A second-year school psychology graduate student was presenting one of her first cases to classmates and her professor. She was understandably nervous about speaking in this quasi-professional forum. The case consisted of a fifth-grade boy (Ansel) who had incomplete assignments, now had suffered plummeting grades, and moody intervals punctuated with temper outbursts. Like her classmates before her, the graduate student used a PowerPoint format that consisted of pleasing graphics. The student’s presentation was skillfully organized and replete with psychometrics, mostly rating scale scores. Ansel’s background information was made clear through the use of bullet points. It looked like this might turn out to be a case of emotional disturbance and Ansel might be a candidate for special education designation. But as she proceeded, the presentation came to the topic of Ansel’s interview. She stated that much had been learned about this boy during a 15-minute, face-to-face meeting. Here is some of what she shared:

• Ansel was born in Michigan.
• His favorite activity was to play video games.
• He shared a bedroom with his younger brother.
• He preferred to sleep later on weekends than during the week.
• The family owned two dogs and he was sometimes responsible for feeding or walking them.
• Neither he nor his brother received a regular allowance, but his parents were always willing to find chores for which he might be paid.
• His favorite vacation consisted of a family camping trip to the mountains of California.
• He dislikes some foods, especially spinach.

At this moment, a classmate commented, “This is not a session of speed dating. No one cares about his preferences. Don’t you think you should get to the bottom of this kid’s academic skids and his attendance problems? After all, you will soon be a psychologist who should perform like a professional.” This classmate’s comments, despite their ill-mannered tone, convey essential possibilities associated with child interviewing. The graduate student reminded everyone of something that should be obvious. Students are not interviewed merely to collect general narratives about their lives or tidbits about their families. Probably unwittingly, this graduate student engaged Ansel in what might be referred to as a “surface interview.” A surface interview addresses only superficial facts about a student, such as interests and preferences. Critically, a surface interview neglects the prospect of potential mental health problems as well as missing out on students’ perceptions, feelings, and thoughts—considerations that might illuminate their problem and inform intervention efforts. Sometimes practicing school psychologists conduct perfunctory, superficial interviews when a more substantial interview is actually warranted. In other words, social-emotional assessment must concern “information that is meaningful to psychological formulations and diagnoses” (McLeod et al., 2017, p. 232). In this chapter, it is argued that talking directly with a child ought to be uniquely effective in getting to the “bottom of a problem.” But why might interviewing prove especially valuable? Experts have offered several reasons (Mash & Hunsley, 2007).

1. Children are uniquely positioned as observers of their own social environments.
2. Children’s cognitions and emotions influence their behavior and this fact is relevant in planning interventions.
3. Thoughts and feelings (known only to the child) are sometimes the best target of psychological interventions; behavior change alone is not the only legitimate goal of psychological treatment.
4. Confirmation of internalizing problems (e.g., anxiety, depression) often hinges on first-hand child reports.
5. Well-researched guidelines now exist to show precisely how to interview a child.

Distinguishing Clinical Interviews from Diagnostic Interviews

But before we see how interviewing a child might be done, let’s place the interview process in perspective. For simplicity, and despite inconsistently applied terms, we will describe two broad types of interviews—diagnostic and clinical. Distinguishing the two can help avoid confusion and help you match interview style to situation.

Diagnostic Interviews

Diagnostic interviews, as their name implies, seek a diagnosis. This type of interview is reminiscent of classical psychiatry practice. A psychiatrist, such as a professional working at a hospital or an outpatient clinic, was often charged with establishing a mental health diagnosis for the adults or children sent to him. This was a prelude to treatment planning and case disposition. The psychiatrist’s diagnostic obligation paralleled the obligation of medical colleagues, such as men and women working in internal medicine, orthopedics or cardiology. One of the psychiatrist’s prime diagnostic tools was oral questioning of patients. Interviews often concerned topics such as the presence, intensity, onset, and duration of symptoms associated with the entire array of mental health disorders. Because mental health diagnoses are determined by these factors (i.e., lists of diagnostic criteria found in DSM), it made sense that interviewers worked logically and thoroughly to assure that all potentially-pertinent information concerning all possible diagnoses was collected.

