We never thought of it as a “handicap.”
When we said yes to the file of the preschool-aged boy with mobility issues who stole our hearts and just needed a home and a family to love, we didn’t think of his condition as a “handicap.”
A medical condition.
A label, maybe.
But it never crossed our minds that cerebral palsy was a “handicap.”
So when I opened my mail eight months after returning home with the angel who could laugh and sing and communicate and talk — who could count and joke and fill an entire room with his big personality — who could do more than we ever asked or imagined in only eight short months at home but who was still fighting to learn how to walk — my heart sank for a moment.
It was a new tag. For a new walker-holding van. With a picture of a wheelchair and the initials “HD.”
A handicap tag.