Franco has Down syndrome. He is 37 years old and for the past fifteen years has worked as a groundskeeper at Rome's Velodrome.
Getting there was not easy. But there was one moment, years ago, when we realized he was capable of far more than we had dared to hope — a moment that changed everything.
Franco was seven then. One ordinary morning, his mother Carla was in the kitchen preparing his breakfast, knowing he would soon wake hungry as always. She didn't notice he was already up, watching her from the doorway.
"Oh my God," she said suddenly. "I forgot the biscuits. What am I going to give him?" She began rummaging through the cupboards. Franco, unseen, had already slipped into the bedroom, taken her wallet, and quietly let himself out, locking the door behind him. He walked downstairs and headed toward the shop below the building.
Finding herself locked inside with Franco gone, Carla went to the balcony and looked. Nothing. She called for the doorman. No one answered. She stood there in a state of unimaginable anxiety until she heard the key turn in the lock. Franco appeared triumphant, holding his mother's keys in one hand and in the other a packet of biscuits and the wallet.
In that moment, once her fear subsided, Carla understood something: Franco could do more. She began to test him. With a courage I didn't initially share, she started sending him alone to catch the bus to Mameli school. In the evenings she would hide and watch to see if he could find his way home. He could, easily. I watched too, hidden, ready to intervene if needed. My doubts fell away. When he finished school and was admitted to the Anffas center at Villa Pamphili, his behavior impressed both the medical and administrative staff. They told us he could be placed in a public facility for supervised work experience. The joy on Franco's face when he heard this was answer enough. We said yes. For seven years he was happy, working alongside laborers, earning their respect and building real friendships with them. Then, thanks to Anffas and the understanding of the national sports authority, he was hired full-time as a groundskeeper by the company that held the maintenance contract for the facilities where he had been training.
Now came real worry. He would have to keep strict hours. He would be working with people who might not understand his condition. But Franco was determined. His clear desire to move forward, to keep improving, convinced us to trust him.
Today he wakes before six to go to work, and sometimes he hides how he's feeling just to avoid staying home. He feels important. He walks among people as their equal. He knows he has achieved something that once seemed impossible.
When he came home with his first paycheck, he looked puzzled and suspicious at the check itself. It meant nothing to him.
"Turn it over," I told him. "I'll exchange it for cash." He looked at me, turned it over, looked back.
"No — you have to write your name on the back." He did. When he watched that slip of paper transform into real money, he stared in wonder, like Peter witnessing the miracle of the loaves and fishes. Now he understands perfectly how that slip becomes currency. He brings his check to me already signed, careful to verify that the amount is correct.
He has learned many things. Among them, how to face difficulties that have sometimes arisen at work — misunderstanding, and rarely, rejection from colleagues and supervisors because of his condition. We expected this. But Franco has always handled it well. His outgoing nature and his warmth toward everyone have let him overcome every obstacle and win such affection that someone once told me Franco has become the best-known person in the whole Velodrome.
I want to say something to other parents facing what we face: do not despair. These young people can achieve what seems impossible if you treat them with love and include them in everyday life like everyone else.
Give them the chance to spend time with friends and peers their age. That is where they learn what we parents can never teach.
I especially thank the friends of Fede e Luce, whose generosity gives our young people so much encouragement and so many chances to learn. I am not a great believer in miracles. But when I see Franco come home happy from work, and I remember the future I thought we faced when we learned the truth about his condition, I bow my head and thank God.
- Rino Perozzi, 1991
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