Why throw a major celebration for a residential community's twenty-fifth anniversary? The question kept coming back to me as I worked with so many others to prepare the event.
The enthusiasm was real. For months we had been planning, each person with a role: the conference, the party itself, logistics, communications. It was no small thing to coordinate so many different elements with people who sometimes didn't even know each other, scattered across neighborhoods far apart (though thank God for the internet). Still, with brilliant conductor-directors like Matteo, Ivana, and Antonio orchestrating the whole thing, the big day suddenly arrived—faster than anyone expected. Nothing felt quite ready. Nobody felt ready. And then came the inevitable question: "Will we pull this off? Was all this effort worth it if something goes wrong?" The usual worries: "What if hardly anyone shows up? What if it rains?"
But then the weather came through: perfect. Not cold, not hot, no wind. The conference opened without a hitch. "Family for Whom, Family for What"—the talks were engaging, varied in style but all thought-provoking, some touching the heart, all inviting reflection on what it means to be a residential community. The room was full. People were absorbed, present.
By early afternoon, the real celebration began. Everything was in place: solid structures, decorated stands selling seedlings and jewelry made by the residents, T-shirts, books.
The stilt-walking clown arrived. Children and young people followed him, delighted, stayed with him through his hilarious performance under the great oak tree. More guests arrived—old friends, longtime supporters. Hugs and smiles and surprises. Then the show started. The Carro came alive on stage: twenty-five years of life, told lightly but without glossing over the hard choices or the difficult passages, centered always on those who had built the community, sustained it, and lived there. One name rang out powerfully in a simple phrase: "Hello Mariangela—I want to talk to you!" Brief dialogues, many songs, half-serious parodies, Faith and Light hymns, the Monday Choir accompanying with two beautiful renderings. Memories and emotions. A few wet eyes, but also plenty of laughter. Our young people—all of them—were wonderful. So were their friends, the educators, the staff. Everyone moved as one.
Then came Mass, celebrated by Father Paul Gilbert and Father Roberto Brandinelli, with Rita's confirmation. Another emotional moment, everyone gathered around our "beloved grump," who that day smiled at everyone. Through it all came the memory of Mariangela, and Ivana moved us all to tears. The Monday Choir sang beautifully for her: "Stelutis alpinis."
And finally: dinner, conversation, laughter, embraces, and as darkness fell, the symphony of fireworks.
It was a beautiful celebration. I saw Matteo and Ivana with tears in their eyes—but also a lighter, more joyful Matteo than usual, almost giddy. But I kept wondering: we enjoyed it, but what did the young people think? They had been through long rehearsals, learned their parts better than anyone—were they glad about the party? Their joy answered me. Rita's smile answered me—Rita, who during rehearsals had tested our patience more than once. And Carla answered me, telling me with her usual enthusiasm that she had had so much fun. Reading happiness in their eyes, I understood: the party had worked because it was their party, the celebration of those who live and have lived at the Carro, for the Carro.
The party gave voice to what had emerged from the morning's conference: the added value you find in a community like the Carro. A place defined by daily life shared with our poorer brothers and sisters, where relationships rest on genuine friendship and solidarity. As Matteo said, that added value is what "we call love."
During a break in the conference, I asked Nunzia—who is beginning to think ahead for her daughter—"What matters most to you in a home for Emanuela?" I asked. "Would a nice clean environment be enough? Good food, everything orderly?" She said: "That's necessary, but the most important thing is that she be with people who love her."
That answer taught me how vital it is to make communities like the Carro known. A celebration like this is a way to remember, to give thanks, to be together in joy. But it is also a way to build understanding, to spread what lies at the heart of Faith and Light: "that everyone, without exception, needs to love and be loved, that all of us are loved by God just as we are, and that this Love gives our lives their meaning."
Rita Massi, 2015
Address to the Conference "Family for Whom, Family for What" | Rome, Il Carro | June 13, 2015
"There are two ways to talk about a residential community. The first is to speak of it as a service—public or private, licensed, accredited, contracted. A reception service, a residential placement, an institution. Some still call it that. You can talk about caseload management, socio-health assistance, social and support services.
The second way is to talk about relationships: relationships between people, relationships of help, friendship, affection, love. Relationships between equals, aimed at independence, happiness, and human flourishing. A house is where services are delivered. A family is where relationships of affection naturally unfold.
There must be a reason they are called residential communities, family homes. We know what a house should be: protective yet open, warm and welcoming, cool in summer, safe. Big enough to be comfortable, small enough not to feel institutional. Occupied enough to be economically sustainable, integrated enough not to be isolated; run by skilled professionals who provide quality care. But what do we know about family? What do we know about these homes as places of relationship—of affection, friendship, love?
That is the question we want to put at the center of this seminar and shared reflection. As an association, we chose it as one of the signature moments of this anniversary celebration. Today we mark twenty-five years of this community. Alongside the traditional party this afternoon, we wanted to mark the occasion with a moment of reflection on the question of welcome—something close to our hearts."
Antonio Mazzarotto - President, Comunità il Carro Association