(This was originally posted at Hoyden About Town on July 29, 2009, and has been edited for FWD)
I got a scooter just a few months ago. It’s red, and shiny, and its name is Smaug. It’s made my life vastly better. No longer do I struggle to walk the block to school pickup, and I can zip up to post a letter or get some library books or go to a shop without getting into the car then plodding along out of the carpark. My life is still very limited based on inability to cope with sitting up, noises, lights, interactions for any length of time; but the world’s accessibility has still taken a big jump for me.
Within a week or two of getting the scooter, which was within perhaps 2-3 hours of scootertime, I had my first Talking-to-my-companion-and-not-me experience.
It was a couple of weeks ago. The Lad (aged 6) and I were meandering down a suburban footpath on the way back from the postbox. We were chatting and laughing about life, and he was resting his hand on my armrest, which helps stop him getting his feet tangled under my wheels.
A woman was walking by the other way. She looked at the Lad, and said in a sickly sweet voice,
“Oh, you’re a good boy. A good, GOOD boy.”
And kept walking.