For eleven years now, two weeks of vacation together. A mix of people—children and young people with handicaps, friends, mothers—who live in Rome but come from every corner of the earth. Different races, cultures, religions, languages. Many of the volunteers had never met a handicapped person before.
"You're crazy!" "You'll never pull it off!" they told us at the start. Yet every year we begin again. Every year friends say: "I'm coming back!" Parents tell us: "Keep going!" Children wave goodbye with "See you next year!"—and sometimes even "See you tomorrow!"
"Weeks in the Sun," as we call them now, started because of a foreign mother living in Rome. She had been forced to separate from her handicapped son and wanted to show solidarity with other mothers in the same situation. She found friends. She found sisters who opened their garden, their pool, a few classrooms at their school.
The mothers brought their smaller children because they couldn't leave them at home. They asked their older children to pitch in. And so the group formed. It lasted. Year after year, we discovered something quite extraordinary: a place where real meeting happens.
"I really loved the week with handicapped people," one girl said afterward. "Usually young people feel awkward around them. Here it's the complete opposite. The handicapped kids learn to do things like we do. I felt really good. Everyone was nice and we had so much fun. Being with handicapped people gave me satisfaction and joy."
What language do we speak? What do we actually do?
Mostly English—the international language—and Italian, the local one. Gesture, activity, and affection do the rest. Many of the handicapped participants speak little or not at all, which forces us into nonverbal communication and frees us from language and cultural barriers.
We don't fix the number of participants, but we prefer to stay between 40 and 50. Above that, you have a small crowd with a different feel, requiring a different kind of organization. The handicapped young people number between 10 and 15, ranging in age from 5 to 25, with handicaps just as varied. We always try to do the impossible: stay open to everyone while keeping enough homogeneity to run group activities. In practice, this means we include only one or two very severely disabled children each year, and they join only some of the activities. We don't want to change that ratio.
The daily schedule is posted and precious to us as an anchor and rhythm in a group so mixed and always changing.
- 9–9:15 arrival
- 9:15–10 outdoor games: ball, rope...
- 10–11 crafts
- 11–11:15 snack
- 11:15–11:30 change for swimming
- 11:30–12:45 pool
- 12:45–1 change
- 1–1:30 lunch
- 1:30–2:30 rest time and quiet individual games
- 2:30–3:45 singing and group games
- 3:45–4 snack and departure
Activities change daily and year to year depending on what our volunteers can lead. The craft sessions are run by kindergarten teachers, a ceramicist, young painters, special educators, or simply mothers full of ideas.
The same goes for afternoon games and songs: when we have good guitarists, we sing a lot; when we have active and creative young people, we play more. Always, though, someone takes responsibility for afternoon activities.
Each handicapped young person is paired with a mother or older volunteer who takes special care: supervision in some cases, but also help, encouragement, companionship—whatever is needed.
On the financial side: we work with a budget because we must pay for:
- insurance;
- a swimming instructor responsible for pool safety;
- craft materials;
- the midday meal, provided by the school
Our funding comes from:
- a very modest contribution from families of the handicapped participants;
- a lunch fee from each volunteer;
- occasional donations;
- mostly, a grant from an international women's club at the FAO (Food and Agriculture Organization), which is also our legal sponsor.
Preparing these two weeks requires several meetings—in April, May, and one just before—plus many phone calls and home visits, especially for new families.
The people who commit to coming every day and accepting responsibility gather for these meetings. Tasks are assigned:
- who handles insurance;
- who arranges transport;
- who coordinates with the swimming instructor;
- who sets dates, sends notices to the FAO and international schools;
- who arranges snacks (finds friends to bake or buy cookies and drinks);
- who leads crafts or finds someone to;
- who stays in contact with old and new families.
We keep paperwork to a minimum, but we do copy:
- a sheet for parents with location, dates, and schedule;
- a form they return with their child's name, address, and relevant information (medications, diets, special needs);
- a signed consent form for participation;
- guidelines in English and Italian for volunteers with some rules and advice.
The person handling finances collects lunch fees each day, pays what's owed, and makes a brief final report.
Usually in September we meet to review finances, share photographs, and more. A few times we've gathered on a Saturday afternoon at Marymount with all the families—lovely afternoons, but hard to organize because most of our volunteers are foreign and passing through.
Marymount is more than a vacation. For many, it is "doors opening, minds and hearts growing wider." A Canadian mother testifies to this in the account that follows.
"I really felt good. Everyone was nice and we had so much fun."
First, I remember the doubts and worry. I had volunteered to help at the Marymount Day Camp of Handicapped Children, which the United Nations Women's Group organizes every summer. I had never met a handicapped child. Would I understand them? My ten-year-old son Tim would come with me. Would he be all right? Were we asking too much?
We arrived early the first day. We looked around the classrooms: toys carefully set out in the big play room; bright cards, fabric scraps, pens, books, colored pencils. Everything ready for crafts; mattresses stacked in the "quiet room" for afternoon rest. Annie and Nicole looked worried deciding who would care for each child, who would handle cleanup, what the day's schedule should be. About six helpers from six different countries were already there. More would arrive with the children on the van. Tim had already found a schoolmate.
Then suddenly the whole atmosphere changed, as if everyone opened up to life. We ran down the stairs. The van door opened and a chaos of happy, laughing children poured out. Exclamations of welcome and joy from everywhere. The "terrible twins," Roberto and Carlo, took off in two directions, with a pair of agile Marymount teenagers in hot pursuit. Quickly the day's schedule transformed into action: our children and the student volunteers joined in the liveliest games—soccer, volleyball, basketball—while the youngest chased each other, jumped rope, played tag. Everyone except the terrible twins, whose game was to throw every ball they could grab over the fence.
Then came crafts and quiet play with toys and building blocks. Pat helped little Andrea with writing and numbers. Young Nathalie and Sandra organized the morning snack while several of us worked frantically to keep the twins from wrecking everything before the others arrived. Swimming time brought us to lunch—and ravenous appetites.
After something politely called "rest time," the afternoon flew by, filled with songs and games. This year brought a special joy: Sister Gertrude from St. Francis school brought her guitar and knows all our favorite songs.
The two weeks flew by in a succession of sunny days, golden with the sound of laughter, songs, music, games, and friendship. Quick tears dried as fast as summer rain, and an angry voice would have been like a stranger intruding.
Bright memories stay: Andrea's pure bliss while he led the English choir singing "Happy Birthday Andrea"; the puppet show created by our own children, which brought down applause like a prima donna's opening night; the enormous satisfaction on the twins' faces when a police car stopped and two officers got out to return their ball and chat with them; shy, withdrawn Francesco dancing "Skip to My Loo"; sweet, gentle Giorgina giggling at Roberto and Carlo's antics; but most of all, the ache in the heart when we said goodbye on the last day.
Dear children: Tim and I can't wait to see you all again next year!
by a Mother, 1986
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