitive datum, linked to superior processes of encyclopaedic order, whereas the deaf child must process a pool of perceptive and instrumental information to express a quantitative evaluation based upon Arabic numbers.

Some Considerations on Cognitive Status The non-verbal intellective resources of the deaf sample, consisting of abilities of observation and abstract thinking – which resemble comprehension, definition of comparisons, perception of relationships, reasoning by means of analogical thinking and deduction of a novel solution through logical thinking – results on average in conjunction with Fr and Vf quotients. These conclusions are not at all unexpected, as literature informs us (e.g., Khan, Edwards, & Langdon, 2005) that the non-verbal performance of a sample of children with CI, different from those with hearing aids, is not unlike individuals without hearing impairments. In our sample, better cognitive performance emerged in trials that measured visual–perceptive abilities that are precursors of abstract thinking, such as abilities of figure-ground articulation and of Gestalt completion, in addition to those regarding extraction of an associative visual–spatial principle. Specifically, this task appears considerable in order to evaluate the complex Vf quotient, as it is the result of the sum of the Matching (M) and Picture Context (PC) indexes.


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Since the value of PC – i.e., the faculty of associating an object within its context of practical use – does not significantly differ from the mean, it is really the weight of M that determines the full role of Vf: therefore, we could say that on balance the ability to extract the visual–perceptive features of deaf children substantially cooperate in the ability of visual–perceptive reasoning depending on the associative principle. It was interesting to note a meaningful relation between Intelligence Quotient (IQ) and the Fr score; that is, the ability to solve non-verbal problematic situations that do not depend on previous learning. This suggests that the functional modalities of visual–spatial processing of nonverbal information is characterized by a strategic nature since, if these abilities remained framed in the more peripheral and more instrumental cognitive waves, they could not play a role in the abilities of reorganization and deduction of a new and higher-level solution. Other abilities highlighted in our sample contribute to this phenomenon: among these is the correlation between the scores of FC with Rf, FG, and M, which could demonstrate a marked processing effectiveness in closing and aggregation of the perception faculty. Moreover, it seems to demonstrate a pronounced connectivity of the subcomponents, which on the whole produce the visual–spatial functionality. The question why the non-verbal intellective abilities of the deaf sample are organized within functional modalities with high strategic properties – meaning that the input is processed by deductive reasoning and by the ability to generate rules and sequences rather than the effect of learned rules – becomes more complex when considering the correlation between the PC and Classification (C) scores. In this case, the hypothesis regards the effect of some kind of interaction between the cognitive substrates, which generate an advancement in ability of visual–spatial conceptualization in order to reorganize the visual–perceptive relationships within a categorical framework. To make the debate even more complicated, no data exist to demonstrate (Schlumberger, Narbona, & Manrique, 2004) that implanting children precociously prevents loss – even if at preclinical level – of visual–practical ability and visual–motor integration, unlike that which occurs in deaf peers with hearing aids. It appears that the improvement effect of CI also extends to non-verbal competence. In other words, we are discussing the presence of cognitive factors which determine the modalities of organization of semantic memory, according to knowledge representation models within the framework and schemes composed of hierarchical patterns of categories joined by knots of meanings (Collins & Quillian, 1969; Collins & Loftus, 1975), asking

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ourselves if the theoretical implant could also represent some aspects of nonverbal knowledge.

Functional Autonomy of Numerical Knowledge Based upon the present data, it can be suggested that from a quantitative point of view – in the sense of the mere psychometric evaluation – a direct connection between linguistic and numerical domains is not apparent and, therefore, we maintain that mathematical abilities pertain to a specific cognitive function. Some peculiarities emerge regarding the profile of non-verbal intelligence, which highlights a relative independence of NK, especially the following two considerations: The existence of mean quantitative profiles for NK – accepting a deficit in the number comparison test – and for IQ, meaning that the sample is composed of intelligent children, who blame the result on sensorial deprivation. The absence of benefit for NK from the language improvement. In other words, since we see a virtual and somewhat unclear correlational pattern between numerical and intellectual performances, it seems that abilities of number intellect and cognitive status are functionally closed to each other. To discuss the qualitative scenario, we summarize below some previous observations: First of all, it is clear that the sample shows a large number of anomalies regarding the development of the system for semantic representation of numbers, site of the encyclopaedic–functional characters of the Arabic number: more specifically, the deficiency aims at processing a number as symbol of quantity, and it seems that deaf children are forced to resort to a perceptive judgement to activate the respective semantic meaning. If this is so, the entire performance of deaf children would appear out of balance in favour of visual–perceptive attributes, which are submitted to processes of strategic reorganization, perhaps similar to those concerning declarative verbal knowledge. In fact, since modalities of flexible and creative thinking as well as categorizing emerge on the visual–perceptive front – demonstrated respectively by the Rf score and by IQ/Fr and PC/C correlation – and considering that these competences are not recruited to symbolically intellectualize the quantities, it seems reasonable to hypothesize


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that these impairments derive from a hypo-development of the upper level of Human Information Processing, with specificity for the numerical components of knowledge. In addition, it is possible that language activates the development of the symbolical–representational aspects of NK within the semantic rather than the instrumental system; however, if this is so, we must clarify whether the role of language concerns only NK, or whether – and how – it also concerns other mental domains. In this regard, we need additional experimental protocols for deaf children, in order to define these developmental trends, and to determine whether language deprivation induces semantic non-verbal deficiency.

CONCLUSIONS In this investigation, we studied a group of profoundly deaf children with severely retarded language development, who benefit more from increasing levels of audiological restoration. These subjects were intelligent and intellectualize numbers and quantity in a manner similar to their non-handicapped peers, even when using different modalities within the more symbolic arithmetic variables. From these abilities – since it seems that the visual–perceptive abilities are more suitable for extraction of the semantic attributes of the number – come a new order of experimental questions, such as whether the loss in semantic numerical abilities indicates a more general reduction of competence in the semantic system, and whether this system organizes the data in a specific manner and, finally, the various levels of activation from language acquisition.

REFERENCES Arslan, E., Genovese, E., Orzan, E., & Turrini, M. (1997). Evaluation of the verbal perception in the hypoacoustic child. Bari, Italy: Ed. Ecumenica. Biancardi, A., & Nicoletti, C. (2003). Battery for developmental dyscalculia. Milano, Italy: Ed. Omega. Bortolini, U. (1995). Tests for the phonological evaluation of children’s language (PFLI). Padua, Italy: Edit Master. Brannon, E. M., & Terrace, H. S. (2002). The evolution and ontogeny of ordinal numerical ability. In: M. Bekoff, C. Allen & G. M. Burghardt (Eds), The cognitive animal: Empirical and theoretical perspectives on animal cognition (pp. 197–204). Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Campbell, J. I. D. (1994). Architectures for numerical cognition. Cognition, 53, 1–44.

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Case, R. (2000). A psychological model about the development of number sense. Eta` Evolutiva, 65, 5–17. Chilosi, A. M., & Cipriani, P. (1995). TCGB. Grammatical comprehension test for children. Pisa, Italy: Ed. Del Cerro. Collins, A. M., & Loftus, E. F. (1975). A spreading activation theory of semantic processing. Psychological Review, 82, 407–428. Collins, A. M., & Quillian, M. R. (1969). Retrieval time from semantic memory. Journal of Verbal Learning and Verbal Behavior, 8, 240–248. Dehaene, S. (1992). Varieties of numerical abilities. Cognition, 44, 1–42. Dehaene, S., Molko, N., Cohen, L., & Wilson, A. J. (2004). Arithmetic and the brain. Current Opinion in Neurobiology, 14, 218–224. De Vescovi, A., & Caselli, M. C. (2001). A sentences repetition test for the evaluation of the first grammatical development. Psicologia Clinica dello Sviluppo, 3, 341–364. Dunn, L. M., & Dunn, L. M. (1981). Peabody picture vocabulary test. Circle Pines, MN: American Guidance. [Versione italiana di Stella, Pizzoli e Tressoldi, 2000. Milano, Italy: Ed. Omega.] Fuson, K. C., & Hall, J. W. (1983). The acquisition of early number word meaning: A conceptual analysis and review. In: H. P. Ginsburg (Ed.), The development of mathematical thinking. New York: Academic Press. Gallistel, C. R., & Gelman, R. (1992). Preverbal and verbal counting and computation. Cognition, 44, 43–74. Genovese, E., Galizia, R., Gubernale, M., Arslan, E., & Lucangeli, D. (2005). Mathematical vs. reading and writing disabilities in deaf children: A pilot study on the development of numerical knowledge. In: T. E. Scruggs & M. A. Mastropieri (Eds.), Advances in learning and behavioral disabilities: Cognition and learning in diverse settings (Vol. 18, pp. 33–46). Oxford: Elsevier. Guarnaccia, M., Galizia, R., Genovese, E., Basso, M., & Arslan, E. (in press). Speech perception and language development in early implanted deaf children. Acta Otorinolaringologyca Italica. Haskell, S. H. (2000). The determinants of arithmetic skills in young children: Some observations. European Child & Adolescent Psychiatry, 9, II/77–II/86. Kendall, M. G. (1970). Rank correlation methods (4th ed.). London: Griffin. Khan, S., Edwards, L., & Langdon, D. (2005). The cognition and behaviour of children with cochlear implants, children with hearing aids, and their hearing peers: A comparison. Audiology and Neurology, 10, 117–126. Lucangeli, D. (2003). Numerical intelligence (Vol. 1). Gardolo, Italy: Erickson. Lucangeli, D., & Iannitti, A. (2004). The development of numerical knowledge [Lo sviluppo della conoscenza numerica]. In: R. Vianello & D. Lucangeli (Eds), The development of children’s understanding [Lo sviluppo delle conoscenze nel bambino]. Bergamo, Italy: Edition Junior. (in Italian). Lucangeli, D., Molin, A., Poli, S., & Cortesi, O. (2001). PRCR number battery [Unpublished test]. Department of General Psychology, University of Padova, Padova, Italy. Lucangeli, D., & Tressoldi, P. E. (2002). The development of numerical knowledge: At the origins of ‘‘numbers understanding’’ [Lo sviluppo della conoscenza numerica: alle origini del ‘‘capire i numeri’’]. Giornale Italiano di Psicologia, 29(4), 701–723. (in Italian). McCloskey, M., Caramazza, A. & Basili, A. (1985). Cognitive mechanism in number processing and calculation. Evidence from dyscalculia. Brain and Cognition, 4, 171–196.