Diagnostic interviews like this tend to be straightforward. The standard introduction to the MINI-KID, one diagnostic interview option for children (Sheehan et al., 2010), for example indicates that most questions can be answered either “yes” or “no”. With direct inquiry and focusing on confirmation (yes) or disconfirmation (no) of various symptoms, diagnostic interviews can take a long time. Probing questions speed the process. For example, disconfirmation of a few anxiety symptoms means there is no need to make other (time consuming) anxiety-related inquiries. Table 9.2 lists some of the standard diagnostic interviews suited for children and teens. Specialized training, almost never part of a school psychologist’s professional preparation, may be required. If you doubt that school psychologists routinely use diagnostic interviews you are correct. Just three percent of school psychologists responding to a survey of assessment practices reported using diagnostic interviews directly with a child or teen (Benson et al., 2019).

Clinical Interviews-Two Cases

How might a clinical interview be conducted? Figure 9.1 illustrates a Generic Child Clinical Interview form. Blank versions of the Generic Child Interview Form are provided in the Appendix; they can be copied and used in your practice. The form can assist you in a variety of interview situations. Two cases with help make this concrete.

Interview of Franklin Parks

Franklin Parks is a student you already met in Chapter 2. But until now you never heard the details of his clinical interview. To make things concrete, you will soon see a verbatim interview with Franklin (Illustration 9.1) that resulted in the notes that appear about him in Figure 9.1 – Figure 9.4. Please observe that the school psychologist used the Generic Child Interview Form to summarize the interview. She did not write Franklin’s responses verbatim and she did not follow items in the exact lockstep order listed in the form. School psychologists-in-training may be required by their instructors or supervisors to record responses word for word (or even to audio-record them, but this practice is rare among experienced practitioners). Although the Generic Child Interview Form is just one option (many school psychologists create their own), it is arguably suited to most social-emotional assessments in schools. As such, it encompasses many of the points mentioned above, plus a few others that match the HR approach (seen in Chapter 2). Specifically, the Generic Child Clinical Interview includes several “to do’s” that might be considered essential for each clinical interview:

• explaining confidentiality
• establishing rapport (via small talk)
• assuring depression and suicidality are addressed
• ruling out a history of trauma
• ruling out substance/alcohol abuse problems
• following up on critical items endorsed by teachers, parents or the student himself on rating scales
• focused inquiries about existing hypotheses

As school psychologists address each of several critical tasks (e.g., rapport building, ruling out a history of trauma), they verify having done so by checking boxes found on the interview form (again, checklists help tame troublesome heuristics and assure thoroughness). The Generic Child Clinical Interview also integrates student interviews with this book’s HR approach. Specifically, the final page of the form facilitates direct student inquiry about each working hypothesis present during the Middle Stage of analysis on the HR Worksheet. It’s not necessary to use the HR Worksheet, but it does integrate easily with the type of interview prompted by the Generic Clinical Interview form.

The logic is this: it’s important to routinely tackle several standard interview topics, some of which are relevant to most children. However, it’s also essential to deal with specific concerns that might explain each student’s particular presenting problem. Thus, the final page of the interview form prompts the school psychologist to list each continuing hypothesis. Doing so would typically include asking the student her thoughts about the presence/credibility of the hypothesis, an estimated severity of any problem, speculation about the source/cause of the problem, and any notions about how to overcome it (this might help to get to “the bottom of the problem”). Boxes pertaining to each of these: (i.e., presence, perceived severity, possible causes, possible remedies) are found under each hypothesis. To assure each is addressed, school psychologists again confirm (checkoff) completion as they work. The bulk of the 4-page Generic Child Clinical Interview form, however, merely lists topics that are to be covered for most students. Topics are covered in whatever depth the interviewer deems appropriate, although elaboration is routinely sought as follow up on initial questioning. For example, if a student indicates a phobia is present, details about setting, severity, duration, etc. associated with that phobia might be sought. Some topics can be skipped, and other can be added at the interviewer’s discretion.

