I've been asked to share my experience of my son Gianluca's integration at school, and I have to say honestly that I find this subject quite difficult to address. Our direct experience cannot serve as an "example"—and I'm convinced that no other "case" can either—without running the risk of falling into what I consider the biggest problem with the laws that protect disabled children. Each of them is UNIQUE and needs individualized responses, differentiated solutions, the ability to choose between different systems. School integration can be, for some children—or for the same child at different times—a wonderful opportunity for growth, or it can become a source of frustration and regression. It depends greatly on the type of handicap, on the regular classroom teachers, on the special education teachers, on the parents of the other children, and on us. On our ability first and foremost to accept the differences in our children, the daily difficulties, the impatient looks because they're annoying or because they don't do things like the others. I believe it depends very much on how well we can help them shine in our hearts and in the hearts of others.
Gianluca, for instance, has what is considered a moderately severe developmental delay. He expresses himself through sounds and countless gestures drawn from a sign language that Native Americans used during war, and from LSF, the language most commonly used by the deaf.
He is a child of extreme sociability toward adults, but reluctant to interact with his peers—except for a few exceptions, because he is aware of his limits. Since he was four years old, he has attended elementary school: first in a small preschool in Morocco, where we were living, then here in Rome, changing teachers and classmates several times. He loves going to school and being invited to parties, even though he doesn't mix much with the other children.
But if I had to take stock now, and if I had access to a good alternative—a specialized school with small classes of children with similar learning needs—I think I might prefer that instead. The truth is that school integration too often depends on the willingness of the regular classroom teacher to make the student's difference a source of strength for the whole class. Without that commitment, true integration with peers won't happen; at best, you get peaceful coexistence. And it depends on the willingness of the special education teacher, who in most cases hasn't been trained to work with children who often have very different conditions.
Another point that matters to me, and is hard to evaluate, is whether it's right to sacrifice the chance for him to live in an environment where he could develop some autonomy. In our son's case, being in mainstream school means he needs an adult with him constantly. It also means hours spent playing in hallways or watching films instead of "working"—and then hours of extra work outside school to help him understand that he needs to follow the same rules as the other children.
Integrating disabled children into school is a system for pushing them to become as much like us as possible, to get them used to adapting to a reality that is not theirs from an early age. Real integration is something wonderful—but only when that motivation becomes an engine for the child's calm and healthy growth.
Valeria Adorni Braccesi, 2005
