FADING TO GREY

The Coffee Shop in Narrabeen is packed. It always is on Thursday. There’s the 'activewear' Mother’s group circled around the long bench, and at the table closest to the window, a handful of high school students talk loudly into their smartphones. The voice and the music all blend into a collective hubbub. But there something is comforting about the white noise, something reminiscent of what a baby must hear in the womb; persistent, indistinct, soothing.

Amidst the bubbling soundscape and aroma of fresh coffee, an old man in a fuchsia polo shirt and khaki shorts sits silently staring at the swollen fly crawling across his half-eaten custard tart. Occasionally he looks up, his rheumy blue eyes scan the faces of the other customers eager to make eye contact, desperate to start a conversation. His neediness is palpable, his reward nothing more than a brief smile from one of the mothers nursing her bub. The High School students don’t even notice him.

Frankie Perry is one of the 484,600 Australians aged over eighty-five, and like one-in-four of his demographic, still lives in his own home. In fact, he’s lived in the same house for sixty years. “Bridget and I bought our home in 1958, I was working two jobs to pay the mortgage.” He smiles, remembering his wife, Bridget, and happy times. “The place seemed like it was always full of people. Bridget was the social one, and I just let her be. I mean that’s what I loved about her, she was quick to smile and slow to anger. Always had time for people.”

Frankie sips at his cold coffee, his watery eyes overflowing, the small rivulets running down his cheeks. “She was the one with all the friends, and when she passed away, they drifted off. I mean, they were her friends after all.” He dabs away the tears, “See, I was never one for making friends, I had a mate, and he helped me when Bridget died. I was a mess back then, and I was grateful to have him around.” Frankie’s wife died five years ago, and his friend, Sid, in the last few months. “He was a good mate you know. I used to enjoy a beer with him. Only the one, mind.”

 When Bridget fell ill, she didn’t want to go into care, didn’t want to leave her home and the husband she had doted on. So, Frankie took care of her full-time. “It was bloody hard. A lot harder than I thought. She’d wake up in the night and start wandering about. Sometimes she’d start screaming, and when I tried to calm her down, she’d start hitting me. She didn’t recognise me.” He turns his head and looks into the distance, “She was the love of my life and to see her stripped of her dignity, of her memories…” He looks back at the fly and shoos it away with a wrinkled liver-spotted hand, “I miss her.

Bridget was finally taken to the hospital after a severe fall. She died three months later due to complications associated with dementia. Frankie was there when she took her last breath. “I watched as a white wisp of air left her mouth. I’m not religious, but I couldn’t help thinking that that was her soul leaving her body.”

Pointing at the Mother’s group, Frankie says quietly, “Before she died Bridget said she regretted not being able to have children.” He nods to himself as though listening to an unheard voice. “We were in love, and that’s all that mattered; she was all that mattered.

Frankie has no family. No children. No friends. He feels alone, disconnected from those around him and yet he still makes the same twenty-minute pilgrimage to the coffee shop every day. “He’s always in here. Stays for an hour or so and then goes.” Amelie, the manager, smiles sadly. “He once told me that this was the best part of his day. It’s regrettable if it is.

“I like the noise.” Frankie smiles wanly, “It sort of makes me feel less alone when I’m here.” He smiles and nods at a stranger who rewards him with a cursory nod in return, “I like listening, and I’m a bit of a sticky beak too.

Loneliness is a significant issue for older Australians especially those over 65. But how? We live in the age of connectedness, where you can have a chat with someone on the other side of the world on your way to work. Research suggests that it’s not about talking to people and fulfilling a quota, but it’s more about the level of connectedness we feel to the people we’re talking to that determines if we feel lonely or not.

Frankie has tried to talk to the High School Students on several occasions, but they’re not interested in talking to him, quickly making excuses to leave, only to sit outside with their smartphone. “Kids, people,” Frankie sighs, “They just don’t seem to care about anything.”

“After I pop my clogs, there won’t be another Perry, not from my family; it all ends with me.” Frankie dabs at the crumbs on the plate with his finger, “It’s not that I regret not having had children,” he looks over and gives a little wave to a curious bub peering over its mother’s shoulder, “It’d just be nice to know that there was someone to remember the life Bridget and I had… like a legacy to pass on.

“I was an amateur boxer you know.” He raises his fist and smiles exposing his yellowed dentures. “I stopped when I met my better half. She introduced me to ballroom dancing of all things. Me with my two left feet.” He laughs as he recalls, “I inflicted more injuries trying to waltz than I did in the ring. 