Now let’s revisit more closely the case you saw in Chapter 2, Franklin Parks. Figure 2.1 is the HR Worksheet for Franklin. As an examination of Figure 2.1 reveals, the school psychologist had already executed several stages in the assessment process (i.e., Initial Stage, Middle Stage A, Middle Stage B). In using the HR Worksheet, she has arrived at Middle Stage D (she deemed broadband rating scales to be unessential and thus skipped Middle Stage C). She is prepared to interview Franklin as the next pro forma assessment stage. As indicated in Figure 2.1, as the interview approaches, the list of working hypotheses has been winnowed down to just two:

• depression
• recent onset stress

Now read the interview found in Illustration 9.1.

Now look at Figures 9.1 – 9.4. You see that Franklin’s interview covers most of the points found on the Generic Child Clinical Interview. Clearly, the yield is greater than is typically garnered from surface interviews.

Interview of Dayna Madrid

Now let’s look at another case in which a clinical interview was used. This case involves a high school student named Dayna Madrid (Illustration 9.2). In Dayna’s case, background information had suggested possible depression. Dayna’s school psychologist, an experienced professional with a plan in mind as he commenced the interview, proceeded without a fixed interview outline. He simply counted on hid knowledge, topics that he routinely covers, and then flexibly following leads as they arose. Also note that like many psychologists, this psychologist does not employ a formal pencil-and-paper method of tracking case formulations (i.e., nothing like the HR Worksheet).

Rather than inquiring about an entire spectrum of potential conditions (or problems), the school psychologists concentrated on strong candidate explanations that he had formulated (perhaps consciously or perhaps counting on intuition informed by his own extensive history of assessing students). Whereas a tightly structured textbook diagnostic interview would have sampled across many candidate diagnoses, that was not true of the Dayna’s interview. In Dayna’s case, this turned out to be the presence of depression vs. “no real problem.” The school psychologist had already administered the BASC-3 SRP-A as a broad-band measure (note: he followed a sequence of assessment step slightly different than the conventional one). Although he examined composite indicators (i.e., the Behavioral Symptoms Index and the Internalizing Problems Index), the 12-item BASC-3 Depression scale was especially closely scrutinized. If he followed up with the Reynolds Adolescent Depression Scale-2 (RADS-2), then another 30 items specifically concerning depression would have been available to characterize Dayna. It’s obvious that much is now (i.e., post-interview) known about Dayna’s prospect of depression. Perhaps follow up oral questions about depression risk repetition and assessment overkill. Perhaps skipping Dayna’s interview altogether makes sense. Perhaps not.

You can see how rating scale items and interview topics might fit together. In this case, Dayna’s BASC-3 SRP pointed toward depression. Accordingly, the school psychologist looked at depression items to help guide his interview. Strategies like this might clarify several points. Did Dayna actually grasp the meaning of each item that she rated? Are her self-reported feelings of unhappiness (i.e., those earlier endorsed on rating scale items) cross-situational and longstanding or present only in selected setttings and/or only at certain times? Does sadness appear only after failure or frustration (perhaps suggesting situational demoralization rather than pervasive depression)? Have major life changes occurred (perhaps signaling a transient adjustment problem). Are there changes, positive or negative, in interpersonal supports? All of these considerations go beyond mere symptom confirmation, although their discussion can easily follow Dayna’s rating scale responses, item-by-item. Equally important, school psychologists benefit from confirmation of an item when a student then goes on to elaborate. In other words, it helps to learn just what was meant when a particular item was answered as well as the thoughts, perceptions, and nuanced intensity associated with item-level responses. These are idiographic considerations springing from a largely nomothetic (standardized psychometric tool) foundation.

You are encouraged to practice clinical interviews. Working with a supervisor or senior colleague for feedback and suggestions often proves helpful. Devising your own form, following the Generic Child Clinical Interview or considering the hybrid option immediately following can go a long way toward helping you conduct an interview that extends beyond the mere superficial (i.e., helps you avoid a surface interview). That said, structure only goes so far. Skill development depends on practice, self-reflection, listening to others and becoming personally comfortable addressing the topics that comprise clinical interviews.

