Note: This post was originally drafted for Fatherhood Reloaded, but it quickly became clear that it belonged here

---

Meet Greeney

Before Harrison’s birthday this year, I opened up Affinity Designer to create something fun — nothing new there. But somewhere in the middle of it, a little cartoon character became something more. A reflection of Harrison. A quiet bit of advocacy. A character named Greeney.

Greeney is a Bluey-style character I made for Harrison’s party — he’s on the invites, the Facebook header, and likely every surface I can justify printing him on.

I’m not sharing him here for praise. I’m sharing him because of the feet.

Greeney wears AFOs — ankle-foot orthoses — just like Harrison. Our son wears his AFOs for over 20 hours a day. They’re not just medical devices — they’re part of him. They go on after his bath. They squeak across the floor as he scoots to his water table. They support him in his gait trainer and his daily therapy work. Leaving them out felt wrong.

(I even tried adding his Mehta cast in one variation… but cartoon dogs don’t usually wear full torso braces. We tried.)

Why This Matters

When the design was done, I found myself staring at the screen with a strange mix of pride and frustration. Pride because Greeney felt real. Frustration because it was so rare to see characters like him anywhere.

AFOs. Arthrogryposis. Real bodies. Real differences. Why is that so hard to find in animation?

Yes, disability representation is improving — in bits and pieces. At this point, most Bluey fans know about the background character in a wheelchair. But it’s still incredibly rare to see disability portrayed in meaningful or visible ways — especially for kids.

Just imagine what a character like Greeney could mean to someone like Harrison.

Credit Where It’s Due: What Bluey Gets Right

To be clear: the team at Ludo Studio, who create Bluey, deserve credit. They’re doing better than most when it comes to inclusion.

Take Jack, one of Bluey’s schoolmates. He’s never officially labeled, but it’s clear he’s been thoughtfully crafted to represent ADHD — his constant movement, forgetfulness, and energy are deeply relatable to many families.

Then there’s Dougie, the deaf pup introduced in the episode Turtleboy. He communicates using Auslan (Australian Sign Language) and lip reading with his mom — it’s a quiet, beautiful scene that doesn’t try to explain itself. It just is.

They’ve also included background characters with disabilities — including a child in a wheelchair, visible in episodes like The Quiet Game and Mr. Monkeyjocks. No spotlight, no big announcement. Just a part of the world. As it should be.

Still — there’s room to grow. AFOs. Casting. Speech devices. Feeding tubes. There are so many ways animation can normalize what many families live with every day.

Why We Keep Telling These Stories

Inclusion shouldn’t be something we have to fight for. It should be the baseline.

Animation has the power to shape how kids see the world — and themselves. And kids with disabilities deserve to see themselves represented with the same joy, silliness, and heart as every other character on the screen.

So this is Greeney.

Like Harrison, he was born with Arthrogryposis. His arms hang down. He wears AFOs. He lights up at bubbles. He’s not defined by what’s different — but he’s also not hiding it.

He’s an amazing kid. And if you take the time to see him — really see him — you’ll realize how much joy you’ve been missing.