So, this happened:
Some precocious little monster, probably five or six years old and showing out for his little brother, asks me why I’m in a wheelchair.
“Normal reasons,” I said. “I’m crippled. It’s what we do.”
Precocious little monster picks that moment to go shy and kind of hides behind his dad.
“Stay in school,” I said, “or you’ll end up a cripple, too.”