In September 2021, my son, Max, started kindergarten. I was nervous for him, as most parents would be. But I was also nervous for myself. I had recently bought a mobility scooter because I couldn’t rely on my chronically aching knees to make it half a block up the street to my kids’ school. I was worried about the questions and the stares I would get as people tried to figure out “What’s wrong with her?” I was unsure how I would navigate the narrow city sidewalks that would be full of kids, parents, caregivers, and strollers. I was afraid it would rain; my scooter cannot get wet, so if the weather called for it, I might miss out on this rite of passage. I was upset that taking my kid to school felt so complicated.
When the day came, the forecast was clear, so we set off up the street. The goodbye was hard. Max was afraid and didn’t want to leave me, having been at home with me since he was born. I wasn’t sure how long to linger, if I was helping him or making it harder for him, and I felt so in the way, sitting on my scooter, blocking a good portion of the sidewalk.