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Moog, J. S., & Geers, A. E. (1990). Early speech perception test for profoundly hearing impaired children. St. Louis, MO: Central Institute for the Deaf. Roid, G. H., & Miller, L. J. (1997). Leiter International Performance Scale – Revised. Wood Dale, IL: Stoelting. [ed. Italiana per Organizzazioni Speciali, Firenze, 2002.] Schlumberger, E., Narbona, J., & Manrique, M. (2004). Non-verbal development of children with deafness with and without cochlear implants. Developmental Medicine & Child Neurology, 46, 599–606. Stella, G., Pizzoli, C., & Tressoldi, P. (2000). II Peabody test. Test di vocabolario recettivo. Torino: Omega. Szagun, G. (2001). Language acquisition in young German-speaking children with cochlear implants: Individual differences and implications for conceptions of a ‘‘sensitive phase’’. Audiology and Neurology, 6, 288–297. Willstedt-Svensson, U., Lo¨fqvist, A., Almqvist, B., & Sahleń, B. (2004). Is age at implant the only factor that counts? The influence of working memory on lexical and grammatical development in children with cochlear implants. International Journal of Audiology, 43(9), 506–515. Wynn, K. (1999). Numerical competence in infants. In: C. Donlan (Ed.), The development of mathematical skills: Studies in developmental psychology (pp. 3–15). Hove, UK: Psychology Press.


CO-TEACHING IN INCLUSIVE CLASSROOMS: RESULTS OF QUALITATIVE RESEARCH FROM THE UNITED STATES, CANADA, AND AUSTRALIA Kimberly A. McDuffie, Thomas E. Scruggs and Margo A. Mastropieri ABSTRACT Thirty-two qualitative research reports on co-teaching in inclusive classrooms, identified through a comprehensive literature search, are reviewed. Studies have included significant diversity in grade level, geographical location, setting, and took place in three different countries. Overall, teachers and administrators reported a high degree of satisfaction with coteaching. However, a number of needs were also addressed, including administrative support, appropriate caseloads, planning time, student skill level, and co-teacher compatibility. Implications for research and practice are discussed. Many schools recently have implemented ‘‘co-teaching’’ (Cook & Friend, 1995) as a method for promoting effective instruction in inclusive


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classrooms. Co-teaching as presently implemented typically consists of a single general education teacher paired with one special education teacher in a classroom of general and special education students (see Mastropieri & Scruggs, 2007, Chapter 2). Within this arrangement, a number of possible variations has been identified (Friend & Cook, 2003; Walther-Thomas, Korinek, McLaughlin, & Williams, 2000), including the following: (a) one teach, one assist (or, one ‘‘drift’’), where one teacher (frequently, the general education teacher) assumes most of the teaching responsibilities, while the other teacher provides support to individual students as needed (this variation is not strongly recommended by most authors, and Walther-Thomas et al. (2000) did not mention this variation); (b) station teaching, where students move across various learning stations, while co-teachers provide individual support at different stations; (c) parallel teaching, where teachers teach students in different classroom groupings; (d) alternative teaching, which involves one teacher teaching a small group of students in a different location; and (e) team teaching (or interactive teaching), a highly recommended practice where co-teachers share responsibilities equally, and take turns equally in leading instruction. Several reviews of co-teaching have been previously published. Friend and Reising (1993) described the history of co-teaching, and concluded that research was limited and mostly anecdotal; but generally suggested that it had a positive effect on student achievement. Welch, Brownell, and Sheridan (1999) reviewed 40 articles on team teaching, including technical reports, anecdotal reports, or position papers. They concluded that teachers had positive attitudes toward co-teaching, but empirical data in support of the effectiveness of co-teaching were limited. Weiss and Brigham (2000) reviewed 23 quantitative and qualitative studies of co-teaching, and reported that considerable variability was apparent in the way teachers arranged co-taught classes. However, typically the general education teacher was concerned with instructional content, while the special education teacher typically was responsible for modifying instruction, behavior management, and monitoring student progress. Some evidence was presented that the standard of individualized instruction may not be met for students with disabilities. Important variables included the teacher attitude and mutual respect, sufficient planning time, voluntary participation, administrative support, and compatibility; however, efficacy data were insufficient.

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The problem of efficacy data was highlighted by Murawski and Swanson (2001), who conducted a ‘‘meta-analysis’’ of quantitative efficacy research on co-teaching, and identified only six relevant research reports. The average effect size (standardized mean difference) of 0.40 was in the moderate range; however, overall the data set was too small to draw firm conclusions. Dieker and Murawski (2003) discussed co-teaching in secondary schools, and emphasized the need for of teacher preparation, sufficient planning time, and the mastery of relevant content knowledge by special education teachers. Large class sizes and high-stakes testing were identified as particular areas of concern. In a more recent review, Weiss (2004) concluded that most of studies reviewed concluded that the personalities or teaching styles of the teachers were particularly important. She also reported that the role of the special education teacher was often vague, as were the stated outcomes of co-teaching. Weiss also reiterated the need for additional efficacy research. A number of other publications, although not strictly literature reviews, discussed issues relevant to co-teaching based upon previous research and personal experiences (Gately & Gately, 2001; Keefe, Moore, & Duff, 2004; Murawski & Dieker, 2004; Vaughn, Schumm, & Arguelles, 1997). These authors emphasized the importance of such variables as administrative support, training, establishing co-teacher roles, shared ownership of all students, effective planning (and sufficient time for planning), shared classroom management, knowledge of relevant content and strategies, and appropriate assessment. Although several previous authors have concluded that data addressing the overall effectiveness of co-teaching are limited, there are nevertheless a number of qualitative studies that can provide important descriptive and analytical information on the practice and procedures of co-teaching, as currently implemented. The purpose of this chapter is to provide a traditional literature review of qualitative research in co-teaching, in order to arrive at general conclusions about the state of co-teaching, and provide implications for future research and practice (for a qualitative ‘‘meta-synthesis’’ of these same studies, see Scruggs, Mastropieri, & McDuffie, in press).

METHOD Selection Criteria and Search Procedures Studies included for this review employed the search criteria described by Scruggs et al. (in press). Studies employed qualitative research methods as a

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primary methodology, although some studies also employed quantitative methodology. Included studies had to focus on co-teaching as a primary research question; for that reason, qualitative studies of inclusion, or students with disabilities in inclusive classrooms, without specific reference to any co-teaching relationship as a research question, were not included (e.g., Zigmond, 1995; Zigmond & Baker, 1994). Search procedures included the search of the electronic databases PsychINFO, ERIC, Dissertation Abstracts, and Dissertations Online, using descriptors such as co-teaching, inclusion, mainstreaming, and cooperative teaching. Wildcard versions as well as multiple versions of these terms, e.g., include, inclusive, included, mainstream, co-teach, coteach, were also employed. An ancestry and descendant searches were also conducted of references, and cited research, using the Social Sciences Citation Index. Finally, relevant journals, e.g., Exceptional Children, Journal of Special Education, Learning Disabilities Research & Practice, Remedial and Special Education, were hand-searched for relevant reports. We did not set any deliberate time limits in the search. However, the first formal qualitative studies of coteaching as it is presently known appeared around the mid-1990s, according to our search procedures.

