My father was born with a club-foot. Kids being kids, he went through hell at school. Of course, I couldn't have cared less about his disability. All I wanted was his time and attention- two things I received sparingly. At the age of 60, he finally had the operation to fix his badly mangled left foot. I remember visiting him in hospital post-op. A look of pure delight was spread across his face- the likes of which I'd never seen before. My Dad had his "new" foot and suddenly the sky was bluer and the grass- greener. Within 3 years, he was dead.