At thirteen, he loomed over the rest of his class, this Wrong in the Head Gentle Giant. His classmates never let up and teased him constantly, but being kind hearted and dim, he returned their taunts with a smile. They laughed when he talked so he didn’t say much. His mother’s attempts to dress him in stylish clothes and a fashionable haircut allowed him a snapshot’s chance of blending in with his peers, if only his body could stay still. At recess he sat by himself or walked around, wildly flapping his arms hoping to sprout wings and fly away.
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