ABSTRACT
Growing up, my world was small. Most days it was not much longer more than a few houses down the road. We lived on a dead-end row with field on two sides, and one of the Great Lakes resting patiently just a short walk below us. Our house was blessed with a large yard that looked back on one of those fields, far enough for a child to look out with great imagination and wonder what lay beyond the grass and trees. My world was smaller than most not just because I was a child, but because I was a disabled child, a child that travelled the outside in an electric wheelchair, and that was enough to make me a perceived hazard.
