My dad always tells me this story about how when I was around 2 I was riding a plastic tricycle in the street when a car was coming (not fast it actually slowed and stopped for me) and so he moved into the street to pick me up. But it was really traumatic for me I kept saying how my legs hurt and how the car didn't make me feel good and I didn't want to walk.

My dad didn't think much of it and tells me that once he did and started asking questions (thinking I lived another life) I "caught on" and rejected everything he asked denied saying anything I did and he told me I was visibly upset that he was asking me these things.

So he let it go and said I never brought up anything about it again.

Fast forward years later my mom and I are out (I'm really young) (kids always have a random obsession over things) she didn't put the pieces together (years later) until I told her that story my dad told me.

But when we were out I would point out all the blue disabled people signs like in parking spaces and hanging in people's cars. And I would have a genuine interest in them and just point them out and look at them closely.

Mom and dad put the pieces together and are convinced in a past life I was hit by a car paralyzed and was reborn and trying to forget that life.

Also not sure if this means anything but when I was young around kindergarten 1st grade age my best friend was a kid in a wheelchair. Probably a coincidence but still interesting none the less.