RESULTS Search procedures revealed a total of 32 qualitative studies. Participants in these reports included 454 co-teachers, 42 administrators, 142 students, 26 parents, and 5 support personnel. Participating schools were in geographically diverse areas, representing states in the northeast, mid-Atlantic, southeast, midwest, southwest, and west coast of the United States. A smaller number of investigations also studied co-teaching practices in Canada and Australia. Identified studies also represented a wide range of grade levels: primary, preschool, or elementary school classrooms were studied in 15 (elementary) investigations; junior high, middle school, or high school classrooms were studied in 14 investigations (secondary); while both elementary and secondary classrooms were studied in 3 investigations. These schools and classrooms were located in urban (n ¼ 8), suburban (n ¼ 9), rural (n ¼ 4), and a combination of regions (n ¼ 5; 6 were not reported). In nearly one-third of cases (10), the authors described classrooms as ‘‘outstanding’’ examples of co-teaching; others were described as more typical or representative of the co-teaching experience. Although some of the co-taught

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classrooms were clearly not successful, none was selected specifically for this reason. Further, in some investigations (e.g., Hazlett, 2001), some teachers declined to participate because of problems in the co-teaching relationship they did not wish to discuss. Overall, then, the classrooms studied may be more representative of successful co-teaching arrangements than is found in the general population. In this review, studies are organized by elementary (including preschool), middle, and secondary school environments; and combinations of grade levels. Within these categories, studies are divided by participants: teachers, students, or teachers and students (some administrators are also included). Several of these investigations were also reviewed by McDuffie (2006).

Elementary Schools Teachers Salend et al. (1997) studied two kindergarten teachers who co-taught an inclusive classroom with 7 students with disabilities and 17 without disabilities, using an open-ended, non-directed dialogue journal, which included their thoughts, observations, successes, conflicts, and reactions to various experiences. The authors examined how the relationship between the general and special education teachers evolved over time, the concerns they had about co-teaching and how they expressed and resolved those concerns, and which factors contributed to the development of a successful co-taught classroom. Findings suggested that both co-teachers had a difficult time adjusting to co-teaching. Their concerns about co-teaching included differences in co-teaching roles, teaching styles, and philosophical beliefs about teaching. As the school year progressed, the teachers began to recognize and respect each other’s strengths, which provided opportunities to experiment with new teaching methodologies. They also began to create a sense of community, and begin to change their vocabulary from ‘‘your/my’’ class to ‘‘our’’ class. In addition, both teachers believed that co-teaching enhanced students’ academic and social skills. Finally, both teachers recognized that the principal was instrumental in the success of this co-teaching relationship. Vesay (2004) studied three pairs of early childhood co-teachers in inclusive preschool classrooms. Using in-depth interviews and classroom observations, Vesay noted the particular importance of the co-teaching relationship. She concluded that considerations of great importance included voluntary commitments to co-teaching; shared philosophy and beliefs; shared ownership; mutual respect; and adequate support for planning

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and coordination. Flexibility in problem solution was also noted as important. Unlike other investigations, the co-teaching teams studied by Vesay shared responsibilities when planning lessons and when delivering instruction. Differences did occur on assessment-related tasks. These teachers commonly used the one-teach, one-assist model, with co-teachers alternating lead teaching roles. Parallel teaching was often employed in small group work. Rosa (1996) studied three pairs of co-teachers, in pre-kindergarten, kindergarten, and first-grade classrooms, paying particular attention to the relationship between the pairs of teachers. Rosa collected data over an eightmonth period, using sources including interviews, classroom observations, observations of team planning, and documents. Teachers agreed co-teaching had been beneficial for themselves and for children with and without disabilities. Their reported concerns focused on ‘‘turf ’’ issues, perceived expectations and imbalance of workload, and in making adjustments to accommodate co-teaching practices. Particularly at first, the special education tended to be regarded as the ‘‘disciplinarian,’’ and the general education teacher the expert in content. With effort and experience, these roles moderated somewhat over time. Rosa’s analysis is notable for successes as well as the challenges of coteaching. One finding suggests co-teaching assignments should be voluntary rather than appointed, a commonly expressed view in this set of studies (e.g., Buckley, 2005; Curtin, 1998; Frisk, 2004; Hazlett, 2001; Norris, 1997; Thompson, 2001). However, it is difficult to know how such a ‘‘policy,’’ based upon volunteerism, could be effectively implemented (see Baker & Zigmond, 1995). When describing a problematic co-teaching arrangement, Rosa (1996) commented, ‘‘the arrangement seemed doomed for a number of reasons. First, and possibly most important, the principal had come to Elaine and practically forced her to take Frances because nobody else wanted her’’ (pp. 137–138). This instance demonstrates how co-teaching, as other educational arrangements, can fall victim to perceived administrative necessities. Rosa concluded that several needs must be met for co-teaching to be successful. Although sufficient time for planning is essential, teachers cannot be expected simply to assume collaborative roles without adequate preparation. Rosa concluded that professional development can help teachers acquire the skills needed to implement co-teaching effectively. Thompson (2001) explored perceptions of 11 elementary school coteachers, including two special education teachers, two gifted and talented teachers, and seven general education teachers, on the following

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variables: (a) daily activities, (b) roles and responsibilities, (c) thoughts and feelings, and (d) reflections on the meaning of co-teaching. Data were collected through a series of interviews, observations, and document analysis. Prior to interviewing, classroom observations took place. Next a series of three interviews were conducted which examined life history, details of the co-teaching experience, and reflection on the meaning of their co-teaching experience. Furthermore, photographs and scrapbooks provided by the teachers were examined to gather information about the participant’s coteaching experience. Findings indicated that co-teachers shared all responsibilities, such as co-planning, delivering instruction, disciplining students, and communicating with partners, on a daily basis. However, variance emerged within the roles and responsibilities within each co-teaching pair and the process of determining roles and responsibility were dependent upon expertise of the teachers. Participants reported benefits, such as increased knowledge of student ability, student tolerance, teacher retention, and professional growth. They also reported obstacles to co-teaching, such as finding a common planning time, student scheduling, and discipline. In addition, teachers noted that lack of conflict was a critical component to sustaining the co-teaching relationship. Overall, participants viewed coteaching as beneficial for all students and provided access to the general education curriculum for students with disabilities while still being able to meet their individual needs. Frisk (2004) studied the process of collaboration in nine elementary grade co-teachers, using personal interviews, Q-sort methodology, and focus group interviews. Frisk was particularly interested in linkages between co-teachers and the life span framework on collaboration advanced by John-Steiner (2000). Using the Q-sort methodology, unique to this set of investigations, Frisk asked participants to place each of 50-numbered statements into a bell-shaped distribution, with statements most characteristic of the co-teaching relationship to the left, and statements least like the coteaching relationship to the right. Statements included, for example, ‘‘my collaborator and I are both capable of working long hours,’’ and ‘‘excessive collaboration causes a collaboration to fail’’ (p. 162). Frisk’s conclusions emphasized the development of the co-teaching relationship, and the importance of sustaining a generative dialogue, mutual trust and respect, shared perspectives and values, and shared responsibilities. These considerations were relevant to more as well as less successful relationships. Bessette (1999) described, through a case study, the perspectives and experiences of two general education job-sharing teachers, and one special education teacher, on collaboration and co-teaching within a language-based

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integrated elementary classroom. Data sources included (a) bi-monthly planned discussions, (b) weekly classroom observations, (c) in-depth biographical and open-ended interview questions, (d) classroom documents, and (e) reflective journals kept by participants. Findings suggested that collaboration was an alliance formed by convergence of personalities, perspectives, and past experiences of the teachers involved in co-teaching. As a result of conflict in the classroom, collegial dialogue based upon mutual support and reflective thought was used as a catalyst to promote teachers’ personal and professional growth within co-teaching environments. Co-teachers’ oppositional perspectives did not necessarily preclude a state of inter-subjective functioning; and the idea of promoting professional growth through learning and working with tension in productive ways became a major theme in this study. Specifically, the focus of much of this investigation was upon a single student, ‘‘Michael,’’ and the difficulties the team had in accommodating his needs in the co-taught classroom Despite [Mary’s and Jen’s] efforts to bring his behavior under control, however, his behavior did not improve. The other children in the classroom, in fact, were afraid of him. Michael had a volatile personality and found it difficult to handle any level of stress. The language he frequently used in the presence of his peers was language that many of them had never heard before: swearing, sexual innuendoes, and inappropriate language. (p. 139)

