When I was a child, I never played at being a teacher, and as an adult I never imagined that I would become one.
And yet, here I am! I fell in love!
With those students you can’t wait to see—not because they are perfect, but because they constantly challenge you to put yourself out there.
Nothing can be taken for granted, and the more challenging they are, the more I fall in love with them.
But it isn’t easy. Sometimes discouragement takes over.
The exhaustion comes when I’m on my own. In the classroom, it disappears!
And then? Then there are social media, the media, and our “wonderful” politicians, who make everything even more difficult. Fewer foreigners in classrooms, no to the burqa or the niqab!
But do we really solve the problems of schools this way?
School is a place of learning, yes, but it is also a space where boys and girls learn how to live together, respect one another, and resolve conflicts without violence. School is open to everyone, as our President reminds us—a fundamental principle enshrined in Article 34 of the Italian Constitution.
How can we possibly think that having students from other countries in our classrooms is a problem? I often tell my students: “Imagine how boring it would be if we were all the same, with the same way of thinking, the same way of behaving… It would be incredibly boring! It’s beautiful to be different and to grow together.”
My students, who attend lower secondary school, arrive when they are still young. Sometimes they are frightened by change; sometimes they are fragile, coming from families that are not always “perfect.”
I have worked in Rome in difficult environments: in Trullo, in Tor Bella Monaca. Within those communities there are young people with enormous potential who simply need to have the same opportunities as everyone else.
I learned early on that not every form of hardship comes with a diagnosis. Not everything that causes a young person to suffer can be placed into a category. We must not build a school where care and attention are given only when a document arrives.
At 13, we are not adults yet. Perhaps that is the thing we most easily forget. At 13, you are both a child and an adolescent. You are trying to understand who you are. You need the group. You are afraid of being excluded. You are living through a changing body. You look for role models. You experience anger. You make mistakes.
And today, all of this is happening in a world where young people are constantly exposed to social media, digital violence, and the search for approval.
The real emergency is inequality.
It is the fact that being born into one family or one neighborhood rather than another can still have a profound impact on a child’s educational opportunities. Public education should be one of the most powerful tools for breaking this cycle. It should be the place where talent matters more than a child’s parents’ income.
We need teachers who are valued, manageable class sizes, psychologists and educators, libraries and gyms. We need a school that does not leave families to face everything alone.
I don’t want a school that produces obedient students.
I want a school that teaches young people how to think. That teaches them how to discuss and disagree without hating one another. That teaches them that freedom requires responsibility. That teaches them that differences do not diminish anyone. That teaches them that asking for help is not something to be ashamed of. That teaches them that having a disability does not mean being defined by that disability. That teaches them that having foreign roots does not make you less Italian, less of a citizen, or less a part of the community. And above all, I want a school capable of telling every young person:
“You are not your neighborhood. You are not your diagnosis. You are not your passport. You are not your grade. You are not your mistake. You are a person, and we are here to help you grow.”
Equality means making sure that everyone truly has the opportunity to go far.
I want a school that helps young people grow into free, responsible, caring and, above all, healthy and happy human beings. Because education is not only about teaching knowledge or how to navigate the world. It also means—and above all—trying every day to build a world in which those young people can feel well and thrive.
I learn something from them every day, and I always hope to leave a small positive mark on their lives. They are the colors of life, each with their own unique shades.
Perhaps I had never imagined becoming a teacher, but today I know that this is exactly where I want to be.
Gabriella Grandoni
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