I write about myself with a different name, in a different world. But for this story, I wrote about a boy I met in India. He was very poor and very disabled. He lived in a little courtyard house with his family. The dad thought my light wheelchair would be good for his son and he invited us into his home to meet his son and family. The meeting gave me an idea for a story, which I wrote many months later. Would you like to listen to this story?