The director, owners, and staff of the Luna Park amusement park in Rome's EUR district, moved by the frequent visits of handicapped children from the Arca community, came up with an idea: a day of special welcome for all handicapped people in Rome. A committee formed. Together—the director, employees, and the Little Sisters of Jesus (who ran a stand at the park)—they set out to plan something worthy of the name they chose: "LET'S HAVE FUN TOGETHER."
Walking into the Luna Park that day, I felt something new and thrilling in the air: smiles everywhere. Hundreds of handicapped young people threw themselves into the atmosphere of sounds, lights, colors. Their energy, their joy—it became a kind of spectacle. Some danced. Some cracked jokes. Some made a train with their wheelchairs. Some waved at friends. You could feel the sheer hunger to be alive.
The simplicity and openness of spirit among these friends of ours made a mockery of all that youth who feel strong only because they are "normal"—yet who are already bored and exhausted by life. I watched the faces of passersby: surprise, curiosity, but genuine respect across the board.
The courage of handicapped people to embrace such an experience spoke to their maturity: they wanted to teach, to wake the world around them, to show that disability is neither a punishment nor the mark of second-class human beings, but simply a condition. The ride operators caught that spirit with enthusiasm. From their loudspeakers came words of spontaneous solidarity: "Scared? Ride again for free." Their warmth and kindness were a fraternal embrace for everyone there.
Moments like these show us how much humanity lives in the world and in those around us—if only we open ourselves more fully, more joyfully, to life. Such experiences should make us think hard about the role of parents, siblings, friends of handicapped people. We who stand closest to these situations ought to keep searching for the will to live, to love, to witness faith and hope. That is why we gather TOGETHER: meeting one another teaches the "world-weary" that despite exhaustion, doubt, and difficulty, there are still people who seek, who want, who live as they did that afternoon at the Luna Park. One image stays with me: at every fountain that day, smiling sisters stood offering water to drink. Isn't that itself a beautiful symbol of love?
Yes, on May 31st, something new happened at the Luna Park. The first day dedicated to people with disabilities was a bold step forward in breaking through the indifference that can dampen our hopes. It was a moment that made us believe, even more strongly, that integration with the everyday world is possible.
Something great took place: for hours on end, I saw people who were truly happy, smiling at life and at their own existence.
- Riccardo Guglielmin, 1990