Marco started middle school after his family moved, leaving behind all his elementary school friends. In those first weeks, he seemed lost. Yet he also showed a deep hunger to connect with his new classmates. To feel accepted, he began distorting how he described himself and his family: his father became a successful lawyer instead of a factory worker; Marco himself was transformed from a spectator into a gold-medal swimmer. Once his classmates discovered the truth, they began to mock him. Slowly, they shut him out.
His academic performance raised flags almost immediately. His teachers suspected the problem ran deeper than what his family claimed—poor instruction at his previous school. Something else was at work, and we needed to look closer.
What puzzled us most were the contradictions. Marco couldn't answer the simplest questions. Then, faced with complex reasoning that stumped every other student, he would suddenly provide the correct answer. His struggles were too specific to dismiss as general weakness, yet too erratic to fit a coherent picture. Beyond that, he had trouble reading, using technical tools, doing calculations, organizing space and time, memorizing a simple sequence of movements, and holding his attention. His concentration would fragment.
These observations pushed his teachers to speak with his family and recommend a specialist's evaluation.
His parents resisted. They continued to blame Marco's previous school and his lack of effort. They promised to give him more attention, more support with homework at home. They were sure that would be enough to get him through middle school. His teachers, wanting to encourage Marco and protect his already fragile confidence, decided to promote him to the next grade.
When classes resumed, the same problems returned. Worse, as his teachers' expectations grew—as they had to—Marco's frustration deepened. His attention dipped further. Learning slowed.
This time, his teachers pressed harder. They asked Marco's parents to seek a serious evaluation at a learning disabilities clinic.
The assessment revealed that Marco had normal intelligence. But he had dysgraphia—difficulty with writing and handwriting—and trouble with calculation. These affected his spatial and visual-construction skills and his ability to think graphically. The result was a crushing sense of inadequacy and collapsing motivation. The diagnosis gave his teachers clarity and a way to design targeted help. But it shattered his parents. They fell into confusion and crushing guilt.
What everyone had mistaken for laziness and carelessness—and punished accordingly—was an actual disorder. If it had been caught early, Marco would have been spared so much frustration, so much suffering, so much being misunderstood.
His father, overcome with anguish, recalled the times he had scolded Marco sharply for being afraid to jump a simple obstacle or balance on a chair. He had forced him past his fear. Only now did he understand the hurt he had caused his son, unknowingly.
At last, Marco's moment came. With a diagnosis in hand, he could be assigned a support teacher—someone who would work alongside his class and create an individualized program tailored to his learning needs.
As his teacher, I draw this lesson: we should have looked harder at Marco's struggles. We should have done more. Students with learning disabilities make slow progress, often invisible progress. They need patience. They need reassurance, support, and encouragement. More than anything, they need to be loved.
A Teacher, 2009
Managing Inclusion in Schools
Luigi D'Alonzo, Editrice La Scuola
For teachers committed to working with real competence, we recommend this new resource on managing inclusion in schools. Teachers face continuous change and cannot afford to stop learning. This book offers solid support for reflecting on your own classroom practice—to strengthen weak areas and find new energy for the challenge of including students with cognitive and behavioral difficulties. The book is clearly structured, presenting key theories and pedagogical approaches in practical terms. The final chapter offers specific guidance for different types of disability.
L.N.