I'm the mother of a boy with severe disabilities—especially physical ones. He has spastic tetraparesis, uses only his right hand, and struggles to sit properly in either a chair or his wheelchair. When he speaks, his arms gesture along with his words; his leg muscles tense up, and he slides out of the wheelchair easily and often.
We've always wrestled with how to keep him occupied, given how limited his movement is. When he was small, we read him fairy tales, which he listened to with real interest. As time went on, a passion for music took root. He loved listening to everything—classical music, pop songs, whatever came. As he grew older, his preferences sharpened. He loved hearing voices of people he knew, especially those he'd had direct friendships with. That's when his aunt, cousins, and many friends began recording stories on cassettes—tales of every kind, fairy tales, and little songs with guitar accompaniment. Most of all, they recorded the songs sung at gatherings and camps. He can listen to these recordings for hours, reliving the same joy and emotion he felt with his friends in person.
From these interests came the idea to buy a camcorder. We started filming moments that mattered most to him. Over time, we built a real video library at home—footage of the Spring Festival from different years, camps, gatherings, and more.
The camcorder idea seems especially important to me. Seeing and hearing the voices of friends or people who, even briefly, had contact with him—it fills him with joy. Through the screen, those friends, those people, the songs, the words become, in a real way, a physical presence for him.
So Pablo spends most of his free time happy, knowing his friends are always here... at home!
- Rita Ozzimo, 1994