August 8, 1998, 8:00 a.m., outside San Giuseppe da Copertino church at Eur. We were all waiting eagerly. In a few hours, we would leave for summer vacation—our destination: Casargo, near Lecco.
This is how my adventure began, discovering disabled teenagers for the first time.
I was going through a time of transition (that's how I like to call it)—a difficult, restless phase of adolescence. I was rethinking my whole life: my relationships, my choices for the future.
People say that in moments like these, the best thing is to give yourself to others and find the strength to overcome your struggles.
Father Giancarlo suggested I try volunteering, and why not? What did I have to lose?
I left without knowing what to expect or what kind of help I could offer. Today I can say: if I hadn't gone, I would have made the biggest mistake of my life.
Casargo wasn't an ordinary vacation. It was the beginning of a new path—one of joy, humility, and growth, both personal and spiritual.
I barely knew the kids from Rome and didn't know the Milan group at all. At first, I'll admit, I was anxious. I didn't know their names, didn't know how to talk to them. A thousand questions crowded my mind. Would I survive ten days among people who rushed past me? Among someone whose hobby was washing car windows? Among others who didn't speak and wouldn't look me in the eye?
Looking back, I realized every question had been pointless. Day by day, they taught me new ways to connect—a different way for each of them, each one more beautiful and moving than the last.
What is essential is invisible to the eye, A. de Saint-Exupéry wrote. They were the ones teaching me: how beautiful to rediscover the value of a smile, the simplicity of an embrace, the richness of a tear, the innocence of a kiss!
When you're having fun, ten days vanish. August 18 came, and it was time to say goodbye. Lauretta came up to me, held me tight, and said: "Don't cry—you're my bread and butter!" And Francy: "Baby cry, baby cry."
It was true.
Me—so strong on the surface, so put-together—broke down in tears at that moment of goodbye.
And they taught me even that: to stop being ashamed of my feelings.
That's how they became my little princes, and I became their fox. They tamed me.
"Ah!" said the fox. "Then I shall cry."
"It's your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wanted to hurt you, but you asked me to tame you…"
"That's true," said the fox.
"But you will cry!" said the little prince.
"That's true," said the fox.
"Then what good has it done you?"
"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat."
Four years have passed since that summer. I've stayed close to our group, never missing a vacation, growing alongside them and because of them.
But the most important thing: I became their FRIEND. Now Francy even calls me by my name. If I'm a better person today, it's because of Viviana, Eugenio, Francy, Lauretta, Felice, Simona, Claudio, Roby, Ludo, Leonardo, Agata, Alessio, Edoardo, Gianni, Paola, Michele, Gabriella, Elisa, Daniele, Germana, Fabrizio, Joey, Anna, Pasquale, Fabietto, Simona, Ilaria, and so many others.
- Claudia Cornacchione, 2002