Saying and doing—there's a gap between them. That's what people say when something seems nearly impossible, too hard to achieve, pure fantasy.
But we discovered it isn't always true.
We're talking about school. About the experience we've lived through with Paolo and Fatima.
Paolo is almost 9 now. He sees very little and hears even less, which means he never learned to speak. Yet despite these obvious limits, he has happily attended the primary school in Zingonia for three years. The school runs a "reinforced program"—a classroom for six children with severe disabilities who follow personalized curricula but share lunch, theater, gym, music, religion, and computer time with the other students. Paolo has a support teacher and a professional educator with him throughout the day. The school partners with our community on his educational plan, supervised by the local child psychiatry team. The result? Paolo loves going to school. He has learned social rules well, discovered activities that fascinate him, and most importantly, he has a world of friends.
The only weak point (not the school's fault, but the state system's): every year he gets a new support teacher, and each time he needs the space to get to know her and learn how to relate to her. But we manage.
Fatima's challenge was even bigger. People thought we were crazy when we said we wanted to send her to school at six, like any other child. Crazy because Fatima breathes with a ventilator, needs oxygen and a monitor to check her vital signs, needs suctioning to clear secretions from her tracheostomy, and cannot move at all in her wheelchair. But sometimes crazy pays off. Today Fatima is in second grade. She has learned to read and to dictate what she wants to write. She can add numbers, divide words into syllables, and is very interested in the two Marcos in her class. Yes, she goes for only two hours a day. Yes, the curriculum is pared down to what Fatima can actually learn. But it has been a crucial step—it let her leave our community, have relationships with peers, meet children her own age, and know other educators. She is never alone at school; one of us accompanies her and provides her care. She has a support teacher and four classroom teachers.
When her health doesn't allow her to go to school, the school comes to us (it's only 200 meters away): her support teacher visits two mornings a week, and every two weeks the entire class comes to sing, tell stories, and play. None of this fell from the sky. Fatima goes to school, and the school comes to Fatima—to their mutual benefit—because of careful, courageous networking between different organizations.
And it is this networking that changes the old saying: saying and doing no longer have an ocean between them. They have connections.
The state school in Arcene, not without initial hesitation, accepted the challenge. Today it shows a professional skill and openness of mind that are truly rare.
The local child psychiatry service supervises the placement, supports the teachers through their difficulties, and offers specialized consultation.
For two years, the Fondazione della Comunità Bergamasca has funded the Tau—Community of Children in Arcene with a specific project that covers the extra costs Fatima's school enrollment requires. These efforts are amply repaid by Fatima's superlatives when she comes home from school: "I was super-mega-extra-amazing!"
Breaking news: too good to be true! Ms. Laura is leaving, and we start over (who knows when!) with a new support teacher. What a job, being a student!
Manuela Bartesaghi, 2008