When asked if he’s considered going into Aged Care Frankie shakes his head, “No. No way.” He takes a neatly folded blue and white checked hanky from his pocket and wipes the spittle from his clumsily shaven chin. “I’ve read the papers and see the News on the telly.” He puts his hanky away. “They hurt old folks in those places. Like I said, people just don’t care.”

People just don’t care. That’s a pretty damning statement, but to a certain extent, it is true. Ageism is endemic and widespread in Australia. Turn on the TV, and negative stereotypes of doddering or grumpy old people fill the screen. Indeed, the Human Rights Commission has said that it is entrenched in our society. Now, this doesn’t mean that it is necessarily direct, more often than not it is indirect ageism that is causing the hurt. The way we speak to older Australians can be condescending or even dismissive. Even the health system can be ageist, regarding some symptoms from the outset as being caused by old age as if it in itself explains away the loss of memory and aches and pains that plague older Australians.

Ainslie is a former geriatric nurse and the owner-operator of an in-home aged care company. “The push to help older Australians live at home for longer is a double-edged sword so to speak. On the one hand, it means they remain in a familiar environment, but it also increases the chance of social isolation.

Various factors can cause social isolation for the elderly: disability, sensory impairment, particularly loss of hearing and of course, as in the case of Frankie, the death of a spouse. Research by the Whiddon Group, an Australian aged care provider, suggests around 50 per cent of elderly Australians living at home have said that they are lonely or experience perpetual loneliness. While the Australian Human Rights Commission say that thee out of four 85-year old’s live in private homes. The Commission also predicts that by 2050 almost a quarter of the population will be 65 years and over. And with an ageing population, the number of socially isolated seniors will inevitably increase.

“There’s been a huge focus on the physical care of the elderly, which is great,” remarks Ainslie, “But what has been overlooked is their social and emotional needs. Their care has to be all-encompassing.”

Loneliness has a health impact. It is linked to adverse health consequences that affect both the mental and physical wellbeing of an individual. “There’s a need for both government and non-government organisations to increase focus on facilitating intervention strategies that specifically targeting loneliness to determine whether or not decreasing isolation improves elderly Australians quality of life.

Indeed, there are accommodation services and support available for older Australians, provided by both government and non-government (for-profit and not-for-profit) organisations. But as has been widely covered in the media, there is a great deal of variation regarding quality and safety.

Ainslie agrees, “There’s a lot of good intentions supported by a large skilled and dedicated workforce.” But she also acknowledges that “Rogue operators and a few bad apples have undoubtedly rocked the boat of public perception.”

Ainslie introduces one of her clients, Lizzy, who has just celebrated her 77th birthday with her two cats. “It was lovely, Caesar and Romero even got me a present.” She laughs and pats the large tortoiseshell cat on her lap. Her dyed blonde hair frames a wrinkled brown face. More leather than skin.

When my partner passed away in 2011. It was an end to our adventures together.” She looks wistfully into the distance, “It was devastating. Lots of our friends said they’d stay in touch, but they drifted away… and if I’m honest, I may have been partly to blame."

“I don’t make friends easily anymore,” she admits, ‘I used to be quite the social butterfly. I briefly dated a British racing car driver.” In her heyday, Lizzy swanned around streets on Monaco rubbing shoulders with the rich, the famous and the infamous. Looking at her photographs of the time it’s not hard to see why she was invited all around the world. A cross between Grace Kelly and Heid Klum, Lizzy would undoubtedly have been turning heads.

“I used to stay at a close friends apartment on the Boulevard Rainier.” She pauses, lost in the memory, “it was quite beautiful.” Lizzy points to a black and white photograph in a silver frame sitting on the sideboard. “Then I met Max. He was a crewman on one of the yachts. We fell in love, had adventures and then he followed me here.”

Lizzy still travels. Her loneliness sees her going back and forth on the bus between Avalon and the CBD three or four times a week. She admits she'll try and strike up a conversation with almost anyone. "They all sit there with those earplugs [ear phones], and it's like I'm talking to myself." Sadly, she probably is.

Ainslie has worked with Lizzy for some years, popping in two or three times a week to clean her home, do the shopping and, most importantly have a chat. “Lizzy could talk the legs of a table” smiles Ainslie. “She’s a fascinating lady."

There are many interesting elderly ladies and gentleman, who bereft of family and friends, retreat into a cocoon, shrouding themselves in isolation. Their homes, once the vestibules of cherished memories become mausoleums to past glories, perished dreams and untold stories. They sit in the departure lounge of their life waiting for the next flight into oblivion.

