In a recent issue of Ombre e Luci, we read a beautiful prayer from a Polish mother who called us to look at children with disabilities not with pity, but with love. I agree completely with this outlook—it's something we should all strive for. But I want to ask some questions of mothers and fathers, hoping they can shed more light on this matter of how we look at others. They have already taught us so much.
I'm the mother of four children, and our whole family is actively involved in Fede e Luce. We know something about the world of disability. And yet, even with all our "experience," there have been plenty of moments when my first glance at someone has been awkward, uncomfortable, difficult.
How do you explain to your own children that they must welcome a classmate at school who is different, less interesting, less attractive, less able—and treat him as if he were the same as everyone else?
How do you teach them to look naturally at someone who is different, to treat him naturally?
How do you tell your children not to turn away when they see a spastic boy walking down the street?
How do you tell them not to stare at a spastic boy?
How do you teach children to have a natural attitude toward children with difficulties—when in the very moment you tell them to be natural, you've already taken the naturalness away?
A few days ago during Mass, I left church with my two small children (ages two and eight) so the priest could give his homily without interruption. Outside the church, we ran into another mother with her little boy in a stroller. She'd had the same idea I had—she wanted to let the priest speak in peace. My children immediately rushed over to this boy, who was clearly a child with Down syndrome. It was one of those moments when a look—a parent's expression—can either help a mother get through her day with joy or wound her with a glance. My children asked the usual questions: "What's his name? How old is he?" "If he's already two and a half, why doesn't he walk? Why doesn't he play soccer with us? Why does he have such small hands?"
Terrible questions for me—though for my children, they were innocent and perfectly natural. I don't want to imagine how much that boy's mother probably suffered, both from the questions and from comparing her child to mine, the same age.
So I'm asking mothers who are willing to share their experiences to help other mothers of young children learn. I think it's crucial to teach these things from the start.
A Mother, 2004