Michael remained a challenging case throughout the observation period, with the two co-teachers taking somewhat different views of the issues which arose. Although it would be difficult to argue that a ‘‘solution’’ was reached, the state of conflict did strongly impact the development of the co-teaching relationship. This investigation also highlights the consequences of what Bessette (1999) referred to as ‘‘inappropriate student placements’’ (p. 176). Westberg (2001) studied nine co-teaching pairs and three administrators, in three elementary schools, regarding classrooms that included students with learning disabilities. She also considered change processes, and the way in which management functions impacted the co-teaching process. She interviewed administrators once and co-teachers at least twice each, and observed three times in each classroom. With respect to co-teaching roles, Westberg (2001) concluded by far, the most prevalent teaching configuration observed was one teaching, one assisting. The general education teacher was most frequently the lead teacher, while the special education teacher usually moved about the classroom and interacted as necessary with individual students, although not necessarily classified students. (p. 70)

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Westberg did observe, however, a number of different configurations, including station teaching, parallel teaching, alternate teaching, and team teaching (see Cook & Friend, 1995). It was noted that variability was exhibited in the manner in which co-teaching was implemented across sites, although change management functions were similar across sites. For example, in two of the classrooms, students were included who required substantial amounts of individualized or one-to-one instruction. She concluded that collaborative relationships and roles were largely a function of personal teaching styles and individual preferences, followed closely by needs of included students. Students were said to have improved in social and behavioral domains, although only one site reported improved academic functioning. Overall, teachers reported few behavioral problems they could not accommodate. Most teachers felt that students benefited greatly from increased exposure to the general education classroom, although some expressed concern for a relative loss of specialized attention and the fact that the inclusion setting for some students ‘‘seems to make their disabilities more evident and seems to weaken their self-esteem’’ (p. 94). At the first school, all teachers were positive about co-teaching and wished to see it continue. At this site, however, all teachers had volunteered for the co-teaching assignment. At the second and third school, opinions were mixed. Although all teachers reported positive aspects of co-teaching and wished to see it continue on a school level, three of the six teachers in the second school, and two of the four teachers in the third school expressed a desire to discontinue their own co-teaching role, as least for a period of time. All teachers expressed concerns for shortcomings of specific programs. One commonly expressed concern was for adequate planning time. Students Drietz (2003) examined the perceptions of co-teaching through the viewpoints of three sixth-grade students without disabilities and the perceptions of (a) co-teaching, (b) resource room teaching, and (c) traditional classroom through three sixth-grade students with disabilities, who participated in all three settings. All special education students participated in four interviews. The first interview was a ‘‘warm-up’’; the second interview was conducted after a traditional science class; the third after a reading lesson in the resource room; and the fourth after a co-taught language arts lesson. General education students participated in one interview, after a co-taught language arts lesson. All interviews involved yes–no, open-ended, and Likert-type interview questions. Overall, all students enjoyed having two teachers in the

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classroom due to the increase in availability of help provided. Furthermore, students with disabilities were satisfied with all methods of instruction explored but expressed preference for co-teaching due to the availability of help and opportunities to pay more attention in the co-taught class. Drietz (2003) concluded that the results of this investigation supported a continuum of services, with one option being co-teaching. Teachers and Students Pugach and Wesson (1995) studied the perceptions of nine students with learning disabilities, nine non-disabled peers, two general, and one special education teacher regarding co-teaching in their fifth-grade classrooms. The study focused on three major themes that included classroom social climate, instructional effect, and distribution of teachers’ roles and tasks. They reported that the perceptions of both groups of students were very positive, that they were performing better academically in the co-teaching setting, and that they viewed the general education teacher as the content specialist and the special education teacher as the helper. Teachers reported that they felt confident in meeting the needs of all students. Wood (1998) interviewed three teams of special and general education teachers in elementary classrooms, in which a student with severe disabilities had been included. Four parents and three students were also included. Interviews were conducted throughout an academic year, and noted development of teacher and parent roles over time. Wood noted considerable ambiguity regarding teacher roles. For example, one general educator stated, I would like a little more y guidance in terms of y are there things I’m doing? – not doing? That kind of thing. But I really get the sense that may be partly because [the special education teacher is] afraid of offending, too ... not wanting to step in y The academic stuff still just kind of hovers around me y If that’s my responsibility then I’ll take that and work with it. If that’s her responsibility, I just would like a lot more clarity in that. (p. 187)

Another general education teacher remarked, I think my concern about this role and about putting these children into a regular classroom is that the services seem a little disjointed to me. It seems like one week we get a lot of input from [the special education teacher] and the next week she’s not really around at all y It’s just this constant feeling of fragmentation. (p. 191)

Another concern arose from the initial separation of roles and responsibilities of different co-teachers. Wood noted that role perceptions became less rigid over time as cooperation increased. She suggested that co-teachers consider that ‘‘successful and competent inclusion takes patience,

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perseverance, and time’’ (p. 194), and that sufficient support be allocated in order to allow truly collaborative relationships to evolve. Carlson (1996) conducted a case study using an interpretive inquiry through an ethnographic approach, examining the nature of co-teaching through the point of view of a co-taught fifth/sixth-grade classroom with 38 students, 16 of whom had special needs, their parents, principal, and six other teachers engaged in co-teaching. In addition to classroom observations, interviews were conducted with the special and general education teachers of the co-taught class, 12 students, 6 of whom had special needs, their parents, the school’s principal, and six other co-teachers in the school. Results indicated that the nature of co-teaching was based on open communication and joint planning. Benefits for teachers included (a) professional development, (b) feedback and understanding to affirm one’s teaching practices, (c) compensating weaknesses by the strengths of the other teacher, (d) sharing the challenge and responsibility to meet the needs of all students, (e) high energy level in the classroom, and (f) the presence of two teachers allowed more ideas for solutions when problems occurred. Benefits to students included (a) more one-to-one instruction, (b) closer teacher–student relationships, (c) students with disabilities were provided with positive peer modeling, and (d) greater sense of belonging. The major themes of effective co-teaching included (a) communication, (b) shared philosophy or value system, (c) belief in self, (d) flexibility, (e) balance, (f) support, and (g) synergy. Tarrant (1999) studied a primary mixed-grade co-taught classroom as teachers implemented an early literacy curriculum designed for use in cotaught classrooms. Data sources included observations and written reflections, audio- and videotapes, interviews with teachers and students, and classroom documents. Teachers reported that they were very comfortable with the co-teaching arrangement, and student interviews suggest that the concept of a classroom taught by two teachers was very easily accepted. Tarrant (1999) described the use of station teaching during a literacy period, which included five different stations. In the first station, students reviewed relevant vocabulary words with a classroom volunteer; in the second, students read chorally a story from their basal text with the other teacher; in the third, students worked on a spelling activity on computers; and in the fourth station, students engaged in a synonym activity with flash cards with the other teacher. In the fifth station, students worked independently on seatwork, or wrote in their journals. Students worked at each station for 20 min, which was monitored by a timer. Students also participated in ‘‘Partner Reading,’’ where they read with partners of similar ability, although special and general education students

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were often paired together. Students also completed ‘‘Reading Response Logs,’’ where they recorded the title of the book, a brief description, and the parts of the book enjoyed best and least. Students also engaged in partner spelling and other collaborative activities, such as ‘‘Sharing Chair.’’ Tarrant (1999) concluded that the co-teachers had been successful in promoting a community of literacy learning, and promoting development of critical reading skills. Teachers promoted learning by using visual prompts and organizers, cognitive strategies, promoting problem solving in reading, and encouraging self-questioning. Support was provided for the classroom in the demonstration of student progress in written work, and on pre–post tests. Antia (1999) studied co-teaching in elementary classrooms in which deaf and hard-of-hearing students were included, over a period of three years, using classroom observations and interviews. Antia interviewed three classroom teachers, two special education teachers, three students, three interpreters, the school principal, and the special education coordinator. Field notes obtained from live observations and videotapes of each classroom were also included, as well as notes taken during classroom visits and conversations with teachers and administrators. Antia noted that shared ‘‘ownership’’ of the students with disabilities was a key ingredient for a successful co-teaching relationship; however, the roles were sometimes strained because of this, particularly when ownership resulted in different programming considerations. The general education kindergarten teacher stated ‘‘I think I have been fighting for control ... and to establish territory.’’ She stated: ‘‘Nobody has really asked me who can really affect my problem. The special-education coordinator and Kay [the special educator] have never asked me what I want. Because they’re ... the experts. They know better than I do, or they think that they know better than I do.’’ (p. 211)

Other, related issues had to do with special educator caseload, pullout time, ‘‘visitor’’ status in the classroom, and adaptations. Generally, special education teachers felt that students with hearing impairments needed more individual time with them to enhance learning. Because of the high caseloads, special education teachers could not work in the general education classroom as much as they may have liked, with the result that the general education teachers felt they were only ‘‘visiting’’ in the classroom and did not completely understand the dynamics. Special education teachers, on the other hand, did not feel that sufficient adaptations were being made in the general education class. Additional time for planning and communication were also noted as important issues to be resolved.

