“What’s Wrong With You?” Why We Need to Teach Our Kids Better!

I want to talk about something that happens more than it should. It’s not always cruel. In fact, it’s often well-meaning, just curious kids (and sometimes adults) trying to make sense of the world. But for children with disabilities, these moments stick. They sting. And they shape how safe they feel in their own community.

If your child has ever walked up to another and asked,

“What’s wrong with your legs?”

“Why do you wear those things on your feet?”

“Why does your iPad talk for you?”

or worse

“Ew, what’s that?”

“Why do you walk like that, it looks weird.”

“That’s gross.”

This post is for you.

And if your response was to laugh nervously, or say, “They didn’t mean it like that,” or “They’re just a kid,” this is especially for you.

Because when you defend the comment instead of addressing it, you aren’t protecting your child, you’re reinforcing the idea that cruelty is allowed as long as it comes from a small mouth.

And if you’ve ever reached out to gently pat their head with a soft “aww,” or taken a child’s hand without permission to “help” them walk, this is for you, too.

Because even kindness can hurt, when it’s uninvited.

Disabled kids aren’t here to be quizzed or touched. They are not public property. They are not walking inspiration posters. They are not here for you to do your “good deed for the day” so you can go home feeling better about yourself.

And as cruel as that might sound, it’s the truth.

You may walk away feeling warm and proud, like you did something meaningful. But the child you just touched, or questioned, or spotlighted? You might’ve just made them feel insecure. Unsafe. Completely vulnerable if you are a complete stranger. That’s not kindness. That’s harm wrapped in good intentions.

We work so hard to build up our children’s confidence. We celebrate every milestone, every step in an AFO, every word said through a device, every ounce of bravery. But it only takes one moment, one comment, one unwanted gesture to undo all of that work in an instant.

Even compliments can be loaded.

Sometimes, we just want our kids to exist without commentary. To blend in, to play, to just be. To be celebrated for who they are, not for what people assume they’ve had to endure.

So here’s what I ask of you:

Teach your kids to say hello before asking questions.

Teach them that curiosity is okay,but it must be paired with empathy and boundaries.

Teach them that AFOs, walkers, and speech tablets are not “sad” they’re tools of freedom.

Teach them never to touch a child, their wheelchair, or any of their equipment without permission.

And to the families like mine raising strong, joyful, disabled children in a world that still centers the able-bodied experience—I see you. I see your resilience. I see your exhaustion. I see you gently answering yet another stranger’s question with grace you shouldn't be expected to give. But your grace is the education they need.

Let’s build a world where disabled kids don’t have to carry the emotional weight of educating others.

Let’s start with real awareness, not pity disguised as kindness.

Because disability is not a problem to solve. It’s not a tragedy to comfort. It’s a different way of moving through the world.

And “What’s wrong with you?” will never be the right question.