A Commercial, Hybrid Interview Tool, the SCICA

Somewhat more structured clinical interview options are also worth considering for routine use. An example is the ASEBA’s Semistructured Clinical Interview of Children and Adolescents (SCICA, McConaughy & Achenbach, 2001). Interestingly, the SCICA aligns with both idiographic and nomothetic purposes. Regarding idiography, the interviewer is guided through many opened-ended inquiries contained within broad domains such as:

• activities, school, jobs
• friends
• family relations
• fantasies
• self-perception, feelings
• parent/teacher-reported problems

Seemingly unique–and this constitutes the hybrid aspect of the tool–the school psychologist herself completes a standard array of rating scale items after the interview concludes. As one might suspect, derived scores are generated from these ratings. These scores are norm-referenced and judgments about individual students is informed by group level data (i.e., this aspect of the SCICA is nomothetic). Of course, school psychologists are sometimes interested in classifications but not in DSM-5 diagnoses. Structured (diagnostic-like) interviews might fit such classification purposes.

As a case in point, McConaughty and Achenbach (1996) used the SCICA to classify students into one of three categories: (1.) non-referred youth, (2.) youth with emotional-behavior disorders, (3.) youth with SLD. Tapping three separate samples, the authors confirmed high rates of correct classification relying on this standardized interview procedure. Of note, even though this study focused on group-level classification (a nomothetic consideration), the authors nonetheless talked about their interviews’ ability to detect important information that is in nature idiographic (concerns the individual). “For example, when parents and teachers report that a child shows severe aggressive behavior….the child interview can directly assess the child’s view of such problems. If the child reports little aggressive behavior, this implies limited awareness or denial of such problems, suggesting that behavioral interventions may be more effective than verbal therapies…” (McConaughty & Achenbach, 1996, p. 30). Other researchers concerned with classification (nomothetic perspective) and structured diagnostic interviews in actual cases similarly warn against forgoing valuable idiographic information (Leffler, Rebiel & Hughes, 2015). There is simply too much unique information to be learned from student interviews to confine their use to classification—either regarding special education categories or mental health diagnoses.

Specialized Interviews (neither Precisely Diagnostic nor Precisely Clinical)

What about very specific referral questions and very focused interviews? Consider some of the possibilities.

Threat Assessment Interviews

Sometimes school psychologists run across information during a generic clinical interview that suggests a student harbors threatening intentions. At other times school psychologists are consulted directly in the hope they will expertly assess a prospective threat. The latter represents a specialized interview much like the one that concerned a school psychologist you read about in Chapter 3, Emma Garcia. Despite the casual nature of the referral directed to Emma, judgments about threats (potential harm to others) should not be managed by simple intuition. In fact, specialized skills are required. What’s more, school psychologists are cautioned that these high-stakes evaluations should not be shouldered alone and should not rely on the skills and professional perspective of any one individual. Furthermore, a bit of knowledge about threatening behavior at school is required if one is to help conduct an intelligent assessment.

Consider just a few facts regarding the severe end of the school violence continuum, school shooters. Reeves and Brock (2018) provided essential information about various types of school shooters (i.e., psychopathic, psychotic, traumatized), various warning signs (e.g., fixation, identification warning behavior, novel aggression, last resort warning behavior), as well as risk factors that offer a modicum of predictiveness (e.g., social withdrawal, feelings of rejection, low school interest and limited involvement, a history of uncontrolled anger, access to firearms). Equally important, Reeves and Brock advocate for the preemptory creation of fixed school teams staffed by members ready to respond to potential threats of on-campus violence. These are referred to as “Behavioral Threat Assessment and Management” (BTAM) teams. Although BTAM teams are often led by school psychologists, the notion of a team, rather than an individual, is paramount. Specifically, Reeves and Brock propose that BTAM teams afford their leaders access to another mental health professional employed by the school district, a school administrator as well as an extra-school clinically-oriented mental health professional and law enforcement officers. Also important is the notion that threat assessments should never represent an end onto themselves. Rather, assessment arguably co-exist with school-wide violence prevention programs. This idea is advocated in a formal positions statement espoused by NASP (2015), a theme revisited in the paragraph below. In an ideal world, prevention efforts would not be confined to the risk of violence or its immediate causal antecedents. Rather, there would be an emphasis on system-wide mental health practices on the one hand and effective services for those judged at risk on the other hand.