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Luckner (1999) studied co-teaching in two classrooms that included deaf students and students with hearing impairments. Participants included two teachers of students who were deaf or hard of hearing, four general education teachers, two administrators, 10 normally hearing students and 10 students who were deaf or hard of hearing, and 10 parents, five of hearing children and five parents of children with hearing loss. All teachers involved in co-teaching in these classrooms were interviewed. Two administrators were also interviewed, including one general education principal, and one special education administrator. All participants in the investigation reported satisfaction with the co-teaching arrangement, specifically because of the increased collegiality, collaboration, increased attention, accommodations, and exposure of all students to the general education curriculum with special supports. In addition, participants reported increased responsibility, social skills, and communication. Since many of these reports reflected inclusive classrooms, it is not always easy to attribute benefits to co-teaching, rather than to inclusive education per se. To the extent that inclusion is facilitated by co-teaching, however, the positive reports of benefits are relevant. Respondents, particularly the co-teachers, also reported some areas of concern. Among these were the need for additional time, particularly for planning; interpersonal skills and a commitment to the principle of co-teaching in inclusive classrooms; and bridging the communication gap between teachers and students who differed in their signing ability. Luckner (1999) concluded by emphasizing both the rewards and challenges of co-teaching. Summary In summary, several studies have examined the perceptions of elementary students and teachers and results indicated an overall positive perception of elementary co-teaching. Overall, several benefits of co-teaching were noted, including: (a) increased professional development, (b) increased availability of help provided to students, (c) enhanced academic achievement, and (d) improved social skills (e.g., Carlson, 1996; Drietz, 2003; Pugach & Wesson, 1995; Salend et al., 1997; Thompson, 2001). These studies also suggested that certain elements affected the success or failure of co-teaching, which included (a) shared philosophy of education, (b) shared responsibility for students, (c) compatibility, (d) joint planning (and time for planning), (e) training, and (f) clear specification of roles (e.g., Salend et al., 1997; Thompson, 2001). Some authors discussed how perceptions of roles can differ greatly between general and special education teachers (e.g., Wood, 1998), and others defined the general education teacher as the content specialist and the special education teacher as the helper (e.g., Pugach &

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Wesson, 1995). These elementary school studies provided a glimpse into the elementary classrooms that have participated in co-teaching and the perceptions of the teachers and students in those co-taught classes.

Middle Schools Teachers Norris (1997) investigated the process of developing a co-teaching relationship through the perceptions of co-teachers, one middle school special education teacher and one general education teacher, and their administrator by utilizing journal writings, classroom observations, and interviews. Findings suggested that co-teaching occurs in stages, which include (a) getting to know you, (b) conflict stage, and (c) the ‘‘norming’’ or setting expectations stage. In this investigation, some conflict arose regarding differing teaching approaches and differing conceptions of co-teaching roles. Norris (1997) wrote that the special education teacher, ‘‘identifying with the role in the regular classroom as one of an assistant with less than equal status and an inability to successfully meet the needs of students, became frustrated in the co-teaching process y’’ (p. 72). However, the general education teacher also expressed dissatisfaction, commenting, ‘‘I have not been teaching for thirty years for someone else to tell me how to teach’’ (p. 107). Such concerns underline the importance of collaboration and shared perspectives, and the importance of ongoing communication. Buckley (2005) examined how six teams of middle school social studies co-teachers (a) collaborated to share information about students with learning disabilities, (b) how the general education teacher used the Individual Education Plan (IEP) to provide strategies and accommodations, and (c) how co-teachers perceived their roles. Data sources included teacher interviews, classroom observations, and document review of IEPs. Finding suggests that IEPs, by themselves, are not a useful tool for general education teachers and cannot be relied upon for ensuring the individual needs of the student are being met. Therefore, collaboration among the special and general education teacher must occur to ensure these individual needs are being met. Furthermore, collaborative planning appeared to occur ‘‘on the fly,’’ and teachers suggested that a scheduled planning time would be much more effective. Further findings suggested that establishing and maintaining collaborative relationships required (a) getting to know one another, (b) close proximity so sharing can be on-going, (c) establishing a common philosophy, (d) dividing/sharing of responsibility, (e) effective conflict resolution

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skills, and (f) administration actively participating by supporting collaboration, allocating common planning time, and allowing the teachers to choose their partner. In addition, co-teachers agreed that the general education teacher controlled the classroom and special education teacher provided accommodations and modifications and dealt with behavior problems. Furthermore, special education teachers perceived the general education teacher as being inflexible and unwilling to accept students with learning disabilities into their classrooms and viewed them as the instructional and philosophical classroom leader who may or may not allow the special education teacher to take an active role in their classroom. On the other side, general education teachers perceived special education teachers as being overly protective, easy graders, and ultimately causing students harm by not holding them accountable. Morocco and Aguilar (2002) interviewed and observed 11 middle school co-teachers, and their administrators, to describe the models, roles, and practices of co-teaching in that school. Contrary to other investigations, Morocco and Aguilar (2002) observed a variety of co-teaching roles and responsibilities being carried out by general education and special education teachers. General education teachers spent more time setting up instruction and engaging students, delivering instruction, managing instruction, and motivating learning; while special education teachers spent more time monitoring and assisting instruction. Nevertheless, Morocco and Aguilar concluded that there was considerable overlap between roles The parity that has been found lacking in many co-teaching partnerships, where the special education teacher is often subordinate (Rice & Zigmond, 2000) is present in the dyads observed in this study. Some of the special education teachers in our sample were more active in providing instruction than others, yet all three contained a full range of instructional roles. (p. 342)

Morocco and Aguilar concluded that the observed role parity was the result in part of team orientation, shared decision-making power, and organizational structures to support collaborative teaching from the school level, and participation in professional development activities that facilitated content knowledge on the part of the special education teachers. High Schools Teachers Curtin (1998) described co-teaching in a secondary inclusive biology classroom through interviews focusing on instructional methods, lesson plans,

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classroom activities, accommodations, adaptations and communication and observations in the classroom, library, and computer lab. Results found that both teachers, the general and special education teacher, actively and equally participated in teaching the content and utilized a variety of coteaching models, including one teach, one assist; team teaching; and alternate teaching. Communication skills, more specifically listening skills, were viewed as the critical component that made this co-teaching experience successful. Furthermore, the special education teacher became more content oriented and the general education teacher became more life skills oriented as a result of co-teaching. However, lack of planning time and the need for more professional development were concerns of both teachers. Hardy (2001) observed instructional behaviors and practices exhibited by two co-teachers in a secondary biology classes through (a) teacher interviews, including individual and joint interviews, (b) classroom observations, including shadowing the special education teacher for two days, (c) a classroom climate scale designed to collect data throughout the class period, time sampling measuring opportunities to learn, and (d) students’ grades. Hardy concluded that the presence of a special educator in co-taught classes (a) contributed to the creation of a new learning environment, (b) contributed specialized instruction for students with special needs, (c) embedded special education practices related to planning and decision making, (d) contributed to the creation of a successful co-teaching partnership including the use of effective teaching behaviors, and (e) impacted the success of some students with disabilities. However, Hardy noted that there were few classroom arrangements such as peer mediation, and very little individualization for students with special needs. Hardy concluded, ‘‘the teachers used wholeclass activities 100% of the time y students with disabilities in the co-taught classrooms followed the same sequence of activities and used the same materials as peers’’ (p. 185). Such concerns emerged in very many of these research reports, particularly on the secondary level. Magiera, Smith, Zigmond, and Gebauer (2005) observed in co-taught high school math classes taught by 10 pairs of general and special education teachers. Forty-nine observations focused on narrative descriptions of the roles of teachers during which every 5 min observers also specifically recorded the role of both teachers. Teachers were also interviewed about their co-teaching experiences. Overall, findings with respect to the roles of both general and special education teachers are somewhat disappointing with respect to descriptions of optimal co-teaching. The most frequently observed role of both teachers was monitoring independent practice, for example, ‘‘General education teacher gave in-class assignment and wrote on the

