Ilaria, 14 years old
When I first joined the "group"—as my sister called it, she'd been helping out with the children for over a year—I thought contact with small handicapped children would shake me deeply.
And it did. Just not in the way I expected.
Their sweetness, their warmth, their enthusiasm when they welcomed me made me forget their conditions almost at once. Soon I found myself throwing myself into the simple games we'd prepared for them.
The group didn't make a fuss over me. Even though I was brand new, I was given two children to help—two brothers whose condition will gradually worsen. Yet their faces, so alike, especially in the gentleness of their beautiful eyes and their smiles when they saw me, spoke a will to live that their words could not express.
My small friends have serious speech difficulties. They cannot walk; they drag themselves along. They need constant support. Yet they know how to smile. They smile when we play with colors. They smile when we roll a ball back and forth. They smile when I take their hand, gripping my fingers tight as if to say they understand, that they thank me, that they love me the way I love them.
Lucia, 14 years old
At the first gathering I was a bit confused. I didn't know how to act or what to do. Afterward I thought things hadn't gone very well, though deep down I was glad I'd come.
I realized I'd walked in with the wrong attitude. I'd thought I was supposed to come and "give" something to others. Then it hit me: I was the one receiving.
The second time I felt much more confident and prepared. When it was time to leave, I was sad and happy at once—sad because we had to say goodbye, happy because we'd spent the afternoon together, had prayed, had fun, had sung, and had learned new things.