This is all well and good. But the critical question necessarily remains how is essential information to be accessed, skills acquired, and threat assessment teams actually created? What about systemic prevention and intervention programs? Fortunately, focused school training and guidance are now readily available to deal with an array of school violence. Dewey Cornell, at the University of Virginia, has prepared a user-friendly, comprehensive manual aptly entitled Comprehensive School Threat Assessment Guidelines (Cornell, 2018). Equally important, workshops conducted by Dr. Cornell as well as those delivered by professionals trained by Dr. Cornell (i.e., a trainer-of-trainers approach) are readily accessed. The manual coupled with workshops aim to propel school-based adoption and widespread implementation. Congruent with a central theme of Cornell’s manual, explicit guidance via checklists and decision trees can arguably slow thinking, enhance decision making, and promote accuracy (i.e., invoke the Reflective System). For example, a decision tree helps teams work through various structured steps to arrive at one of the following judgments about each specific case:

• Not a threat
• A transient threat
• A substantive threat
• A very serious substantive threat

Guidance about immediately-required actions is indicated for the various threat levels listed above. Potentially more important, this approach is not concerned primarily with summary judgments (it disavows its ability to accurately predict execution of a threat). Instead, its chief goal is intervention, including systemic advocacy for primary (tier 1), secondary (tier 2), and tertiary (tier 3) efforts at violence prevention.

Thus, a continuum of procedures is advocated: those to benefit all students (e.g., school-wide conflict resolution), those for at risk students (e.g., social skills groups, short-term counseling) as well as those for students with very severe problems (e.g., intensive monitoring, special education services). A spectrum of interventions should predate any pressing threat assessment. This matches the PBIS approach that you will read more about in Chapter 15. The user-friendly nature of Dr. Cornell’s program is evident in clearly spelled out questions to address the threat plus a template for a “mental health” interview, which is often required. To help link assessment to treatment, a menu of intervention options is provided. Again, all of these features fit hand-and-glove with Cornell’s manual’s emphasis on rational, organized, deliberate assessment practices.

Happily, this program has been subject to empirical investigation. For example, among high school students, adoption of the Virginia Student Threat Assessment Guidelines was associated with a 52% decline in the rate of long-term school suspensions (Cornell, Gregory & Fan, 2011). Across grades K through 12, program adoption promoted more therapeutic services concurrent with a decline in punitive discipline practices. Specifically, program initiation was associated with  students receiving counseling services at a rate nearly four-fold higher than during pre-implementation, whereas alternative student placements dropped to less than 15% of their prior level (Cornell, Allen & Fan, 2012). Consequently, the “Virginia Student Threat Assessment Guidelines” are now listed among the entries in SAMHSA’s National Register of Evidence-based Programs and Procedureshttp://www.nrepp.samhsa.gov/ViewIntervention.aspx?id=263

What does this all suggest to the frontline practitioners? Each school psychologist is urged to gain familiarity with her school district’s threat assessment guidelines. If such guidelines do not yet exist, she is urged to advocate for formal training for those in her district. Relatedly, efforts at team formation as well as explicit posting of policies and procedures are urged. Once policies and procedures are developed, they should be listed in a manner and location accessible to all of her colleagues.

Suicide Risk Interviews

Few school psychologists’ practices concern life and death—but this one, like threat assessments, might. Making judgments about suicide risk, as you might expect, is an intensively studied topic. Although there are interesting cutting-edge technological applications now emerging, such as brain imaging and assessments using virtual reality, these do not yet have clinical applications (Weir, 2019). Practically speaking, contemporary procedures for ascertaining suicide risk come down to long-used tools—direct youth interview (plus review of history and speaking with parents). There are arguably several ways to think about the nature and execution of suicide-related assessments in schools.

In one instance, the school psychologist operates no differently from her clinic-based counterpart.  That is, she needs to be alert to the prospect of suicide risk in any youngster with whom she is working (thus the Generic Child Clinical Interview form that you saw earlier prompts that this topic is addressed). Any time an elevated risk is determined, the school psychologist needs to be prepared to drill down for additional information. You already saw the use of routine suicide risk questions during the interviews of Franklin (Illustration 9.1) and Dayna (Illustration 9.2).

