I went to a library in a vacation village looking for a book. While I waited, I watched the librarian at work—serious but friendly, competent and easy with people. Then I noticed she was sitting in a wheelchair. She handed returned books to a young girl who moved with ease, coming and going with a composed smile. Between them, only quiet words, the way you speak in a library. The girl brushed past me lightly and apologized with a smile. When I realized she was a person with Down syndrome, I wanted to congratulate her. I caught myself. She was there, doing her job, and had no need whatsoever for my patronizing praise. I left with my book, and something was singing inside me.
I walked in the rain, thinking back on twenty years. No longer shut away behind closed doors, overprotected—but free to be with others, to live out their gifts, without hiding their limits. Who among us doesn't have some?
I reached my little house, with its barns and garden, its chickens, dogs, and cats. Speaking of dogs: this year I found one more—a large black doberman, dark as pitch, who came toward me docile as a lamb. I was drawn by the unintelligible sounds of a small girl calling to her therapy dog with something like "come here." Federica—Chicca to her parents—is four years old. She lives in the apartment below mine. She is slightly spastic, cannot yet stand on her own, speaks with difficulty but makes herself understood and above all understands everything. Her eight-year-old sister plays with her and gets her playing with neighborhood children. The big-dog-friend is naturally the star of these games. Chicca rides him like a pony, and the other children around her dream up games she can take part in.
Her father told me about the girl's progress thanks to her dog. They call it "pet therapy"—using a companion animal. Watching them together, it's hard to say whether the dog is the girl's favorite or the other way around.
New behaviors, new treatments, looks and attitudes that would have been unthinkable years ago. Yes, it remains hard to welcome and share life with a disabled child or parent. And yet much has changed. Services have mobilized to help families in need, so they don't face it alone. School integration, though imperfect in some places, has let people with disabilities become known; it has eased, partly, the discomfort their presence once provoked. The culture has shifted: we speak of them with less awkwardness. Last summer, something happened that would once have been impossible—a hotel did not turn away disabled guests because they "disturbed" other visitors. Instead, the hotel asked the able-bodied guests to leave because they "could not eat in peace" with disabled children present. The hotel owner, a woman of thirty, said: "I don't care that I lost money. I couldn't stand such rejection."
For us, it is a joy to catch these glimpses of change, and to hope they multiply and light the way for so many families who have fought and continue fighting for the wellbeing and peace of mind of those they love.
- Mariangela Bertolini, 1999