A kindly woman puts her sandwich down and wipes mayonnaise from her smile. She tears off a ticket and directs me around the railing where other would-be jockeys wait. I don't even think about it, it's such a part of who Will is and who I am in relation to him. But the kindly ticket taker notices. Then his ticket is only thirty-five cents.
Handicapped children get a discount.
Don't get me wrong. There is a place for discounts, a need for parents with financial burdens to be able to lay some of those burdens down. But the label is costly too. I would not trade those moments for a hundred dollars, and certainly not for a nickel and a dime. Will, who has autism, is learning to communicate through sign language and other methods.