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blackboard y Special and general education teachers circulated’’ (Magiera et al., p. 21). Another frequent role was the general educator functioning as the primary instructor while the special educator observed and/or assisted students. For example, a description provided in field notes remarked, ‘‘General education teacher continued the lesson using the overhead,’’ and, ‘‘Special education teacher circulated around the room’’ (Magiera et al., p. 21). Not only was team teaching observed infrequently (less than 9 of the 49 observations) but when observed, lasted a very short time. Special education teachers were only observed in 45-minute segments across all observations and classes as the primary class instructor. Teacher interviews corroborated the observational findings in that special education teachers were viewed as supportive but not primary instructors in the classes. This distinction was not always viewed positively by special education teachers as reflected in the statement by one special education teacher: ‘‘I think a lot of times at the high school level, you can see teachers getting into a lecture routine type of thing y there are so many more possibilities y’’ (Magiera et al., p. 22). Authors concluded that teachers in these classes really shared co-assignments within the classes rather than co-teaching. Rice and Zigmond (2000) examined, through interviews and observations, the roles and responsibilities of co-teachers, and factors that influence the development of co-teaching in Australia and Pennsylvania high schools. Participants included 17 teachers, 8 from Australia and 9 from Pennsylvania. Findings suggested that there were no cultural differences, and teachers’ experiences with co-teaching were very similar. First, teachers reported effective implementation of co-teaching required (a) a school-wide common philosophy of inclusion practices, (b) compatibility among co-teachers, and (c) overcoming entrenched attitudes and administrative barriers. Second, teachers reported that co-teaching benefited teachers professionally and students by providing additional help. Teachers reported that special education teachers (a) were seldom given equal status in co-teaching relationships, and (b) had to prove that they were capable of teaching and making contributions to the class. Zigmond and Matta (2004) observed 41 high school co-teaching pairs in 14 high schools in Western Pennsylvania and Western New York State. These high schools were located in urban (6), suburban (6), and rural (2) school districts. Classes observed included math, science, English, and social studies classes. Observers recorded, in 5-minute segments, the roles teachers had assumed, in handwritten narrative notes. An important consideration was the level of contact maintained by the special education

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teacher. Although frequent contact with students was noted, special education teachers only rarely assumed primary responsibility for instruction – spending more time observing, drifting, or taking notes than they spent teaching collaboratively. The most common activity for the special education teacher was in lending support, including interacting with individual or small groups of students while the general education teacher directed a lesson, or while doing independent seatwork. Even then, the special education teacher frequently engaged in directing or redirecting students rather than assisting with academic content. Zigmond and Matta concluded The second teacher was a nice addition, an occasional relief for the GET [general education teacher], and more attention to students when class is organized for small group (team) or independent seatwork. But none of what we saw would make it more likely that the students with disabilities in the class would master the material. We did not hear the SETs [special education teachers] chime in with carefully-worded elaborative explanations y We virtually never saw the SET provide explicit strategic instruction to facilitate learning or memory of the content material. If students with disabilities were mastering the content and earning passing grades in these high school courses, it was not because of something special the SET was doing in this class. If students with disabilities were not mastering the content, and not earning passing grades, given what we know about the usefulness of strategic, intensive, relentless instruction for students with learning disabilities, the kind of coaching and team teaching we saw was not likely to make much difference in academic achievement. (p. 73)

Feldman (1998) studied how three pairs of secondary special and general education co-teachers cooperatively planned to accommodate students with learning disabilities in the general education classroom. More specifically, pre-planning, interactive planning, and post-planning phases of co-teaching were examined in relation to teacher, environment, and student factors. Observations took place during the planning process, teaching of the lesson, and interviews were conducted immediately following the lesson. During the pre-planning stage, co-teachers planned lessons in a very traditional way, including their individual roles and accommodations for students with disabilities. One team primarily focused on the content and instructional approach, where as another team focused primarily on the social/behavior element. Overall, approximately 74% of their time was devoted to student factors, 20% to teacher factors, and only 6% to environmental factors. However, co-teachers did not prepare individual lesson plans to accommodate students with disabilities. During the lesson, both teachers monitored students to ensure on-task behavior but monitored the understanding of the lesson to a lesser extent. Furthermore, both teachers often provided accommodations to the entire class and in some isolated instances provided specialized accommodations to students with special needs.

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In post-planning, the teachers spent 69% of their time discussing student factors, 23% discussing teacher factors, and only 8% discussing environmental factors. Of the time spent discussing student factors, 66% was spent on general content area issues for the class as a whole, where as only 12% was spent on discussing specific academic problems for students with special needs. As for the type of co-teaching (e.g., one teach, one support; team teaching; and taking turns as the lead teacher), each team differed greatly on their approach; however, there were very little changes lesson to lesson once the roles were established. Trent (1998) conducted a case study of a high school history general education teacher who had co-taught with two different special education teachers during a two-year time span. Through interviews, observations, and archival data, the experiences of this teacher were explored. The first year, the co-teachers had a common planning period, very compatible, and shared goals of trying to ensure the success of students with disabilities in the general education classroom. The general education teacher presented the content and the special education teacher monitored students, provided assistance, made adaptations, and taught organizational skills. Benefits for the special education teacher included learning how to handle a larger class, and improving her content knowledge. Benefits for the general education teacher included learning how to modify curriculum. Benefits to students included smaller teacher–student ratio, helpful study guides, and organizational skill activities. However, the special education teacher perceived that she was not utilized to her full capacity and this could have been caused by the lack of time for adequate planning. The second year, the co-teacher received training and a common planning period. Roles were quickly defined which included the general education teacher delivering instruction and the special education teacher monitoring behavior and performance. This year, the co-teachers experienced many more problems, which might have been caused by lack of (a) effective communication, (b) shared responsibility, (c) lack of planning, and (d) lack of administrative support. The only perceived benefit was a second pair of eyes and hands in the classroom. Teachers and Students Dieker (2001) studied nine secondary co-taught teams, perceived as effective by their school administrators, to identify variables that made co-teaching successful in order to uncover a generalized model for other secondary coteachers to follow. Data sources included classroom observations, documentation of the amount of time spent in planning, interviews with students,

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two students considered at-risk and two students considered as gifted/talented, and special and general education teachers. The following characteristics were found: (a) creating positive learning environments where all students are accepted as members of the classroom, (b) positive perceptions of co-teaching by all participants, (c) providing instruction involving active learning, (d) setting and maintaining high expectations for both academic and behavior performance, (e) allocating time to plan and ensuring that it is utilized wisely, and (f) using multiple methods to evaluate student progress. Therefore, Dieker recommended the following for effective co-teaching: (a) conduct a pre-planning session, (b) prepare a positive climate, (c) consider the affect of academic and behavioral needs on co-teaching, (d) set academic and behavioral goals, (e) clarify roles for both teachers, (f) secure a common planning time, (g) ensure that continuum of services options are available to students, and (h) develop an evaluation plan. Summary Several of the studies reviewed provided an overview of co-teaching, benefits and barriers of effective co-teaching, and on how co-teaching plays out in the classroom. However, a few studies focused on one particular element of co-teaching. For example, one study examined the planning process of coteaching and how co-teachers utilized their time (Feldman, 1998), while another examined the contributions that special education teachers made in a co-taught class (Hardy, 2001).

Combination of Levels of Schools Teachers Yoder (2000) conducted a case study at three schools, two high schools and one middle school, which included interviews, classroom observations, and document analysis, to determine the characteristics that contribute to the success or failure of co-teaching through the experiences of general and special education co-teachers and administrators located at three different schools. Participants included four special education teachers, four general education teachers, and three administrators. Findings indicated that these teachers defined their co-teaching roles by the level of expertise of each teacher. Furthermore, they stated administrators played a vital role by (a) providing time and resources for continual professional development, (b) ensuring that a common planning time was available for co-teachers, (c) providing scheduling assistance, and (d) monitoring the size of special

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education teacher’s caseload. In addition, personal characteristics, such as common philosophy on the inclusion of special education students, shared sense of responsibility and ownership of the classroom, compatible behaviors and classroom management, respect, trust and self-confidence, and effective communication skills were vital in their success of co-teaching. They suggested that inadequate planning time, territorial behaviors, personality conflicts, inflexibility in teaching styles, and large caseloads that required additional time hindered their success of co-teaching. Austin (2001), after surveying 139 teachers, conducted semi-structured interviews of 12 co-teachers of differing grade levels. Most teachers felt that co-teaching was beneficial for students and for the professional development of teachers. Special education co-teachers mentioned an increase in their content knowledge, and general education co-teachers mentioned increased skill in classroom management and curriculum adaptation. Austin (2001) added, ‘‘most co-teachers stated that they were satisfied with their present co-teaching assignment but not with the level of support received from the school, noting that they needed more planning time’’ (p. 251). Conclusions included (a) collaborative practices, preparations, and supports that are provided to co-teachers were less valuable in practice than in theory; (b) teachers expressed a lack of knowledge about co-teaching and suggested that in-service training be conducted to address those needs; (c) general education teachers were perceived as contributing more time and effort toward teaching in an inclusive setting; however, (d) general and special education teachers believed that co-teaching benefited all students academically and socially. Hazlett (2001) interviewed nine special education, general education teachers, and two instructional assistants to about co-teaching. Interestingly, fully half of the teachers solicited declined to participate in this investigation, citing problems they did not wish to discuss, such as It (co-teaching) being the first year, there are too many bugs to work out. I’m really having a tough time and don’t want to participate. I have a personality clash with one and would feel uncomfortable speaking about a fellow colleague. Some of my comments might inadvertently leak out and it would haunt me later. (p. 116)

