Integration is talked about, debated. But it's already a reality. A reality that affects many children, many families, many teachers right now. We can't ignore it.
And we don't want to ignore it—because who among us doesn't long, with all our heart, for each person to find their place, to feel at ease always and everywhere, in a society that welcomes them as they are?
This isn't about theory. It's about facts.
Listen, then, to what two mothers have to say.
Francesco's Mother
Francesco is nine years old. He lives at home with his whole family: father, mother, brother, grandmother. They all love him.
His spasticity keeps him from walking, from holding anything in his hands, from speaking. He has great difficulty drinking. He sits as best he can in a special chair. But his eyes are alive. They light up with joy at my visit and at all the care and attention he receives.
Francesco already has a long educational history behind him.
His mother explains that four years ago he attended a "Center"—what they call a special school—from nine in the morning until three in the afternoon. Then, three years ago, he was placed in a neighborhood school near the Center. He went only in the mornings, but everything worked well because the school was connected to the Center. Francesco ate lunch there, and the Center sent assistants and specialists for therapy.
But in the fall of 1975, when the new law took effect, he had to attend his neighborhood school full-time.
He went for a year. Then his parents withdrew him.
Why? we asked his mother.
"Mostly because he was always getting sick. The school was very cold, and he'd always catch something."
When she mentioned this problem to the school, they answered: "What can we do? You have to take the school as it is."
"And besides," the mother says, "he was left to himself." The father, who has now come into the room, adds more bluntly: "Left in a corner like a little dog."
What about therapy?
"Nothing—almost never. So what's the point of sending him?" the father says.
But wasn't there an aide?
"Yes, of course. She came to clean him up, but that's all. She didn't even have permission to enter the classroom during lessons. And then there's the bomb story."
The bomb story?
"Yes. One day the school got word of a bomb threat. Everyone—teachers and children—rushed out of the classrooms. Everyone except Francesco. He stayed behind.
When his brother tried to go get him, they stopped him, saying he had to evacuate. When I arrived, I found Francesco still in the classroom, alone," his mother says. "I can't do this anymore. I can't take him to school. There isn't even a bus. It doesn't make sense. He's better here with us. We'll keep him as long as we can."
So what would you want for your son?
"To find a therapist who will come to the house. Because to send him to regular school, you'd need the right teacher, therapy, and a bus. Otherwise it's just not worth it."
I leave the X family, turning their words over in my mind.
Alessandro's Mother
Alessandro is nine years old too. He is spastic—mildly so, I'd say. He walks with a slight hand on someone's arm or against a wall. He can speak.
Academically, he's behind. But he has an open personality and behaves like other children. He enjoys being with his peers, joking around, but also listening in class and taking part. His mother and his teacher, working together, have been—and still are—the real architects of his integration into regular school. We met them together at Alessandro's home.
At age three, he attended a preschool at a Center for children with cerebral palsy. Then, in October 1974, on the advice of a physical therapist, his mother decided to try placing him in a public school.
"It was quite an ordeal," his mother tells us. "No neighborhood school would take him. They all gave the same excuse—they weren't prepared, they didn't have the right equipment. I even went to the superintendent! Fortunately, some friends from Fede e Luce helped me through all this, because there were days I could do nothing but cry.
The superintendent confirmed that the neighborhood schools weren't suitable and recommended an experimental school not far from home.
The principal brought together the first-grade teachers and a psychologist, and they decided to place Alessandro with a teacher I'll call Ms. X, starting in January.
Ms. X is the very teacher I met at Alessandro's home—and she speaks of him with genuine interest and affection.
She has nineteen children in her classroom. She tells me she wasn't trained to work with a child with special needs and at first felt completely lost. She went to ask for advice at the Center where Alessandro had been before, but the help that first year was almost nothing. The second year, she was given an aide who still comes every day and works with Alessandro on reading practice. The aide's work continues in the regular classroom, where Ms. X uses special materials the school has.
Alessandro can now write a little, but he still can't read because he has difficulty with spatial perception. He does some basic math and simple projects. He listens carefully to everything in class and participates, in his own way. He even learns poetry, songs, and prayers by heart.
There have never been any behavior problems. After a month, he was completely adjusted to classroom life, and the teacher treats him like the other children—no special allowances for misbehavior. In short, Alessandro is not only happy at school; at his own pace, he makes steady progress.
For therapy, his mother takes him three afternoons a week to the specialized Center, where he does physical exercises.
What about the future?
"It won't be simple," the teacher tells us, "but I have two more years of elementary school with him, and my great hope is to get him reading. Then... there may be some experimental middle schools where he could find his place."
We say goodbye to the teacher, the mother, and Alessandro, who is playing in the hallway, happy as can be that his dear teacher has come to visit.
Note: We welcome more accounts, and we ask:
- Why is Alessandro so happy at school and making progress?
- Why does Francesco stay home and go nowhere?
Send us your thoughts. We'll come back to this in the next issue.
Nicole Schulthes, 1978
When we reach the end of life's journey,
all the poor of all the centuries
will gather around Jesus
and will not ask us: "Were you a believer?"
but: "Were you believable?"
Did your way of living,
your personal life,
make credible to all people that God loves them
and that they are all capable of love?Abbé Pierre