Can schools discover and develop the abilities of a handicapped child by forcing him to sit through lessons he cannot understand?
What mockery lies in those "special" middle school diplomas?
After eighth grade, where do parents send their disabled sons and daughters?
How often do we hear, when families turn back to special schools, that it's already too late?
These are the haunting questions posed by a tormented teacher in a letter we publish on page 3—questions that frame our theme: what kind of school for handicapped children?
In this issue we offer two "answers," one from Ponte Lambro (Milan), the other from Neuilly (Paris).
Ciro takes his basket in hand. Followed by Giovanna, he walks slowly—with that gentle sway peculiar to him—toward the chicken coop. He opens the gate carefully while the hens, accustomed to his daily visit, continue their brisk march, their heads held high, rising now and then on their toes. And there they are: five fresh eggs, nested one beside the other in the straw. "Good hens," says Ciro. He places each egg into his basket with care, hands it to Giovanna with a reminder to watch it closely, and sets off toward his regular customers. "Anna, do you want eggs for your baby?"
"Two will do, Ciro, thank you!"
"My hen laid five eggs. One egg is 150 lire, two eggs are 300 lire, four eggs are 600 lire, five eggs are 750 lire."
And so Anna, not wanting to diminish all that mental and physical effort, ends up buying all five.
Ciro returns to class satisfied, but his work is not finished. He pulls a notebook from the cupboard and marks five check marks next to "eggs" for the current week.
A colorful poster announces that on Friday, from 3 to 4 p.m., people can enjoy a good "coffee"... a remedy for the wear and tear of school life. At the bottom, a sheet collects orders.
At precisely 3 o'clock, Carmine, Michele, Paolo, and the ever-present Ciro descend the stairs of the farmhouse, leaving behind them a stimulating and unmistakable aroma: the coffee has been made and now they deliver it to order.
"How much?"
"Four hundred lire."
"That's four big iron coins," adds Michele.
"I'm giving you five hundred lire in paper money—how much change do you owe me?"
Carmine knows: "One hundred lire."
If a customer pays with a thousand-lire note, things get more complicated, and then Ciro, the expert, steps in to explain that six hundred lire in change are needed, adding—for those who don't know—that this is one paper coin and one big iron coin.
"We're not selling eggs today."
"Why not?"
"Not yesterday either," says Giuseppe. "We're making a cake."
"A cake with liqueur," adds Simona.
"And butter, sugar, flour," the others chime in, all trying to speak at once.
"A party?"
"No, we're selling it. Do you want some?"
On the usual easel stands a sign: "Homemade cake, 500 lire per slice."
The price is modest, the cake is good, and quickly the reservation sheet fills up: six slices in the workshop, another six in Luisella's class for a birthday party, two for Carmen from the wardrobe.
Punctually at half past three, the "pastry chefs" make their rounds with slices wrapped in paper napkins and return to count their earnings.
Monica, Barbara, Laura, Giovanna, and Antonia are in the school's small kitchen. On the gas stove simmers an appetizing tomato sauce, stirred continuously by Antonia.
Monica and Giovanna shape meatballs with fairly steady hands, Barbara washes the salad, and Laura tidies the cupboard.
The teacher is among them, speaking gently like a mother—correcting, moving from one girl to the next, always watchful but never suffocating; ready to help, never to take over entirely.
Soon they will set the table: with care and good taste, with all the accessories, even the coasters and napkin holders woven from raffia by their own hands, and there will be little flowers at the center because beauty is a fundamental "ingredient" of education.
When they eat the steaming pasta, the meatballs, and the vegetables, they will taste not just food, but the joy of having "made" it themselves.
They made a quick stop at the pastry shop this morning to buy a few sweets to give a festive touch to the meal.
These are just some moments in the lives of the students in the occupational classes—and there could be many more.
"What exactly are these occupational classes?"
An inspector asked one day during his visit to the center, while reading one of the "advertisements" I mentioned earlier.
As I began to answer him quickly, he interrupted me after my first words: "No, no, I want to come back another time and see this for myself. Because this is life—utterly different from the paperwork I'm buried in."
In fact, the occupational classes are, and mean to be, life and preparation for life.
How did they begin?
Years ago, one day, a little girl struggled once again with the word "oca" (goose) that she could not manage to read, and she looked at us with such a confused expression that we decided to throw out—so to speak—the school of reading and writing at least for those students who showed they could not benefit from it in any positive way. We replaced it with the school of "doing."
What to do?
At first, in our enthusiasm, all sorts of activities seemed possible, interesting, stimulating. But as always happens, we had to choose carefully, setting aside those too difficult or with results too distant, and settling on activities that were at least partly accessible to all the children and could be repeated consistently—a necessary condition for learning.
We realized that activities alone were not enough; they could actually become nothing if each one were not backed by a clear plan and a person capable of carrying it through without discouragement, without the temptation to return to reading and writing, without expecting immediate results.
It was not easy, but we succeeded. In the end, we had the pleasant surprise of seeing those school notions we had thrown out the window come back in through the door, because we had learned once more a fundamental truth: one truly understands only what one does.
The principle underlying this experience of "occupational school" is that one truly understands only what one does.
By way of example, we present below, in simple and concise form, some of the main activities carried out in the occupational classes and their respective aims.The principle underlying this experience of "occupational school" is that one truly understands only what one does.
Activity: Care of self and surroundings: brushing teeth, washing hands and face, combing hair, washing and ironing simple clothing.
Aim: Beyond the practical value of learning simple domestic skills, these activities present numerous opportunities for practice in arithmetic (costs, weights, etc.) and the development of hygienic habits (food choices, ways of preparing it).
Activity: Learning to care for the classroom: sweeping, dusting, washing, beautifying.
Aim: To provide the capacity for at least partial care of a home, so that the child, as an adolescent and adult, experiences the satisfaction of at least partial self-sufficiency.
Activity: Raising farm animals and growing simple plants.
Aim: Knowledge of the animal and plant worlds. Selling the products to concretely teach the use of money.
Activity: Making simple everyday objects: woven baskets, raffia coasters, napkin holders, napkins, etc.
Aim: To develop manual skills, also for use during free time. Selling the objects made (further knowledge of money).
Activity: Outings: both to discover nature and the surrounding world and for practical purposes—to the post office, town hall, various shops, even factories and businesses.
Aim: Knowledge of both the physical and social worlds, to give the student a basic understanding of everyday problems and some tools to solve them.
Feeling clean and orderly gives the students a sense of security and joy and makes them acceptable to those around them. Doing ordinary chores, with a teacher's help—but without the teacher taking over—is a maturing experience that builds self-sufficiency.
Activity: Classroom conversations about the activities completed. Highlighting simple key words to be learned as whole words.
Aim: To teach students to reflect on what they have done; to enrich vocabulary through concrete experience; to lay the groundwork for functional reading.
Activity: Music, theater, and dramatic activities.
Aim: To offer means of non-verbal communication to "free" the child.
Unfortunately, a summary flattens the picture. It brings clarity, yes, but loses the nuance—and fails most of all to convey the joy these students feel in rediscovering and making their own the simple things of everyday life.
-from the Newsletter of the Friends of Don Luigi Monza Group, no. 1-1984