And I understood that you have to look beyond the surface
My name is Alessandra, and I'm from Milan, part of the Fatima group. Our group is a bit unusual: we have more parents and teenagers with challenges than typical friends, but so far we've been fortunate enough to work through the problems that come up from within the group itself. We all get along, and the relationship we have with the teenagers goes beyond just our gatherings; we're also lucky to live close to one another.
The gathering, I imagine like in all groups, is what our teenagers look forward to most. Ours ends with a Mass that we animate together, followed by a pizza party—a chance to deepen our friendships. Among the teenagers there's one girl who used to make me uneasy. Vittoria is very lively, and her energy scared me. Because of that, I kept my distance and didn't really know her.
Last summer I had the chance to spend a week with her, her family, and my own family in the small town where I go on vacation every year.
I have to admit I was very nervous before she arrived. I worried about how she would be with me during that week.
Then Vittoria got there, and her joy for life drew me in—and my whole family too.
We were inseparable. We went around town singing, the three of us—Vittoria, another girl from Turin, and me—shocking the locals and entertaining the tourists.
All my anxieties melted away in one fabulous week.
This wonderful experience taught me that you have to look beyond the surface. If a teenager next to you is too lively, moody, or "difficult," you have to meet them where they are and enter into their world.
Alessandra Botta
A cabbage doesn't always solve the crisis
I want to share a small story with you.
Today is a beautiful, sunny day. Michela woke up very early (as usual) asking to go to school. Since it's Sunday, there's no school, and I had a hard time making her understand. So she turned her interest to other activities. We always try to keep her busy with "small activities" so that time doesn't feel boring for her. Michela knows that our grandparents are visiting today: she has a good relationship with them, especially her grandmother, who often keeps her occupied with endless card games. My mother had to go to a condo association meeting, so Michela is in the care of the rest of the family. While Michela is trimming lettuce with her grandmother's help, her grandmother invites her to go to Mass. The invitation makes Michela very happy: she keeps repeating that she'll go to Mass. Unfortunately, the grandmother doesn't know that the tire on Michela's wheelchair got a puncture yesterday at the Faith and Light gathering—a mean pushpin left on the ground caused the damage. Michela won't accept this sudden change of plans. Her grandfather tries to fix it and seems like he might succeed, but then he has to give up because he lacks the hex wrench that only my mother, who's temporarily away, knows where to find. So Michela is stuck without working legs. And so the crisis unfolds: my son and the grandparents go to Mass while Michela is desperate and crying, and I feel helpless to grant even this simple request to participate in Mass. For a typical child this wouldn't be a crisis, but for our children without good legs, it is.
Now it's just Michela and me. She swings between composure and tears, pouting like a small child from time to time (Michela is and will always be a child at heart, even though physically and in years she has grown). She looks at me and begs me as though whether she goes to Mass depends entirely on me.
She sits in the lounger by the window, hearing the voices of the teenagers heading to Mass, seeing how the sun makes the day beautiful, and she keeps imploring me monotonously. I pick her up and, after putting on a recording of children's songs (which she loves), I hold her and try to get her to dance. Little by little I see her calm down, even smile at moments. Suddenly I remember that in the kitchen I have a large, beautiful head of cabbage. I tell Michela that I need her help to trim it and cut it into small pieces: for almost an hour Michela is completely absorbed in this frantic activity (anything manual becomes frantic for Michela). And so, thanks to a cabbage, life goes on.
This is the account of a "crisis" that happened on a sunny Sunday. How many "domestic crises" must we overcome each day so as not to embitter our children.
Not always is there a cabbage to smooth over the crisis. Then we can only hope in Divine Providence.
Cosmai Giacomo