On the way to school, with my daughter still holding hands, amid the drumming of the wheels of the backpacks rolling on the sidewalk, I hear, behind me, the unmistakable voice of a boy with Down syndrome. Those phrases with words a little bit stuck. The tone perhaps a bit monotonous, the timbre muffled by that peculiar resonance when pronouncing.
Laughed. He told an everyday story, like the one my daughter can tell me on the way to school any morning. The backpacks hitting the sidewalk did not let me follow the thread of the conversation. The bustle in the vicinity of the school in the morning is overwhelming for me. But in the midst of all that seemingly chaotic hustle and bustle of children and adults crossing each other, kissing each other before saying goodbye until lunchtime, I felt a prick of happiness in that deep place where beautiful things are contemplated.
His voice, that of that child going to school with the naturalness of any child going to school, with his comics, with his dreams, with his future traveling through the future of each one of us. The normal … And that beautiful and beautiful thing, normality, normality, whatever you want to call it –the simpler, the better–, is something that we all achieve by doing what we should.
No more no less. Fight, fight; sing, sing; teach, teach; take care, then take care; make airplanes, make airplanes … Write, write and tell it to you.
Finishing writing this column, I casually read that a judgment from the UN itself condemns Spain for violating the right to inclusive education of Rubén, a boy from Leon with Down syndrome, whose parents had been fighting for a decade so that their son could go to school. ordinary school and not a specific one against their will.