Alternatively, a school psychologist might be conducting a routine evaluation when critical items a student endorses (e.g., on the BASC-3) indicate elevated suicide concerns. Specifically, three items from the BASC-3 concern wishing to be dead, wanting to die or wanting to kill one’s self. Follow-up inquiry to address suicidal risk is logically required when any of these items is endorsed (note: the Generic Child Clinical Interview form includes a check-off procedure to assure that critical items have indeed been reviewed and managed during each interview).

Whatever the origin of the concern, knowing how to proceed is crucial. Structured interview tools can help. The MINI-KID, a diagnostic interview technique, provides straightforward “suicidality” items (Sheehan, et al., 2010). The MINI-KID includes three questions to address current suicidal ideation and intent, against a backdrop of 14 yes/no questions about current and lifetime ideation, intent and plans, suicidal acts, suicidal attempts, and self-injurious behavior. Perhaps most reassuring to school psychologists conducting an assessment, the MINI-KID offers a suicide risk score that converts to “low,” “moderate,” and “high” risk estimates. Making things simple for school psychologists, the Sheehan et al. (2010) article includes the relevant MINI-KID items, including those related to suicidality, in a nearly 100-page appendix that accompanies the article. It is also reassuring to know that helpful information is made readily available from the National Institute of Mental Health’s website https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/suicide-prevention/index.shtml. The same institute maintains the following number 1-800-273-TALK. Calls to 911 can also be made, if necessary. All school psychologists should be prepared to recognize suicidality in all cases they manage.

In other instances, however, practicing on a school campus changes duties in critical ways. This is so because schools contain many stakeholders (i.e., administrators, teachers, support staff) but perhaps no other mental health professional. For example, perhaps a counselor or administrator refers a student predicated on something she learned. Thus, school psychologists may be part of a team designed to receive and process any suicide-related concern. Accordingly, school-based teams need to be prepared to assess suicide potential, assist with intervention, and carefully document their efforts to mitigate risk (Boccio, 2015). Fortunately, there are detailed methods for doing so, including guidance specific to those practicing in schools. Poland and Kornfeld (2015) provide concrete and specific information. This includes guidance on conducting a comprehensive assessment and calibrating risk level:

• Low-risk (ideation)
• Moderate risk (ideation plus previous behavior)
• High-risk (presence of a current plan plus access to lethal means)

Risk level, in turn, dictates professionals’ actions. High risk, for example, mandates constant supervision, securing parental commitment to secure immediate mental health follow up, etc. Because schools need to address suicide risk systemically, each school district is encouraged to engage in staff training and create screening procedures. What’s more, teams need to have access to resources, such as the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration’s Preventing Suicide: A Toolkit for High Schools https://store.samhsa.gov/system/files/sma12-4669.pdf  toolkit.

The facts cited above indicate that every school psychologist ought to become familiar with her school districts policy regarding suicide assessment. Because liability issues accompany suicide assessments (even if the chances for an unfavorable legal outcome are relatively low; Zirkel, 2019), familiarity with required documentation is also needed. To prevent later exposure to liability, you are advised to document all of your actions. Thoroughness is critical. In fact, it has been argued that liability problems are more apt to arise from poor documentation rather than from inaction or taking the wrong action (Novotney, 2020). Given the importance and complexity of suicide risk assessments, every school psychologist is strongly encouraged to seek direct, face-to-face supervision from a senior (or specially trained) colleague. Ongoing support and feedback surrounding at least a few initial cases is advised. That same individual (or team) might also be made available to consult when complex cases, or cases with equivocal findings, arise even after initial mentoring is  finished. An overview found in a book like this or brief coverage in an assessment course is insufficient to permit you to start to work independently on such challenging situations as the presence of a suicide risk.

Forensic Interviews

Structured interview techniques indeed exist to guide interviewers in cases of suspected physical or sexual abuse (Lamb, Hershkowitz, Orbach & Esplin, 2008). But as discussed in Chapter 3, these topics are typically viewed as outside the scope of school psychology practice. Thus, once again, you are advised against accepting such referrals. This is true whether requests are made transparently or opaquely. Remember, however, to follow state reporting laws in instances of suspected abuse or neglect.

