When my oldest son was born, we didn't know he couldn't hear or speak. It had a profound impact on us, but we saw his bright eyes and boundless curiosity, and we knew he had a world of ideas to share. We began learning sign language as a family—at first, clumsily, with the basic signs for "milk" and "love." My son laughed at our clumsy hands, but his little hands moved with a grace that taught us more than any book could.

One moment stands out. Recently, my oldest son wanted to enroll in a community art class, but there was a problem: the teacher was friendly, but he wasn't trained in sign language, so my oldest son's enthusiasm waned when he realized the difference.

He only attended two classes out of twenty because he couldn't connect with the environment. When the second class ended, my son decided to find my wife and me in our room that evening to inform us of his decision to no longer attend those classes. Our duty as parents is to support him.

My son continues to navigate an ocean not entirely built for him, yet he has overcome many challenges: learning to defend himself, teaching sign language to his peers, even performing in a school play with an interpreter. But the gaps persist.

Not all teachers know how to include him, and not all children take the time to learn sign language. It's a reminder that true inclusion isn't just a program or a policy; it's about people choosing to reach out to children with disabilities and spend time with them, and this isn't easy to achieve.

Embracing disability inclusion isn’t just about meeting legal requirements or checking boxes; it’s about recognizing the inherent worth of every person and creating a world where everyone can thrive. People with disabilities bring unique perspectives, talents, and resilience, enriching communities and workplaces when given the chance to participate fully. Inclusion means more than physical access—ramps or braille aren’t enough if attitudes remain rigid or opportunities are withheld. It’s about fostering environments where differences are valued, not tolerated, and where barriers, whether architectural, social, or digital, are actively dismantled.

When we exclude, we lose. Studies show diverse teams, including those with disabilities, drive innovation and better decision-making—companies with inclusive practices see higher engagement and productivity. But the impact goes beyond economics. Inclusion builds empathy, breaks down stereotypes, and teaches us that ability isn’t a one-size-fits-all standard. It’s a child learning sign language to befriend a deaf classmate, a manager adapting workflows for a neurodivergent employee, or a community designing events where everyone can join authentically.

Yet, challenges persist. Many with disabilities face unemployment rates double the national average, inaccessible technologies, or social isolation because inclusion feels like an afterthought. True change requires intent—listening to disabled voices, prioritizing universal design, and educating ourselves without expecting those with disabilities to do the teaching. It’s not about charity; it’s about equity, ensuring everyone has a seat at the table, not just an invitation to stand nearby.

Inclusion is a choice, a daily act of empathy and action. It’s seeing the person, not the disability, and understanding that their dreams, struggles, and contributions are as vital as anyone’s. When we commit to this, we don’t just open doors—we build a world where no one is left outside.

I entered some prompts into the artificial intelligence I use and after several tests, this was the final result that I liked:

Open Hearts

I walk down the street, see a world full of hue,

It’s not about pretending, or forcing a show,

True inclusion, it’s a hug with no looking back,

Some paint with their hands, some sing without sound,

It’s not about a sign, or rules to obey,

True inclusion, it’s a hug with no looking back,

It’s listening without judgment, seeing past the face,

True inclusion, it’s a hug with no looking back,

Open hearts, fearless of what lies ahead,

To those who listened to the song and to those who didn't, have a wonderful day, full of peace and blessings.

A virtual hug.

—Ezequiel ©