Moreover, as the children moved from fourth grade into adulthood, the power of class pushed their lives in such different directions that I could not pose the same interview questions to the group as a whole. Middle-class youths’ interviews were filled with questions about their college preparation classes, college searches, college choice, and college adjustment. As these young people told their stories, additional probing revealed that their parents had been an integral part of their transition to college. Working-class and poor youths’ interviews were filled with discussions of their difficulties in high school, challenges at work, and uncertain future goals. Some working-class and poor youth had undertaken college searches and enrolled in community college courses, but they had done so mainly on their own or with heavy involvement by teachers. Their parents had more circumscribed roles. The follow-up study suggests that over time the gap that existed between the families when the children were ten widened rather than narrowed.
Of course, there is significant variation among the members of all social classes. Some middle-class youth, like Melanie, have learning disabilities or other issues that lead them to not attend college. This in turn may limit their career chances and result in downward mobility—meaning that these individuals wind up in jobs that have lower prestige and lower pay than the ones held by their parents.70 Some working-class and poor youth, often with the assistance of an influential teacher, become first-generation college students. Armed with college degrees, they are able to defy the odds and become upwardly mobile. What is crucial to keep in mind, however, is that these are examples of variations. They tell us about what sometimes happens, not about the norm. As the lives of the families in Unequal Childhoods show, social class origins have effects that are powerful and long lasting. Middle-class families’ cultural practices, including their approach to child rearing, are closely aligned with the standards and expectations—the rules of the game—of key institutions in society. By contrast, relying on professionals to manage their children’s careers is an eminently reasonable decision for working-class and poor parents who have never been to college. But a reasonable decision is not necessarily an advantageous one. In schools especially, today’s institutional rules of the game require parents to be actively involved in order to maximize opportunities for their children. Despite their love for their children, it is harder for working-class and poor families, whose cultural practices and approaches to child rearing are not fully in sync with the institutional standards of schools, to comply with those standards. Finally, it is important to recognize that in American society, people who are blessed with class advantages tend to be unaware of these benefits and privileges. Instead, drawing on the American belief in individualism, they stress their own hard work and talent. They downplay, or do not even notice, the social class benefits bestowed upon them. Americans have, haltingly, developed a rudimentary language that allows us to “see” and discuss racial and ethnic inequalities. But with respect to social class inequalities, which are equally powerful, we remain largely blind and nearly mute.71
CHAPTER 14
Reflections on Longitudinal
Ethnography and the
Families’ Reactions to
Unequal Childhoods
You slurred us, Annette; you made us look like poor
white trash. (Mr. Yanelli’s reaction to reading Unequal Childhoods)
In qualitative research, the way the researcher acts in the field is inextricably connected to data quality. Thus, by tradition qualitative researchers often share the “story behind the story.”1 Throughout my career, I have contributed to this tradition by sharing the missteps that are inevitable in a research project.2 As part of the second edition, I once again share some of the more problematic details, which otherwise would remain private, of my methodological decisions and my experience conducting the longitudinal research. I also summarize and discuss the reactions of the families to the book.
I present this information for three reasons. First, it may help readers assess the quality, and limits, of these data. Second, it may relieve novice researchers to know that seasoned researchers make mistakes in the field; such knowledge may spur them to develop a more realistic view of field work. Third, I seek to use my experience as a springboard to reflect on broader methodological issues that confront many researchers. For example, the topic of longitudinal ethnography is relatively recent in the literature.3 I take up some of the problems that surface in longitudinal ethnography that, I believe, have not been sufficiently acknowledged. In particular, the follow-up to an ethnographic study is likely to rely much more on interviews than on observations; this form of data collection is severely limited. Also, ethnographic studies that are large and ambitious face more complications in a follow-up than do ethnographic studies that are more manageable in size.
Another area I address involves relations between the researcher and research participants. There is an extensive body of methodological writings on this topic.4 But little attention has been paid to the issue of sharing research results with research participants. Participants seem frequently to feel angry and betrayed when they read research results.5 This response needs stronger emphasis and more sustained discussion in methodological writings. As I explain below, I think conducting ethnographic research is important, and researchers should do everything possible to forewarn and protect study participants, including offering them assistance as they respond to social-science portrayals of their lives. But researchers also need to retain control over key aspects of their projects. It is a delicate process to forge meaningful relationships with research participants while simultaneously maintaining the critical analytic framework necessary to undergird an argument. There are neither easy answers nor one-size-fits-all guidelines. An essential first step for researchers, however, is to more directly acknowledge the emotional cost of ethnographic work for study participants.
THE LIMITS OF THE LONGITUDINAL FOLLOW-UP TO
UNEQUAL CHILDHOODS
As noted, I kept in touch with the children over the years by sending an annual holiday card with five dollars tucked into the envelope. When, approximately ten years after the start of the original study, I decided to do a follow-up, some of the families were easy to reach.6 Others, particularly the McAllisters, were extremely difficult to find. Still, the many hours spent searching paid off: I tracked down everyone. I began reinterviewing the families in the spring and summer of 2003. I generally just called the house, spoke with the mother, and requested her son’s or daughter’s cell phone number and e-mail address. I contacted the young adults directly; now that they were older, they could decide for themselves if they wanted to be interviewed. I offered the youths a hefty honorarium ($75), since I felt it was critical that each one agree to participate in the follow-up. I also offered an honorarium of $50 to each of the other family members who agreed to an interview. In each family, I completed the family-member interviews after I had interviewed the youth. My sense is that all of the young people and family members would have participated in the follow-up without the incentive of an honorarium, but I cannot be certain of that. Since the book was not published until the early fall of 2003, the families had not read it at the time I first reestablished contact. Most seemed glad to hear from me. Some had given up on the possibility that a book would ever appear; they were pleased to hear it was coming out. Generally, people greeted me warmly, as if I were an old friend. However, as I explain below, after they had read their description in the book, some families’ feelings changed.7