Propose, don't impose
Ask, don't demand
Accompany, don't help
Watch over, don't surveil
Reach toward, don't insist
Affirm, don't reproach
Show preference, don't overprotect
Understand, don't punish...
We could go on. But this is enough for today.
It's not a mere word game, though it may seem so at first glance. These are attitudes we must choose in place of others that come more naturally to us—educators all: teachers, professors, catechists, and above all parents, especially parents of children with problems, with handicaps, with difficulties of every kind.
They can be the foundation for taking stock of ourselves, for examining how we behave with our children and for starting fresh each day, with endless patience, to carry out that difficult task for which we were never trained, yet to which we must give the very best of ourselves, always, without growing weary. It is through our education that every child, even a handicapped one, will be more accepted by others, will be able to find a place among them, will be better loved—precisely because he or she will have done everything possible within the limits of their abilities.
I said earlier that it comes naturally to us to reproach, to demand, to overprotect, to help, to punish. Perhaps because that's how we ourselves were raised. Perhaps because with our child—difficult and fragile—it seems instinctive to behave as instinct, rather than the heart, dictates.
How often I hear people say:
"You have to push him, or he won't do anything!"
"What that one needs is a couple of good slaps!"
"If I were his mother, I'd show him how it's done!"
"If I don't peel the orange for him, he won't eat it!"—and you could go on with examples without end.
It's true, too, that we can't generalize; each case is unique, and every child has different needs.
It's easy to say: "He needs to learn to cut his meat by himself!"
There are children and even adults who, unfortunately, don't have that possibility because they can't use their hands. But it's also true that there are young people with mild handicaps who could not only cut their meat, but also wash and dress themselves, make themselves useful, learn to do many things they don't do simply because they've always been helped—mostly by their mothers.
There's a difference, it seems to me, and it's more constructive to say to your child: "Would you like to try making the bed together, so you can do it on your own when you go on vacation?" rather than shouting: "You have to learn to make your own bed!"
It's more educational to say: "Please, could you clear the table while I rest for a moment?" than to demand: "If you don't clear the table today, no television for you!"
It's more effective to offer: "Would you like to shell the beans with me?" or "Would you like to try taking a bath by yourself with me?" than to grumble: "This kid can't even wash his own face!"
Real progress comes—and comes far sooner—through forgiveness, understanding, and praise than through poor grades, anger, indifference, and failure.
Real progress comes—and comes far sooner—through forgiveness, understanding, and praise than through poor grades, anger, indifference, and failure.
And when something asked of them is done poorly; when a cup falls and breaks; when instead of a clean sink you find a flooded bathroom; when sent to buy three bread rolls, they come back with a kilogram of bread; when their clumsiness makes our blood boil; when they say something they shouldn't—that is the moment to understand, not to reproach; not to make them feel that we, their parents, see them as good-for-nothing, just like everyone else does. Because this is the secret of all progress. It is only when they receive praise, when they have a small success, when they begin to understand that they can do something, that they can be someone, that they move forward and do better.
Otherwise, as happens at school, if they never get a seven, only fours, they don't move ahead. They fall behind, and sometimes, for the rest of their lives.
This is the most important moment in all education: the moment when the weakest among us asks compassion of us who are "stronger" and "more capable."
If we were truly stronger and more capable, this would be our moment to understand, not to punish; this would be the moment to say: "It's all right. Plenty of people have made the same mistake. Now let's try again together, and you'll see—it will go better!"
If the task is truly within the young person's reach, real progress comes—and comes far sooner—through forgiveness, understanding, and praise than through poor grades, anger, indifference, and failure.
This is true preference; it is the real "loving" that we should always show for those near us who "struggle," in every area of life. It's not, as some believe, a foolish attitude that makes us say: "Poor thing. He'll never make it." It is, on the contrary, a strong conviction that together, with our accompaniment, he will succeed—as far as he possibly can.
And if we offer this solidarity, our child will make progress we never thought possible, because he will have found someone who believed in his progress and fought alongside him.
— Mariangela Bertolini, 1991
===FINE===