Roll _________________________________ I am not a man with wheels, although it is the wheels you see when I roll in. I am not a chair that speaks. Still, you are surprised to hear a voice come from this chair, as if perhaps, a miracle, I suddenly had healed, and next would stand and walk. I am not chairbound, confined to a wheelchair, or physically challenged; I will not be defined by my appliances: rendered by my limitations. I am not some kind of disabilities recruiter, nor is my lack of leg power contagious. But you back up as I speak, as though you might have something I would take if I could reach it. Oddest of all: the way you race to grab your children, shoving them aside, crying "look out, Suzie...Billy please!" as if I'd planned to run one down. The kids are better. Many stare but most just say hello the first time, before they're snatched away. Children see in me a grownup who will meet their eyes, and wink, and mean it; who rides a funny indoor car; their look is curiosity, as they have yet to live those bleak grey mornings of the soul that shadow us down with the prospect of our dying. They've never stared at death, and so they do not misconstrue that I am in some way connected; serve somehow as death's signpost, its harbinger, its minion. I've heard many times: "I hope that I go quickly, and not end up that way, stuck in a wheelchair," to which my only answer must be to say then, go ahead. And in the end, I will be who I am, and not just what I do, and I am not resigned to be defined by what I use to get things done, for what you see of me may reveal more of the observer than it informs of the observed. I know you say you only want to help, and I would never ask so much as that you smile, but it will be enough for now, at least if you will gently move aside. .:McNeilley:.