Results suggested co-teachers must share a common belief about inclusion and communicate openly. Second, teachers emphasized the importance of joint planning and how stress decreased dramatically and teachers’ instructional skills were increased when joint planning was provided and utilized in

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a productive manner. Third, training needed to continually occur at the district level to ensure effective co-teaching. Weiss and Lloyd (2002) compared the roles of secondary special education teachers in co-taught and self-contained settings. Participants included three high school and three middle school special education teachers. Through the use of classroom observations, in both self-contained and co-taught classes, interviews, and document analysis, they concluded that during co-taught classes, special educators engaged in actions that helped students complete assignments and provided instruction to the entire class. These actions might include providing support to students, providing oneon-one instruction, or co-teaching with general education teacher. Although the same type of actions were observed in self-contained classrooms, different strategic and explicit forms of these actions were utilized. Ward (2003) investigated general educators’ ideas about collaboration with special education teachers in the middle and high school setting. Twenty-two general education teachers participated in 10 focus group interviews, which explored the definition of collaboration and how and why effective general educators work with special educators. Ward provided the participants with an Effective Collaborators’ Checklist, which was a research-based checklist of key components, such as communication skills, problem-solving skills, and interpersonal skills, of effective co-teaching. The majority of general educators defined collaboration using the components from this checklist and stressed the importance of co-planning and a shared sense of ownership. However, their definitions lacked the concept of compatible personalities. Furthermore, they viewed the collaboration process as a continuum from consultation to co-teaching and the individual needs of the student determined which process was implemented. Although lack of time and administrative support were seen as barriers, overall co-teaching was perceived as a benefit to all teachers and students involved. Mastropieri et al. (2005) investigated experiences of several co-teachers, consisting of general and special education teachers, in science and social studies content area classes through observations, interviews, and document analysis. A total of four case studies, (a) upper elementary and middle school earth science, (b) middle school social studies, (c) high school world history, and (d) high school chemistry, were completed through observations, ranging from one semester to two years, and interviews. In addition, field notes, videotapes of classes, and artifacts were examined. Overall themes of the case studies included academic content, influence of highstakes testing, and compatibility of co-teachers. Findings indicated that in some cases, collaboration was extremely effective and promoted success for

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students with disabilities, where in others, barriers existed that prevented successful collaboration. First, the level of the special education teacher’s content knowledge sometimes created a barrier when it was less than the general education teacher’s content knowledge. Owing to this imbalance, which occurred more frequently in the upper grade levels, the general education teacher would quickly become the lead teacher and the special education teacher would assume the role of an instructional assistant. Second, high-stakes testing created an environment where teachers believed covering all of the content was more important than pedagogical features, which were commonly implemented by the special education teacher, and ultimately diminished the role of the special education teacher. Third, compatibility between the co-teachers was a vital component to the success or failure of co-teaching. When co-teachers were able to get along and work well together, students with disabilities were more likely to be successful in inclusive settings. However, when co-teachers were unable to work together and conflicts arose, it is much more challenging for students with disabilities to succeed in inclusive settings. One of the co-teaching arrangements described by Mastropieri et al. (2005), appeared exemplary in the sharing of responsibilities, including responsibility for adaptations as well as content presentation, by both coteachers of the inclusive fourth-grade classroom. Using a hands-on science curriculum and cooperative learning minimized the reliance on written text and emphasized actual experiences with the subject matter (ecosystems). Cooperative learning also helped promote access to the curriculum for all students, as did adaptations in the form of mnemonic strategies, adapted worksheets, and differentiated homework assignments employing parent involvement. Another feature that apparently led to the success of the classroom was the very high level of compatibility of the voluntary co-teachers, who willingly shared all responsibilities, and who created opportunities for a considerable amount of planning time. This co-taught classroom seemed similar in one respect to the investigation described by Tarrant (1999), in that researchers worked closely with carefully selected co-teachers to create optimal co-teaching environments. Such findings suggest that highly effective co-teaching arrangements are possible, even if not commonly observed. Walther-Thomas (1997) studied elementary and middle schools co-teachers and administrators using classroom observations, informal contacts, semistructured individual interviews, and school-developed documents. They reported that students had positive feelings about themselves as capable learners and felt that their academic performance was enhanced in the team taught setting. Students with disabilities improved their social skills and had

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stronger relationships with students without disabilities. Teachers felt an increase in their professional satisfaction, growth and collaboration, and personal support in general. However, many teachers expressed concerns about ‘‘poorly planned’’ classrooms, with excessive numbers of students with learning and behavior problems. These reports, along with several others (e.g., Bessette, 1999; Carlson, 1996; Feldman, 1998; Frisk, 2004; Pugach & Wesson, 1995; Ward, 2003) suggest student assignment to classrooms is an important consideration.

Summary Overall, these studies have created a solid foundation of what co-teaching looks like in the classroom, and the perceptions of teachers and students regarding co-teaching. This body of research suggested essential elements for co-teaching include such things as (a) administrative support, (b) communication, (c) flexibility, and (d) compatibility among the co-teachers (e.g., Hazlett, 2001; Yoder, 2000). Furthermore, this research has provided a description of teacher’s roles in a co-taught class (e.g., Weiss & Lloyd, 2002); and it has provided a rich description of co-teaching that allows additional research, such as the instructional roles of special education teachers and the impact of co-teaching on academic achievement to be further explored.

DISCUSSION The 32 qualitative studies reviewed in this chapter were notable for their diversity in international and geographical setting, grade level, and subject matter taught. Across these studies, a number of consistent variables emerged – these variables were noted to be consistent across the United States, Canada, and Australia, as well as geographical locations within the United States. Perhaps most importantly, most teachers, administrators, parents, and students, when asked, agreed that co-teaching was a positive instructional arrangement, and most participants would like to see it continue. General reported benefits included academic and social benefits to special education and general education students, and professional benefits to co-teachers. Special education teachers frequently reported improved content knowledge, and general education teachers frequently reported improved skills in behavior management and instructional adaptations. Students, when asked, reported increased availability of teacher assistance.

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Nevertheless, a number of consistent concerns emerged, including teacher compatibility, communication and mutual respect, teacher preparation, sufficient planning time, administrative support, and co-teaching as a voluntary enterprise. Many teachers expressed the concern that students with very extreme behavioral or learning problems not be included in co-taught classrooms. Many of these variables were observed to be related to the emergence of significant problems in co-taught classrooms. Finally, it was unfortunate to note that, in many cases, general education co-teachers maintained traditional roles as lead teacher of whole-classoriented instruction, with the special education teacher assuming more of a subordinate, or helping role. Although this arrangement did allow for more teacher attention for students with and without disabilities in the general education classroom, overall the practice seems far removed from the coteaching models envisioned by Cook and Friend (1995) or Walther-Thomas et al. (2000). These models suggested that co-teaching could become an energized and innovative model of inclusive instruction, with teachers frequently alternating roles, and in which peer mediation and small group work, hands-on experiences, cooperative learning, and direct teaching of organizational and learning strategies would occur as needed. In these investigations, however, strategies demonstrated to be effective with special education students, such as learning and memory strategies, self-monitoring strategies, test-taking strategies, study skills, self-monitoring, and selfadvocacy (e.g., Mastropieri & Scruggs, 2007) were only rarely, if ever, reported. Although it can be argued that co-teaching is becoming more widely implemented, and is generally viewed favorably by students, parents, and school personnel, there remains substantial room for improvement. Specifically, teachers would benefit from training for collaboration, additional planning time, and administrative support. Co-teaching partners should be selected for compatibility and should be mutually supportive and committed to co-teaching. Finally, special education teachers should be regarded as much more than helpers in traditionally taught classes. Co-taught classrooms should become far more dynamic and innovative than these research reports suggest they presently are. Shared teaching responsibilities, handson experiences, small group learning and peer tutoring, and systematic strategy instruction where appropriate should be undertaken in all co-taught classrooms. Special education teachers should thoroughly familiarize themselves with the content of instruction, and general education teachers should become well versed in strategy instruction, curriculum adaptations, and individualization. Regular planned meetings with co-teachers and additional

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training can help ensure teachers will learn to appreciate each other’s strengths, and will learn to co-ordinate and share these strengths to deliver the most effective possible instruction for co-taught classes.