Rather than seeing the elderly as the source of increasing demand and cost, a burden on government and society, maybe, just maybe we could look to our past. Remember how it used to be, how we used to respect and care for our elders. In cultures across the world, elders impart their story and in doing so educate and enrich the young. In Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures, yarning is one of the activities that help link the past, the present and the future. Passing on the history of the ancestors helps strengthen the cultural and familial cohesion of the now. It bonds. This is something that Western culture seems to have largely forgotten. Ageism is rife, and old people are disparaged and seen more of a nuisance, than a gift of wisdom and sage advice.

Even though society has changed, the need to feel heard, to have one's story recorded, passed down through family history, is still high. No-one regardless of their age wants to pass silently into oblivion. If being unfriended on Facebook can unhinge a millennial, then having your entire life, your family forgotten is a terrifying prospect for the elderly. There are thousands of untold stories waiting to be told and all we have to do, is take the time to listen. 

Yes, the ongoing provision of services by both government and non-government organisations is critical to the care and welfare of the elderly in Australia. However, we shouldn’t cede our responsibilities and ignore the loneliness that sits in cafes and travels back and forth on buses every day. We need to reconnect, and reaffirm our commitment as caring beings, and recognise when the most important thing we can do to help, is to stop and have a yarn. You’ll be enriching two lives.

Footnote: Please note that all names have been changed for the purposes of privacy.

Images are courtesy of the fantastic photographers at https://unsplash.com/

ARE MEN REALLY THOUGHT OF AS THE NEW MONSTERS OF EARLY EDUCATION?

It’s 9:30am in the morning, and the aroma of freshly baked croissants fills the air. Two small children are playing by their grandparents’ table in a cafe in Manly. Jamie, a fifty-three-year-old male childcare worker, smiles wanly as he takes a sip of his latte. He is, according to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, one of just three per cent of males working in childcare in Australia.

After a default career in accounting, he decided he wanted to spend more time with his then 5-year-old, so he resigned from the company he worked for and started working at his son’s Out of School Hours Care Centre (OSHC). “Going from a healthy six-figure salary to earning less than the amount I used to pay in tax, well, it was hard.” That was nine years ago.

 Jamie, C. spends his time providing meaningful play opportunities for children. “I used to think that being an accountant was the best job in the world, but you can’t beat working with kids. It’s just a shame that there’s so much crap you have to deal with.”

Crap! What crap? Well, there’s the slower career progression, the appalling pay and the mistrust that emanates from co-workers and parents. Given all that, what is it that motivates him to work with children? Jamie’s motivation to work with children is the same as that of his female counterparts; he likes kids and enjoys the fact that he can make a positive difference in the lives of children, some of whom may come from challenging backgrounds. No one would dispute that children need a positive male role model within the early education context. Unfortunately, ignorance and prejudice seem to be rife.

Jamie, C. sips at his latte, nodding towards the two children still playing on by their grandparent’s table. “There was a time when I could have smiled and waved at those kids.” He shakes his head sadly, “I still could, but all eyes would be on me.”

The heavyset man leans back into his chair and exhales. “I used to walk into a client meeting, and I’d feel like crap. The clients were rude, unappreciative and generally unpleasant. It was emotionally draining.” He bites the bullet and gives the two kids a wave, and is rewarded by a pair of smiles. “That’s why I work with kids”, he beams. “They are the most friendly, appreciative and forgiving clients in the world.”

As if on cue the children’s grandmother looks up and then protectively pulls them around the table, whether consciously or subconsciously putting a wooden barrier between them and Jamie. It is a potent illustration of what he was saying. He shrugs and takes another sip of his coffee. Men who work with children appear to have been universally demonised, by an almost evangelical return to the myth regarding strangers stealing children from under the noses of their friends.

Sadly, those men willing to work with children find themselves under intense scrutiny from parents, and their female co-workers, especially since the high-profile child molestation cases such as the 2013 Jonathan Lord case and more recently the Royal Commission into Institutional child sexual abuse, and the Catholic Church in Australia. For parents, it must seem like every day the media contain more horrific revelations, and so it’s little wonder the spotlight of suspicion has focused on male childcare workers. But is this haloing effect justified?

Hayley H is the Co-ordinator of a childcare centre on Sydney’s leafy North Shore. “it wasn’t until our new director started four years ago, that I’d ever worked with a male, and to be honest, I didn’t want to.” She laughs self-consciously, “that sounds terrible doesn’t it?” Hayley had always been suspicious of the motivations of men working with kids. “I’d always believed that working with children, was…” She struggles with words, her mind obviously trying to process her thoughts. “Well, better suited to women.”

