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always in my back pocket
In his professional work
Dad was frequently accused of actively trying to cut off the branch upon which
he sat. He was a professional care giver, proud of the fact that he was actually
able to help people. But he became convinced that professional training wasn't
a pre-condition, but was perhaps even counter-productive, to that help. In his
wallet he carried a slip of paper that contained a synopsis of a review of professional
research, and if asked what he did, he was always happy to show this page to whoever
had asked him, and then explain why he thought peer self-help was both more effective
and, of course, less expensive, than professional psychological aid.
Though this take on
things has become, over the years, rather standard and accepted, thirty years
ago, when Dad was expressing it (and not only to friends, but at professional
conferences), it ran highly counter to the prevailing common knowledge.
Durlak, J.A. Comparative
effectiveness of paraprofessional and professional helpers.
Psychological
Bulletin, 1979. 86: 89-92 A recent review of 42 studies
comparing the clinical effectiveness of professional and paraprofessional helpers,
dealing with a fairly wide variety of problems. Among these studies, only one
could be found in which the professionals were significantly superior, no significant
differences were found between professionals and paraprofessionals in 28 studies,
and in 12 studies paraprofessionals were significantly more effective than professionals. Not
surprisingly, these findings led the author to conclude that "professional
mental health training, education and experience are not necessary prerequisites
for an effective helping person" (p. 89). |
I hardly ever get a chance to whip out that slip of paper and show people Dad's
take on his professional work. People rarely ask, and hardly know that there's
any reason they should. What's more, it's well beyond being legible. I, however,
come across that slip of paper just about every time I look for something else
in the soft plastic container that serves as my wallet. And when I find it, even
though I never really forgot that it was there, I once again get a glimpse into
Dad's iconoclastic take on things.
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