Culturally and Linguistically Complex Interviews

Of course, student interviews generally grow more challenging when a student from the non-dominant culture is interviewed. Fortunately, readers can profit from revisiting some of the notions encountered in Chapter 5. There you considered cultural and linguistic factors that sometimes come into play when interviewing parents. Many of these also apply when interviewing their children. These are: (1.) linguistic factors that might constrain a clinical or diagnostic interview, (2.) cultural values, concepts, and practices that may limit communication and constrain understanding even when both interviewer and student speak the same language, (3.) in-group vs. outgroup bias that sometimes imposes barriers to trust or contributes to interpersonal misjudgment, and (4.), concerning immigrant children, potential social-emotional impact associated with the acculturation process. Each of these warrants a brief mention.

The most extreme linguistic challenge occurs when the school psychologist and child do not speak the same language (or perhaps fail to speak it proficiently). Then, inquiries necessarily occur in a language other than English. Fortunately, for structured diagnostic interviews things are sometimes simple provided that a high-frequency foreign language is involved. For example, the MINI-KID (Sheehan, 2010) offers interview wording for an option entitled “Spanish for the USA” as well as similar versions for “Spanish for Argentina,” and “Spanish for Peru.” Thus, a Spanish-speaking school psychologist who is already familiar with the MINI-KID might seamlessly conduct a diagnostic interview with a Spanish-speaking child. The MINI-KID is also available in many other (non-Spanish) translation options, but without a foreign-language-proficient school psychologist these foreign-language MINI-KID options may prove irrelevant. Simply put, a Telugu version of the MINI-KID is of limited value without a Telugu-speaking school psychologist. The same is true for the MINI-KID’s many other translations. Consequently, a Telugu interpreter might be needed to assist the school psychologist through her diagnostic interview. Interposing an interpreter between a student and a school psychologist is, however, fraught with risk. Plus, as you already know, diagnostic (rather than clinical) interviews may be rarely required in school settings, sites where individual referral questions and fixed job descriptions can render formal diagnoses moot.

Some of the same linguistic considerations attend potential use of the hybrid SCICA. There are SCICA versions in languages such as Farsi, Greek, and Italian. Thus, things may work great in those longshot instances when a Farsi-speaking school psychologist encounters a Farsi-speaking student and the file cabinet contains a Farsi SCICA. But, realistically, considerations like this represent no systemic solution to interviewing students who lack English proficiency. The default option is almost certainly to count on an interpreter. But if engaging a student socially, gaining his trust, and establishing rapport represents a routine challenge absent bilingualism, meeting these challenges is likely to prove doubly difficult when every exchange is routed through the words of a third party. Moreover, even in such high stakes situations like abuse-related forensic investigations, interpreters may remain utterly unavailable for certain languages. Equally troubling, when present an interpreter may remain ill prepared to handle the subtleties needed for accuracy and overall effectiveness (Powell, Manger, Dion & Sharman, 2017). It may be tempting to resolve the dearth of available interpreters by using a dial-in service where virtually all language options are accessible only a phone call away. But resorting to remote assistance (i.e., an interpreter on an open phone line) is likely to prove even more daunting, with issues such as fidelity of message content, hesitancy during conversational flow and turn taking cited as potentially problematic (Braun, 2013). Thus, many school psychologists seem to stick to English (or perhaps Spanish in some settings) and assume that this represents the best method to gain information from bilingual students. And, of course, relatively unstructured clinical interviews are more common than diagnostic interviews (e.g., MINI-KID) or hybrid procedures (SCICA) among bilingual students.

In Chapter 5, you heard about the chances of misunderstanding a child from a different culture. Misunderstanding might concern either idiographic or nomothetic considerations. As you already learned, a Diné (Navajo) youngster might view the natural world and her place in it in a manner that seems foreign to a European-American school psychologist (an idiographic consideration). An Israeli-born youth might differ on the dimensions of expressing independence of thought or questioning of authority compared to a U.S. youth raised in a fundamentalist culture (a nomothetic consideration). Without awareness of cultural values and socialization practices instances of ethnic incongruence (as seen in Chapter 5) can sow the seeds of misunderstanding. When interviewing students, you are urged to seek humility, assume that your cultural viewpoint represents just a single option among many, and remember to treat all inferences as mere working hypotheses, all of which beg for further substantiation and all of which are subject to refutation.