Hayley’s stereotypical belief is universal, not only amongst childcare workers but also parents. There appears to be an engendered assumption that childcare is women’s work and men wanting to work in the industry are, as one parent bluntly put it, “It’s not men’s work. So, they are either gay or bloody paedophiles trying to get close to kids.” Pretty extreme. However, blogs such as Reddit are full of such posts from parents expressing a high level of mistrust regarding male childcare workers looking after their children. There’s also a distressing melding of two separate points, i.e. that being gay equates to being a paedophile.

“It upsets me that just because I’m gay, that parents might think I’m only working with kids to groom them”, says Matty, B. a nineteen-year-old educator. “I can see the way parents look at me, and some of my co-workers continually question me about why I want to work with kids.” He shakes his head, his eyes watery with tears. “They don’t do that to the girls working at the centre.”

 Given that an individual’s sexual orientation bears no relation as to whether or not they are a potential paedophile, there is obviously ingrained bigotry and prejudice that the media, social as well as mainstream, use to help flame societal fears. Equally concerning is the presumption that all male childcare workers are predatory paedophiles.

 For male childcare workers like Jamie and Matty, going to work each day and knowing that every move they make is being evaluated and scrutinised and that a single misinterpretation of their actions could be seen as ‘grooming’ the result of which could involve devastating personal consequences, puts horrendous pressure on them. Jamie is understanding, “I get it. Every time you turn on the TV, a priest or teacher is being arrested. And they are always men. Parents are scared.”

 Archie McKane is the director of a small not-for-profit childcare centre and has the first-hand experience of the mistrust and anger of some parents. “I was working at a centre in Narrabeen, and several parents removed their kids because I was there.” For Archie, the experience was a real eye-opener; it made him feel uncomfortable and certainly impacted on his interactions with the children in his care. Since then he has seen many talented male childcare workers leave the industry due to the pressure they felt to continually demonstrate that they were ‘safe’ to be working with children. Every single negative interaction compounds the stigma for the male worker. “One of the worst things,” he recalls, “is that they’ll stand there and say it to your manager in front of you and the kids.”

 “The centre I run now is great. I have a healthy balance of male and female workers. And, well to be blunt, the parents are more enlightened.” Archie believes that no two centres are ever going to be the same. You have to view them, he argues, concerning the different social contexts; there are independent variables that come into play, for instance, the catchment demographics, the past experiences of the workers, familial and cultural attitudes. It all forms a cocktail, which on occasion, is unpalatable.

One such occasion is that of male workers in early education changing nappies. Alicia, K, a music therapist doesn’t have a problem with males working in early education until it comes to what is viewed, understandably as an intimate moment by most parents. “I had to ask the room leader not to let the male carer change my daughter’s nappy. I know it’s wrong to think like, but it’s something I just can’t come to terms with.”

 Knowing that parents, co-workers, and on occasion even the boss, are watching you like hawks, can’t be conducive to a relaxed and positive working environment. Jamie agrees, “It can be awful. The female carers can hug the kids even can change them if they have an accident in the toilets, but not me. I get sent off to clean the toilets, or I’m thrown the sports shed keys and told to get a game going. I’m a bloody father, I know what I’m doing.”

 Up until recently, Jamie, C. was studying a master’s degree in primary teaching, but his experiences over the last few months have him questioning his future. “There’s no presumption of innocence if you’re a man, you’re guilty until you leave the industry.” Jamie’s sense of disappointment is echoed by Jake, who also studying to be a primary school teacher. “When Kain, he was here before me, left, I overheard two of the female staff, talking about how Kain had been odd with the kids. I thought WTF? He was great, the children loved him and, well, he never did anything remotely suspicious.” Jake describes an atmosphere of suspicion, mistrust. Talking to male primary school teachers paints a similar picture, where second-guessing oneself and being on guard, are continuous.

 Felicity J., a primary school teacher in Willoughby, has watched male colleagues buckle under the weight of unseen forces. “It’s emotionally draining; the constant fear of an accusation takes its toll and certainly contributes to men opting out of the primary/early education sector.”

 The early education sector needs more men. But what has become apparent is that societal attitudes especially ingrained gender role stereotyping, and the current hysteria around sexual abuse is creating a toxic working environment for males working in caring professions. The fact that a child is more likely to be abused by a member of the family or a family friend is ignoring; instead, we seek to negatively label those that go against stereotypical roles as being weird, odd, less than manly. But why should that be the case?

 There are plenty of cultures around where our version of gender roles has been successfully turned on its head. For instance, the woman of the Aka in Africa go out and hunt for food to sustain the tribe, while the men are happy to stay at home and look after the babies, even to the point of allowing them to suckle their nipples. Although it’s hard to imagine any educational institution in the West allowing the latter to become part of our childcare culture, even though male lactation is scientifically recognised. Mother’s breastfeeding in public almost brought about the end of the world, imagine what would happen if Father’s started doing it too?

