One letter...

“I am a mother and a primary school teacher. This year I was nominated on the support of a serious, very serious and ... beautiful child. Well: as soon as I arrive in the classroom the prevailing teacher warns me: "Be careful of the mother who will try in every way to draw you into her suffering and then she is a bit obsessed with the fact that her daughter can do everything, she understands everything, etc. " and I ... shut up.
He tells me that we have to go and visit a place with the class and that the mother is "obsessed" with the fact that her daughter has to go too ... I am still silent and in the meantime I cross the eyes of the child which are those of mine and inside me the I talk and tell her "don't worry I'll take you there" ... she smiles she is beautiful ... but no teacher who has been with her for three years now tells me what her skills are or not, the functional diagnosis is too general. We go out and start the guided tour. The girl with the wheelchair tries to push herself forward to look at the pictures, the canvases, the paintings, but the class teacher tells me to pull her back because she takes the seat and the view away from those who "understand" ...
I resist and act as if I hadn't heard, I take her everywhere and talk to her and explain ... the teacher looks at me sideways.
Let's go back to class and while the whole class group reports on the exit she has no homework, no book, nothing ... and I'm on my first day and I haven't prepared anything.
Never mind I organize myself, involve her and ask her classmate, a very cute little girl, to let us peek at the book. She tries, but then she says she doesn't have time, she has to work with others.
Snack: alone and the others in a group. Panic diaper change: janitors compete not to come. I'll change your love, you've been with poop for an hour. I talk to the teacher from last year who unloads on me a series of bad things about her mother, about the family and about the fact that she cannot work with such a serious handicap. I ask her if she has ever used AAC or technology and she tells me that their support comes from an education science degree and that they have only taken four exams that are too general to know everything ...
I STILL RESIST.
In the meantime, I am completely in love with my baby ... she has mine, her mother's suffering is mine ... I get her answers from her. A wren curled up on itself that correctly indicates all the colors, shapes, letters, numbers that answers all my questions exactly with cries that I understand and interpret well.
I gave her a thousand kisses and she gave me a thousand caresses. At the end of the day I say goodbye and the class teacher says to me "however you are very capable we needed it"!
I turn around and at the door I say: "I'm running home, my completely disabled daughter is waiting for me." TOTAL FROST.
Today I arrived with my Ipad and with the air of that pissed off, they, the teachers tried to recover, but I said: "Listen, I'm not the teacher of this child, I'm a class teacher to support of the class, the child belongs to everyone, to the whole class so either they plan together or they are bitter cabbages. If you saw what I see in her, if you saw inside this unresponsive body, a little girl like any other, eager to discover that she knows how to play, to interact, then this class would be better, you would be better people and the world would be a fairy tale."
My little girl had a lot of fun with the app applications ... all the children were behind her trying to understand what she was using ... I made a small recreational group and outside her desk she was able to have a snack with other children ... I brought them a book of fairy tales and I told her in her ear to read it when I'm not there so she doesn't feel alone. She is eighteen hours old and when she is without me… she is alone looking at nothing.
Now I am at home and I look at my daughter ... and I hope and pray that she can survive the wickedness and ignorance of the people.

Irene Colombo, a teacher and a mother "