Thursday, September 9, 2010
Being a charter member of the group delicately referred to as Persons with Disabilities, I have a particular interest in the lame, halt, blind, deaf and otherwise "afflicted," as our grandparents used to categorize us.
For me two of the high points of the recent Labor Day parades in Ontonagon, Michigan -- a city on the shore of Lake Superior with more than its share of indomitable folks, disabled or not -- were a little girl named Anna and a grown man named Dean.
She lives with brittle bone disease, he the consequences of an accident. Neither hides their considerable light under a bushel.
Dean in particular is everywhere. He competes in wheelchair races and serves in a hundred civic capacities, including the presidency of the school board.
They and others like them are one important reason why my mystery novels are set in a county based on theirs.