 Our cultural encoding prepares us for our male and female roles. From what we see our parents doing at home, to how men and women are portrayed in books, in magazines and on the TV, movies and the lyrics of songs. Sure, it’s changing, but there are centuries on ingrained falsities to overcome; women are caring and motherly, while men are tough and aloof; a very Victorian (the era not the state), take on parental roles, and we all know what the Victorians were like.

 Sophie M. primary school teacher in Narrabeen suggests that before parents or colleagues even get to know a male teacher, they are already assessing and judging them as a potential abuser. “Everything a male colleague does is seen through abuser tinted glasses. It is so unfair.”

Such negative pressure destroys confidence and self-esteem, and in extreme cases has contributed to individuals suffering from depression and ultimately considering suicide. Kevin, W. Recalls, “One of the parents accused me of talking inappropriately to her child. It went to my director, and I was suspended pending an investigation. That was all good, I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, and I trusted my boss. But the parent just stirred up trouble, spreading rumours to other parents. Man, it was awful.”

 However, the harassment didn’t stop, and Kevin found himself in the middle of what is best described (forgive the engendered wording) as a witch-hunt. “I’d be out at the mall, and a parent would pull their child out of my way and glare at me. In the end, I just couldn’t go out.” After months of hiding away, Gus finally got some good news; the investigation carried out by his boss I conjunction with the Australian Children's Education & Care Quality Authority (ACEQA) found no impropriety and therefore no case to answer. Kevin was cleared to return to work. Kevin chose not to and is re-evaluating his options. The parent still hasn’t apologised. Kevin’ experience is exceptional and most of the male childcare workers spoken to said that while they find it distressing at first, they are quick to say, that they get used to it and get on with their jobs. Children first. Always.

 By fearing men in the childcare industry, there is an insidious and probably unintentional reinforcing of stereotypical gender roles, i.e. woman care for kids, and men don’t. To overcome this and provide a safe, equitable and balanced workplace within the context of the early education sector, where men feel valued, not vilified, is going to take time.

“Like I said our new director is a man. I wouldn’t have thought it, but I love working with him. He’s brought a completely new dynamic to the team and to the centre.” Hayley, H. smiles, “the children adore him, the parents adore him, and the staff team adore him too.” The new director is firm but fair, you can see that he is mindful of his interactions with the children, but still manages to radiate love and trust. “He talks to every single child at the centre, just a few minutes, but they love it.”

Given a chance, it is evident that men can flourish in early education, but the current climate of fear does make it difficult. Despite the police history check and the working with children check, predators do swim through the net. Staff teams need to be alert, but not so blinded by fear that they label every interaction a male colleague has with the children in their care as being possibly predatory. It is unfair to single one sex out as being more of a risk to children than another. A degree of trust needs to exist that the childcare centre and the governing body of the early education sector, ACECQA has the necessary safeguards in place to prevent harm to the children in their care. But getting the balance right isn’t exactly child’s play.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

ACECQA https://www.acecqa.gov.au/nqf/national-law-regulations/national-regulations accessed on 16.11.2018

Cameron, C. Moss, P. and Owen C. (1999) ‘Men in the Nursery: gender and caring work’. Paul Chapman Publishing Ltd, A SAGE Publications Company, London.

Children (Education and Care Services National Law Application) Act 2010No 104 Accessed via https://www.legislation.nsw.gov.au/acts/2010-104.pdf on 18.11.2018.

Polanen, M. V., Colonnesi, C. Tavecchio, L. W. C, Blokhuis, S & Fukkink, R. G. (2017) Men and women in childcare: a study of caregiver-child interactions, European Early Childhood Education Research Journal, 25:3, 412-424, DOI: 10.1080/1350293X.2017.1308165

Reynolds, E. (2014) ‘Male childcare workers under scrutiny from mistrustful parents’. https://www.news.com.au/.../malechildcare.../064f6d38190f13bacc9cdf6f9315967d Accessed on 17.11.2019

Tognini G. (2017). ‘The tricky dilemma behind men at childcare centres’ https://thewest.com.au/opinion/the-tricky-dilemma-behind-men-at-childcare-centres-ng-b88443128z Accessed on 19.11.2019

Thorpe, K. and Sullivan, V. (2017) ‘A man in the centre: What are the benefits of male educators in childcare?” The University of Queensland, Institute of Social Science Research https://issr.uq.edu.au/article/2018/04/man-centre-what-are-benefits-male-educators-childcare Accessed on 18.11.2019