"Where did you get your wheelchair?" a little boy is asking. We are sitting having dinner in a Toby's Carvery having arrived early enough to have a meal out. His mother is trying to guide him away. I indicate that I'm totally OK with the question.
"I bought my wheelchair," I said.
"Where did you buy it?" he asked really curious.
"I bought it back home in Toronto," I said.
"No," he said, frustrated, "What kind of store did you buy it in?"
"Oh," I said understanding, "I bought it in a store that sells wheelchairs."
"Like an ASDAS?"
"No, it's a store that has all sorts of stuff for people with disabilities. They have things that reach high for people who can't reach high and they've got bars for people to help lift themselves up and they've got things like wheelchairs.'
'Hmmm,' he said, 'are there stores like that here?'
'Yes, I'm sure, they have them pretty much everywhere.'
'Oh, that's good.'
'Why do you want to know?'
'My Grandpa can't walk any more and he won't come out with us. I want to get him a wheelchair for Christmas. How much are they?'
'I don't know the prices but this one cost about 300 pounds.'
'That's a lot.'
'I don't have that much saved,' he said with a sigh.
Finally he was done. His mother, who was chatting with someone the whole time, took his hand.
'Mom,' he said, 'You know what I want for Christmas?'
I'm willing to bet she would have guessed wrong.
Sometimes kids give me such a sense of peace ...
the future needs boys who want wheelchairs for Christmas so Grandpa can go out for dinner.