I was born with half my left forearm.

Ain’t I cute?

I was very fortunate — my folks explicitly ignored it. (Looking back as an adult, knowing time and place, that was not easy at the start.) My grandmother never really did get over it. My grandparents were working class, and the assumption was one had to have all limbs in order to get a job.

I was never treated as “different” by my parents. They did let me choose when to…