I dropped Andrea and her friend, Karena, off this morning by the tennis courts and park behind their middle school, and turned the car around to head back home when I saw them.
A mother helping her son into his motorized wheelchair. She put a towel behind his back while he buckled a seat belt. He wore shorts...it's a warm fall day. His legs were pale and lifeless, but the rest of him was energy in motion. He dressed for comfort and to be like the other kids, not to hide his disability.
With a determined look, he worked the controls on his chair, and headed alone up the bumpy path to school. He held his head high, and never glanced back at his mother. She looked tired as she quietly watched him take the long route to his classroom.
She could have taken him to the school front. She could have pushed him in his wheelchair. She could home school him.
He acted uninterested in any of that.
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