Helping Him Become a Man

Piero is 35 years old, he has Down syndrome, and he is my brother—one of five siblings. I'm the second-oldest. We grew up together, close in age, so I can speak to how our parents helped him grow, and how much they expected of him.
At home, we all understood that Piero was asked to do everything he was capable of doing. He had his own responsibilities, his own work. We knew it well.

Doing Everything You Can

But it didn't always happen without struggle. I remember one November 1st: we were all gathered at our grandparents' house. Piero wanted to set the table for one of the family feasts. Setting the table is his daily job. He took two plates from the cabinet for each person, glasses from the good service, embroidered napkins—everything. At that point our mother intervened. She told him that since there were twenty of us and we'd be eating for two days straight, he needed to set it simply, not formally. He wouldn't hear it. It felt to him like being asked to do his duty badly. After some back-and-forth, faced with our mother's firmness, he gave in. But it hurt him deeply.

That day I understood the weight of my parents' educational task with Piero—and with all of us. I also grasped how the need to educate sometimes collided with his limitations. Piero has a genuine intellectual disability. He was rejected by one special school that opened, then by another, for the same reason. It was enough to discourage anyone.

But for my father and mother, day after day, one conviction always won out: that Piero, despite his mental weakness, had a heart and a conscience that needed to be formed. They were also convinced that precisely because his intelligence was limited, it needed to be developed all the more. So they had to help him understand more than memorize—as much as he was able. From childhood on, he participated in our games (checkers, horse races) even though at first they seemed beyond his reach. The time and patience required! It was enormous.

Being Himself

For our parents, two things were non-negotiable: conscience, respect for what is true, and service to others. All of us siblings knew you couldn't lie—but you had to be truthful. Piero, though, to avoid hurting anyone, to sidestep the tensions he could sense and bear so poorly, would often become a peacemaker. He'd say yes to one person and yes to another when faced with different choices. When our mother told him, "Piero, we don't ask you to say yes to everyone; you have to say yes to what you actually think," she was trying to keep him from retreating into a refuge that would soon prove illusory.

Even now Piero struggles to understand that thinking or choosing for himself isn't wrong. He hasn't made much progress in handling tension, but he knows what it means to "tell the truth." Helping him learn that was helping him grow.

Thinking of Others

Another thing my parents always emphasized was sensitivity to other people.
I remember a family soccer game. Everyone was ready to play, and Piero started dressing himself slowly from head to toe like a soccer player: socks, jersey, armband, everything. Cousins and nephews, ranging from five to fifteen years old, were losing patience and wanted to start. Our mother went to Piero to explain that if his personal preparations took much longer, there wouldn't be a game at all—the players were tired and would want to do something else. Caught up in himself, he'd forgotten that the others were waiting, wanting to play.

But he is our brother, and his tenderness always answers ours

But he is our brother, and his tenderness always answers ours

Once again, I saw how hard it is to act with authority, tenderness, and delicacy all at once. Our mother knows how to talk with him, how to listen, how to understand from within what sometimes blocks him. She knows how to soothe his anxieties, how to tell him "don't torment yourself." That's enough for him to know he is loved as he is, with all his current struggles.
We, his siblings, only gradually understood his suffering—the suffering of having an intellectual disability, of being different, and also the suffering of having obstacles within himself, of feeling so limited.

It is important to talk with him, to listen, to try to understand what causes his blocks

It is important to talk with him, to listen, to try to understand what causes his blocks

I wish so much that he could overcome his limits. Even now I sometimes dream, believe that I'll help him understand, that together we'll make it. In those moments, I'm the one who stumbles—stumbles over my own limits in patience, love, and trust.

God Needs Him Too

But he is our brother, and his tenderness always answers ours. In the face of deep suffering, no words can comfort—but Piero's hand in ours is an inexpressible comfort to us, his siblings. He holds us with strength and gentleness together. With all his heart he shares our joys and our sorrows. He never forgets a birthday, a name day. He prays for us every day. We need it, and we depend greatly on his help.
At the heart of my parents' conviction, always present in their hearts, is a profound belief: "If God gave life to Piero, God needs him. God entrusted to us, his parents, the task above all of helping him become a man—for his personal life, his social life, certainly, but even more for his spiritual life, so that it may be alive and strong and bear fruit."

- M.N.P. (O. e L. n. 81), 1989