She pointed at my wheelchair.
“Cool! Is that like a car?” Her mom looked mortified. “Jenny!
Don’t —” But I laughed. “Kind of! Want to see how it works?” I showed her the controls, and her eyes lit up.
Her mom relaxed, giving me a grateful smile.”That’s so awesome,” Little Jenny said. “When I grow up, I want one just like it!” Her mom tensed again, but I just chuckled.
“Well, hopefully you won’t need one. But they are pretty cool, aren’t they?”As I left the store, I couldn’t help but shake my head at the whole experience.
What a day. But you know what?
For every Frank out there, there are way more decent folks — like Miguel, that nice older lady, and curious Jenny.I headed home, my faith in humanity a little battered but still intact.
And hey, at least I had a wild story to tell at my next game night. Plus, I got some free cereal out of the deal.
Silver linings, right? The whole drive home, I kept replaying the incident in my mind.
Part of me wished I’d said more, “stood up for myself” — excuse the pun — more forcefully. But another part was proud of how I’d handled it.
It’s not easy to keep your cool when someone’s yelling in your face, questioning your very real disability.As I pulled into my driveway, I made a decision.
Tomorrow, I’d call the store and commend Miguel for his help. Small acts of kindness deserve recognition, especially in a world that can sometimes seem so harsh. I also decided to look into disability awareness programs in my area.
Maybe I could volunteer, share my experiences, and help educate people. If I could prevent even one person from acting like Frank, it would be worth it.
