The request struck us as worthwhile, though not easy to carry out. We thought about it carefully before deciding to move forward.
Then we did. We're hoping to offer real help in such delicate territory.
Starting with this first 1997 issue of Ombre e Luci, and in each issue throughout the year, you'll find a short story written in simple language, set in a school. Its characters are real children—contemporary, often very different from one another, as they are in an integrated classroom.
We hope all the children, grandchildren, and young friends of our readers will read these pages, illustrated by a child like themselves. We hope they'll find them interesting and fun. We also hope that a parent or grandparent will read along and, if needed, help them understand the story fully.
It would be wonderful if these little stories—published as an easily detachable insert in the center of the magazine—were read aloud in school with a teacher, in a catechism group, or in other settings, guided by an adult. That way many children could think about the meaning and value of inclusion, without getting bored.
For now, we can only wish you "happy reading" and send one big embrace to all our future readers—numerous and beloved—while waiting (eagerly) for your comments.
Marta
They were waiting for the teacher to arrive. The custodian watched them from the doorway while she chatted with a colleague about grandchildren, children, recipes.
"I didn't do my math homework," Carlo said.
"Why?" asked Danilo.
"Why? He never does! See?" Irene shrieked.
"You shut up. You're always tattling, and your sister does your homework for you because she's in middle school... I know all about it."
"I do my homework myself. You're the one who copies mine every morning because you play soccer all afternoon."
"Be quiet, Irene," Marta tried to interrupt—"or you're going to get in trouble!"
Too late. A blackboard eraser, heavy with chalk dust, flew across the room and hit Irene's chestnut bangs square on. She let out a scream.
"Ow! I've got chalk in my eyes... I can't see... help!"
"Good for you, tattletale!" Carlo, Danilo, and Mario shouted.
"That'll teach you to mind your own business!"
"We're telling the teacher," Marina, Claudia, and Francesca yelled, rushing to help her brush chalk dust from her eyes and hair.
"Well, what's going on here... have you all gone crazy?"
Teacher Fiorenza stood in the doorway, furious—at the traffic, at the custodian for not watching them, at the children for fighting.
"Well, what's going on... have you gone crazy?" The teacher stood at the door, angry... watching the children bicker.
"I want to know what happened. Who started this? I want the truth."
"Nothing, teacher," Danilo began bravely. "I was just telling Carlo something, and Irene stuck her nose in."
Francesca spoke up for her friend: "Teacher, it's always the boys. If someone says something, they always get physical."
Swollen with rage, Carlo nearly shouted: "But you're always playing tricks on us. Who asked for your help, busybody?"
"Carlo's right!" three or four boys yelled.
"You're all stupid, stupid," Claudia, Irene, and Francesca shot back. The teacher really lost her temper.
"That's enough! You still don't know how to behave in a classroom. You'll stay at your desks during recess. You can eat your snack and sit in silence and think about how people should conduct themselves. Nothing more."
A desperate NOOOO rose from the desks, then quickly died. Misery settled into twenty hearts. Looks of resentment and anger fixed on the two worst offenders, who became the saddest of all. Sad and guilty. Missing recess is the worst thing that can happen during a school morning. And there was nothing anyone could do about it—the teacher was too angry.
Carlo, red as a lobster, stared at his book. Irene wept silently.
Claudia took a deep breath and, while the teacher took roll, whispered to Marta, her seatmate:
"And it wouldn't have taken much to say so," the teacher said. "Well. This time you're forgiven. You can have recess."
"Marta, if you ask her, she'll listen to you," she said. "No, no!" Marta shook her head, frightened. "I don't have the courage." "Come on, Marta, help us. Can we really stay in class for five hours? Come on, do it for me. We're friends, aren't we?"
"But what am I supposed to tell her? Can't you see she's angry? And she has every right to be!"
"Quiet back there," the teacher called out. "Now take out your composition notebooks."
"I'm starting to feel better," sighed Giacomo.
But Claudia didn't give up:
"Marta, listen... you have to tell her..."
She moved closer and whispered something in her ear. Marta looked at her, then at the sad faces of the other children. She made up her mind. With quick movements, she pushed the wheels of her wheelchair toward the desk.
The soft squeak made nineteen heads lift at once, and nineteen pairs of eyes followed her movements.
"What is it, Marta?" the teacher asked, looking up from her notes. She studied her better. Marta looked worried.
"Go ahead. Be brave. What do you want?"
"Teacher," Marta said in a rush,
"Carlo didn't understand yesterday's math problem. Today we don't have arithmetic, but this afternoon I have my support teacher. Carlo could work on it with me and so..."
"...Quiet... quiet... quiet..."
Her classmates held their breath. The teacher sighed.
"Do you agree, Carlo?"
Carlo, at first surprised, found the escape route convenient.
"Well, I can try!" he muttered.
"Did that really take so much? And why did you have to fight about it? Well, for this time you're forgiven. Do your best on the composition, and then you can have recess."
A muffled "yes!" rippled through the room. Twenty mouths smiled at each other knowingly.
A soft squeak rolled across the classroom again.
"And you learn not to be such a busybody!" Claudia whispered to Irene, giving her a light kick under the desk.
- Pennablù, 1997