At 9:15 one weekday morning, I pulled up to a voluminous metal building at our little county airport and let myself in through a metal door. Inside, several people looked up from their seats at a long table, clearly startled. A woman got up quickly and came toward me with a protective air. But she recognized me, and her face relaxed into a smile.
I had come to visit the Monarch Beach Club, a program that cares for Outer Banks men and women with intellectual or developmental disabilities like cerebral palsy or autism. Club members are too old to go to school. They’re the people society cruelly hides away, the ones often greeted by stares or, alternately, turned backs. Without the Beach Club, they would have been isolated at home, most likely being cared for by their parents.