Group-related bias was addressed earlier when the topic was speaking with families (Chapter 5). Some of the same considerations may exist with student interviews, plus some others. For example, interviewers may underestimate (give a pass to) the actions of students who match themselves on several dimensions–race, ethnicity, religious background, or socioeconomic status. The converse is also true. Sometimes students from one’s own culture are held to a more stringent standard (Aronson Fontes, 2008). As you saw earlier perceptions of others and actions that arise from these perceptions need not occur with conscious awareness. Increased self-knowledge is argued to represent at least a partial antidote to quell skewed perceptions when a culturally diverse student is interviewed (Aronson Fontes, 2008). And, consistent with the facts you learned about heuristics (Chapter 3), writing down information during an interview, not merely trusting summarized perceptions, helps to invoke the kind of deliberate thinking that characterizes the Reflective System. Perhaps most important, integrating findings from interviews with all sources of information represents the best way to work reflectively and to tame heuristics (the HR approach is your friend). This is equally true, perhaps even more true, when students from the non-dominant culture are assessed.

It’s not just perceptions; students from other cultures have had different lived experiences and have necessarily confronted different challenges. Consider immigrant children, whether first generation or extended across more than one generation. It’s intuitively plausible that the process of acculturation might induce stress with potential social-emotional consequences. Although the literature reveals mixed results, there is evidence of links between poor grades and psychological adjustment among Hispanic students (Bámaca-Colbert, Gayles & Lara, 2011) as well as elevated rates of depression among Hispanic teens (Peña et al., 2008). Consider, for example, a 12-year-old boy, Juan, who arrives in Illinois with his family from El Salvador. Feelings of isolation and identity confusion would seem to be only logical. Juan confronts an unavoidable process of acculturation. He must learn a new language and consider a set of interpersonal practices that are at least partially novel. He must decide how many of these to internalize (i.e., acculturation vs. enculturation—selectively retaining aspects of his culture of origin; Schwartz, Unger, Zamboanga & Szapocznik, 2010). Immediate family members go through the same process, and each is likely to consider their own pace and level of acceptance to their new world vis-à-vis each of the other family members. Intergenerational conflicts over topics like autonomy may arise and these seem to predict social-emotional adjustment (Basáñez, Dennis, Crano, Stacy & Unger, 2014).

There are even mundane considerations that are easy to overlook but may actually matter. For example, Juan must deal with winters that seem impossibly frigid and which require strange layers of padded clothing. No one in his new hometown is interested in soccer (football); everyone seems basketball obsessed. Food choices are restricted. Feelings of confusion, family fracture, guilt as well as promise and hope are apt to arise. On the one hand, incipient mental health problems might be promulgated (e.g., an underlying predisposition to anxiety manifests). On the other hand, home-country problems may lift (e.g., worry about poverty or personal safety may disappear). A clinical interview of Juan would be remiss if these topics were not discussed. They may bear on the student’s social-emotional status and help answer his referral questions. Consider inquiring about (in addition to the routine topics covered earlier):

• Adjustment to the non-native setting
• Current ethnic and cultural identity
• Anticipated (future) ethnic and cultural identity
• Perceived racial/ethnic discrimination vs. acceptance
• Cultural and religious supports
• Language acquisition and its stresses
• Changing roles in the family
• Family members’ rate of acculturation compared to the student that you are interviewing
• Envisioned citizenship
• Positive or negative views about personal (as well as the family’s) immigration status

Summary

 Interviews are a valuable way to learn about a students in their own words. Of the two main choices, diagnostic interviews and clinical interviews, the latter is more commonly used in schools. This is because clinical interviews focus on the referral questions and emerging hypotheses rather than fixed diagnoses. They are especially compatible with the HR approach. Using a few simple techniques, school psychologists can encourage children to share the kind of reports that can often add context and clarity to other sources of assessment information. Interviews are especially helpful for internalizing problems. School psychologists are encouraged to be cautious about conducting forensic interviews and to work within their local school district for questions about threats at school. There are a host of important considerations when interviews take place with students from the non-dominate culture, including special challenges associated with acculturation for those students who have immigrated from another country.