What I love most about teaching is the variety. Every class is different from the one before it. Within each group, the year reveals the shy student and the self-assured one, the friendly type and the difficult one, the willing worker and the lazy daydreamer, the quick student who doesn't try and the slow one who shows up and does the work. Some children find joy in small things; others are indifferent to everything. There are plain children, not particularly bright, who win you over with their warmth and helpfulness. And there are beautiful, sharp, healthy children who are unbearable because they've learned to see themselves as the center of their own universe.
So I ask myself: Can the children with disabilities I've taught in my classes—those I've supported individually, those I've known in other settings—fit into these broad categories of behavior?
There are beautiful, sharp, healthy children who are unbearable because they've learned to see themselves as the center of their own universe.
There are beautiful, sharp, healthy children who are unbearable because they've learned to see themselves as the center of their own universe.Setting aside the severely disabled—whose situation is entirely different—I can say that the handicapped children I've known showed the same range of character traits and attitudes as their peers. They differed in how they engaged with schoolwork and group life. Over the course of the year, depending on their initial temperament and shaped by the environment around them, each disabled child, like every other student, finds a particular role within the class. He or she claims a space, larger or smaller, and occupies a position in the group's informal hierarchy. Even if a child with intellectual disability struggles with abstract reasoning or language, he can still earn better standing through other abilities and moments—becoming a "good student" and a "good classmate."
What makes a good classmate? A good classmate is someone who is happy to be with others, who listens and watches carefully, who makes a reliable ally in games, a loyal friend, a calm presence. A good classmate can take a joke, laughs with others, worries with others, willingly works in groups toward shared goals. A student like that will always rank high, will be sought out and liked—not pitied, but respected and befriended.
But who are the children (I'm speaking of all children now) who somehow know, once they enter school, how to behave the right way? How do they move comfortably and happily among teachers and classmates?
They are the ones who already received, in their families—from parents, siblings, relatives—those precious early lessons, those examples, that way of living. No one can give them better training later on.
For him too, good habits matter. Small, age-appropriate duties matter. Clear, balanced boundaries matter.
For him too, good habits matter. Small, age-appropriate duties matter. Clear, balanced boundaries matter.In the home, this first and vital education calls for love and gentleness, along with firmness and calm authority. It demands great effort and care, especially from parents, and some effort, small sacrifices, and responsibilities from the child. All of this—the love, the commitment, the expectations—must be multiplied when the child has a disability.
A child like this. Who wouldn't understand? When your child suffers, when he carries a disability, when he endures long treatments and physical therapy and sometimes hospital stays—of course you want to give him everything that might make him happier, more carefree, free from burden and obligation.
But think about his future life, about a life away from home that he has a right to, just as anyone does. Think about the place he'll occupy among others—at school, in workshops, in recreation groups, in all the moments of shared life he'll want and be able to experience. Then you understand that from the start, you must guide him, prepare him, equip him. Because he, who is weaker and more vulnerable in some ways, can become stronger and more prepared in others. He can learn the secret of becoming more lovable in whatever situations he faces.
For him too. And so, as psychologists and educators teach us, good habits matter for him. Small, age-appropriate duties matter. Clear, balanced boundaries matter. If he learns from his mother and father the joy of being with others, respect for others, trust in others, the pleasure of giving to and receiving from others—then when he is "with others," he will feel more secure and more protected.
When to start: Right away, from the crib, the experts say. But we also say: start when you can. Start when you realize you've made a mistake and want to help him better. Start when you've stopped because you were tired and discouraged, but then decide to take up again with him and for him that beautiful, difficult work of education.
From the start you must guide him, prepare him, equip him—so that he, weak in some ways, becomes stronger and better prepared in others.
From the start you must guide him, prepare him, equip him—so that he, weak in some ways, becomes stronger and better prepared in others.At school. My years in the classroom offer other examples. I've had in class children with mild disabilities who seemed constantly worried about what others thought of them. And children with more severe disabilities who faced schoolwork and turbulent classmates with a smile. I've seen disabled children leading the games and performances, and "normal" children who were withdrawn and sad over a few extra pounds or a stubborn pimple.
I've seen disabled children leading the games and performances, and "normal" children withdrawn and sad over a few extra pounds or a stubborn pimple.
I've seen disabled children leading the games and performances, and "normal" children withdrawn and sad over a few extra pounds or a stubborn pimple.There are students not particularly bright who have lively, genuine relationships with teachers. And brilliant students who remain suspicious and fearful around adults—seeing only a judge, or worse, an enemy.
I notice that the simplest students, those least driven to achieve, are the ones with the most friends. They aren't the objects of envy or comparison, and they themselves feel no jealousy or rivalry.
I had in class Roberto, who could defuse a fight between two classmates with a witty remark. Fabrizio, who with great sensitivity became the comforter and defender of punished classmates. Anna, who became invaluable and full of energy whenever we did a small performance. All three have moderate to mild intellectual disabilities.
What matters most. Looking back over all my years of teaching, comparing my experience with my colleagues', I can say this: children raised with love and calm, educated in respect for fundamental values—whether they are physically strong or fragile, quick or slow learners—these children live with ease in group settings. By finding their own role, they learn to accept others and to be loved by them. And that, I think, is the most important thing we can hope to achieve for ourselves and for those we love.
- Maria Teresa Mazzarotto, 1988