My Son Can’t Walk and That’s Fine With Me

I am often posed the question, usually by strangers, of whether or not my son can walk. It’s not the question that gets me cooking: it’s the expectant, waiting faces that get me every time. The faces usually switch from hopeful to disappointed when I say “he used to walk.” It’s a bit awkward.

In another dimension (possibly one with no Donald Trump or heat-advisory warnings), instead of “he used to walk,” I would just sit them down and read this essay, just to reinforce the fact that EVERYTHING IS COOL AND WALKING IS SO 2015.

My Son Can’t Walk and That’s Fine With Me

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