Since the 1970s, Italy's Ministry of Education has required that children with disabilities enroll in preschool at age three and primary school at age six. Every education policy since has promoted inclusion with peers, allowing grade retention only in exceptional circumstances. This approach applies to all children, and today, failing a grade is rare—not just in preschool, but throughout primary and lower secondary school.
Yet many families of disabled children do not share this view. It is not uncommon for parents to request that their children repeat a year, especially in preschool. Parents' opinions on the matter, generally speaking, are split. Their choices tend to depend on each child's particular situation.
We asked several mothers who, for some time now, have been bringing thoughtful contributions to the debate on how schools serve disabled children. As you will see, their views on grade retention vary.
Daniela is the mother of a twelve-year-old boy with severe motor and sensory disabilities. He began attending childcare at thirteen months. At three, F. was nowhere near ready for preschool. We still hadn't found him the right seating system, and he could only eat while being held. One extra year in childcare gave us time to build those skills—by the time he started preschool, he could at least sit at a table with the other children for a while. He should have done the full three years of preschool. Asking to keep him back wasn't easy to justify, and the school didn't agree until May. That left us in limbo all year with no real planning. F. needed another year of preschool to consolidate his tools. Starting primary school without that foundation made everything harder and forced us to scale back some goals. If we'd been allowed to pause again in second grade, we could have solidified those two years and approached the next phase with better footing. We believe that for children like F.—where motor, communication, and cognitive abilities vary so much—it helps to plan a slower pace through school to keep the curriculum as aligned as possible with his class. He simply needs more time to reach goals because of his disability.
Silvia stresses the importance of readiness—for the child and for the school that will receive him. My son's life has been a string of diagnoses. The hardest phase came around age five, with a diagnosis that touched not just his cognition but his social and relational skills too. Knowing this, we asked to keep him in preschool one more year to build those abilities. The principal said no. First grade was brutal: he couldn't handle a big classroom with loud noise, he barely spoke, and he tried to communicate through violent behavior. The school asked us to keep him home. It took real effort to make them understand that social skills, relationships, and independence mattered. It took two years to find any balance, and you can still see the scars from that time. Moving to a new school is a chance for new stimulation, but the child has to be ready. And the people who receive him need real skill and care. Every person grows on their own timeline, shaped by a world that doesn't always know how to listen. Every child deserves respect for what they can do and help to grow in the setting that suits them best.
Stefania came to oppose grade retention, but only over time. D. was born with a complex brain malformation. The doctors gave us a bleak prognosis. Around age five, we discovered the Feuerstein Method, which opened new possibilities for growth. We asked the school to hold him back in preschool to build his awareness and independence before moving on. They refused. We asked again in first grade. The principal that year—really visionary—said no again. D. kept going, with individualized education plans we designed and revised throughout the year to keep him on track. His third-grade exam was stunning: an 8, fully earned, with real applause from the examiners. Now I think the value lies in the plan itself. When we sign it, we own it—we know it matters, we're responsible for it, and we have to make it work. If my son reaches good results, why hold him back? Why send a message of defeat? Why lose the classmates who finally accepted him as an equal? Why lose teachers who fought for him? I say no to retention. These kids work so hard to meet shared goals. I owe that respect. The future? We'll think about it when the time comes—and we already are.
Source: Disabili.com