During my teenage years in the parish of Stella Mattutina in Rome, I discovered something I wanted more than anything else: to teach catechism to younger children. After confirmation, many of us were given the chance to take on parish work, and this was the path I chose. But I was terrified. I had a severe physical disability, and I couldn't shake the fear that no one would accept me in that role. My timidity nearly stopped me. In the end, I gathered my courage and asked our parish priest and the woman who ran parish life if I could try. To my astonishment, they said yes with real enthusiasm. So I began teaching the youngest children, those preparing for their first communion.
I built real journeys with so many of them—paths that began at first communion and continued all the way to confirmation. It was beautiful.
I had imagined every kind of failure. I pictured the parents rejecting me. I imagined the children making fun of me. None of it happened. Yes, there was surprise at first. But once I made clear the simple rules—that I couldn't shout like an eagle or chase them around the room—everything fell into place. Not one child ever treated my disability as an obstacle. The parents respected me. Their trust meant everything.
What I learned early on was this: I had to show them, and myself, that I wasn't afraid of them. I had to be ready to listen, perhaps even more than my fellow catechists were. And they gave me so much in return. Not just what they learned, but the maturity and respect that grew in them as they matured. I watched them move from childhood into their teenage years. I hope they carry good memories of what we built together. They weren't exceptional children—and that's exactly why I value the experience so deeply.
Every time a new class begins, I feel the same excitement I felt all those years ago. My years as a catechist prove something simple but crucial: a disabled person can be an educator—neither better nor worse than anyone else. The idea that children won't respect a disabled catechist is false, and it needs to be challenged. This is where Christian families have a real responsibility. They need to teach their children to welcome catechists who are a little different. When they do, their children learn more than catechism. They learn dignity. They learn respect—for themselves and for others.
- Gaia Valmarin, 1992
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