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SUBJECT INDEX Communication difficulties, 241, 244, 253, 257 Comorbidity, 139–140, 143, 145, 155, 158, 181, 188, 190–191 Co-teaching, 279, 311–335 Cyprus, 31, 108

Accreditation, 269, 272–273, 277 Achievement, 2, 21, 31, 48, 50–51, 60, 68–69, 71–72, 101–107, 109, 112, 117, 127–131, 168, 172–173, 182–183, 245–246, 251, 312, 323, 328, 334 Achievement goal theory, 102, 104 Adolescents, 28, 65, 74, 144, 171, 185, 191, 195, 198–203, 207–208 Anti-social behaviour, 67, 71 Argentina, 241 Assessment, 8, 28–32, 35, 37–39, 44–47, 60, 88, 93, 107, 130, 148, 159, 163, 165–168, 170–174, 176, 181–182, 191–192, 194, 197, 205–207, 223–224, 226, 234–237, 269, 272, 274, 286–289, 313, 316 Attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), 139–140, 223 Audiology, 285, 288–289, 293 Australia, 171, 311, 314, 327, 334

Deaf children, 258, 285–286, 289, 294, 301–303, 305–307 Depression, 144, 150, 153–157, 159–160 Direct instruction, 83, 85, 89, 94, 259 Discrepancy, 182–183, 206 Distractibility, 149, 152, 154–156, 159 Dutch children, 5 Dyslexia, 21–23, 25–26, 34, 52, 84, 94, 184, 278 Early identification, 1, 17, 25, 224–227, 237, 286 Early numeracy, 2, 4–5, 7, 10–12 Ecological perspective, 57, 59, 61, 63, 65, 67, 69, 71, 73 Elementary schools, 85, 108, 186, 315, 318 England, 32, 57–59, 66, 94, 167 Executive controlling system, 2–3 Expository text, 80–81, 83, 88–90, 92–95

Basic skills, 2, 58, 82, 84, 88–89, 93–96 Behavioral disabilities, 1, 21, 57, 79, 101, 139, 163, 165, 181, 223, 241, 265, 285, 311 Belgium, 181–187, 189, 191–193, 195, 197–201, 203, 205–207 Birth order, 181, 185, 187–188 Canada, 43, 87, 311, 314, 334 Classroom behavior, 101–103, 107, 109–112, 118, 128 Clinical practice, 44, 182, 187–188, 195, 207 Cochlear implants, 285

Families, 30, 139–140, 142–146, 148, 152, 155–159, 168–170, 175, 187, 262, 265, 269–270, 272, 277, 279 Finland, 29–30, 48–49, 51–52 Flanders, 184, 186 339

340 Gender, 28–29, 31, 147, 170, 174, 181, 185–187, 191 Germany, 61 Goal orientation, 101–107, 109–113, 115–117, 119, 121, 123–129 Goal structures, 101–111, 113, 115, 117–125, 127, 129–130 Good readers, 29, 38–39, 42, 47 Government, 21–24, 29–31, 50–51, 268 Graphic organizers, 80, 87, 92–93, 96 Greek students, 101 Hearing impairment, 286, 304, 322–323 Hearing loss (HL), 286 High school, 71–72, 80, 91, 93, 96, 146–147, 169, 174, 181, 279, 314, 325–330, 332 Immigrant families, 175 Inclusive classrooms, 311, 314, 323 Interpersonal relations, 146, 242–243, 245, 251 International education, 265, 267, 273 International schools, 265–281 IQ, 1, 6–7, 16, 37–38, 146, 182–183, 188, 286, 298–300, 305–306 Israel, 274–275 Italy, 233 Japan, 60–62 Kenya, 279 Kindergarten, 2, 5, 7, 15, 17, 32, 80, 82, 192, 223–224, 226–227, 233, 237, 315–316, 322 Learning disabilities, 1, 3–4, 6, 14, 17, 22, 79, 82, 103, 108, 140, 164, 174, 181–185, 187–188, 190–191, 195, 197–208, 224, 265, 268–273, 275–279, 314, 318, 320, 324–325, 328

SUBJECT INDEX Literacy, 21–24, 26, 28–29, 31–35, 45, 50–51, 185, 321–322 Math learning disabilities, 1, 4, 6, 14, 17 Mathematical disabilities, 22, 181–185, 187–193, 195, 197–199, 201, 203, 205–208 Mathematical problem solving, 186, 188, 195–197, 202–203 Mathematics, 1–7, 9, 11, 13–15, 17, 37, 39–40, 42, 60, 62, 80, 182, 184–186, 188, 191–192, 195, 197, 200–201, 204–206, 208 Mexico, 279 Middle schools, 324, 333 Morphological awareness, 32–33, 45 Motivation, 57–58, 60–61, 69, 72, 104, 128, 175, 224 Narrative text, 80–81, 83, 92, 94 Netherlands, 5, 85, 206 Norway, 21–32, 34, 44, 51–52 Norwegian children, 21, 27, 32 Numerical intelligence, 285–287, 289, 291, 293, 295, 297, 299, 301, 303, 305 Numerical knowledge, 194, 288, 290, 306 Occupational status, 164, 166–171, 173, 176 Office of Overseas Schools, 265, 268, 275–277 Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD), 139, 143, 147 Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), 21 Orthography, 21, 23, 34, 41, 86, 91 Parenting stress, 139–143, 145, 147–149, 151–153, 155–160 Parents, 30, 34, 61, 65–66, 71, 139–160, 164, 168–169, 172–173, 175, 187, 191,

Subject Index 195, 200, 223–228, 237, 254, 260, 266, 270–273, 278, 314, 320–321, 323, 334–335 Peer culture, 70–71, 74 Peer Assisted Learning Strategies (PALS), 83, 84, 88 Peers, 16, 22, 49–52, 62, 65, 67–70, 81, 84–89, 91, 141, 164, 185, 187–188, 190–191, 199–201, 204–205, 224–225, 244, 252, 254, 258–260, 262, 302, 305, 307, 318, 320, 326 Performance goals, 102–104, 107, 124, 127–128 Phonological awareness, 28, 32–35, 80, 95 Piagetian operations, 1, 5 Poor readers, 25, 30, 35, 38–39, 41–42, 44, 46 Preschool children, 174, 225, 228, 237–238, 285 Prevalence, 140, 181, 183–184, 187–188, 190, 206, 208, 224 Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA), 60 Punishment, 66, 102, 109, 112, 114, 116, 118–119, 121, 124–125 Qualitative research, 311, 313 Questionnaires, 170–172, 197, 251, 254 Rating scales, 223, 226–227 Reading comprehension, 25, 31, 34, 41, 45–46, 52, 79–83, 85–95, 200, 207 Reading development, 21–25, 27–29, 31–35, 37, 39–41, 43–45, 47, 49, 51 Reading disabilities, 21–23, 25, 27–29, 31, 33, 35, 37, 39, 41, 43–45, 47, 49, 51–52, 82, 94, 184, 187–188, 201

341 Reciprocal teaching, 85, 89, 91 Russia, 57, 59, 61–63, 65–66, 72, 74 Self-regulation, 69, 82–83, 88, 90, 95, 102, 141–142, 202, 243 Social abilities, 241–247, 249–257, 259–262 Social capital, 163, 165–166, 169–172, 174–176 Social competence, 241–244, 246, 252, 254–255, 257, 259–260, 262 Social interaction, 242, 247, 249, 252, 255–256, 259–261 Socialisation, 59, 65, 68 Socio-cultural level (SCL), 163 Socio-economic status (SES), 165 Soviet Union, 65, 67–68, 70–71 Spain, 85, 145 Special education, 22, 24, 49, 51, 58, 79–82, 89, 92, 129, 241–242, 244, 246, 250–251, 254–255, 265, 267, 269–270, 272, 275, 279–280, 312–320, 322–335 Speech perception, 287 Speech problems, 287 Speech sounds, 287 Speech therapy, 22, 287–288, 302 Spelling, 25–26, 28, 32, 36–37, 39–42, 48, 84, 86, 94, 188, 321–322 STICORDI devices, 181, 204, 208 Strategies, 25, 45, 49–52, 58, 73, 79–84, 88–92, 94–95, 103, 163, 166–169, 189, 202, 207, 223, 232, 245–246, 250–252, 255, 257, 259, 286, 313, 322, 324, 333, 335 Strategy instruction, 81, 83–84, 86, 89–92, 95, 335 Stress, 139–143, 145, 147–160, 318, 331 Syntactic awareness, 36, 39–42

342 Teachers, 22–23, 25–26, 28, 30–31, 44–46, 48–52, 57–61, 63, 65–75, 80, 84–85, 87, 89, 92, 96, 102, 108, 123, 128–131, 141, 194, 203–204, 223, 225–228, 232–233, 237, 246, 254–255, 260, 265–266, 269, 271–273, 275–277, 279, 311–336 Text enhancements, 81, 85, 87, 92–93 Third International Maths and Science Study (TIMSS), 60

SUBJECT INDEX United Kingdom, 60 United States, 26, 58, 60, 65, 72, 79, 167, 268, 274–275, 311, 314, 334 U.S. Department of State, 265, 268, 275 U.S.S.R., 67 Working memory, 1–17, 206, 223–224, 226, 229–232, 237, 301

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