I tried to forget the times my mother told me, coldly, “You’re not like other kids — you’re different.”
The memories resurfaced after my newspaper’s city editor assigned a story about a program for special teens.
When I arrived at the community center there was a young man outside. Maybe 17. Moved shakily, some drool. Cerebral palsy?
I smiled, nodded, then deliberately turned away.
Moments later, a tap on my shoulder.
“I was waiting for you.”
“I’m sorry. Are you with the group? I didn’t realize.”
He grinned and offered me his arm. We walked in together.
Both of us beaming.
The memories resurfaced after my newspaper’s city editor assigned a story about a program for special teens.
When I arrived at the community center there was a young man outside. Maybe 17. Moved shakily, some drool. Cerebral palsy?
I smiled, nodded, then deliberately turned away.
Moments later, a tap on my shoulder.
“I was waiting for you.”
“I’m sorry. Are you with the group? I didn’t realize.”
He grinned and offered me his arm. We walked in together.
Both of us beaming.
