The shirt hung large on his small frame. ‘you’ll grow into it.’ She spoke with authority and knowing. He tugged at the sleeves which engulfed his hands. Comforted by the large shirt. Wanting for too long to be small. Because small meant he was out of the way. Muniscule. Unimportant. Overlooked.
The shirt sleeves hit too high on his arm. He grew into it, and now out of it.Bigger. Stronger. A tad surer. He loomed over some. Not aggressively, but by shear size. Gentle. Caring.
He grew into himself. By shear luck, or circumstance. It really did not matter how it was labeled. He felt good. Whole.
He took that wholeness and shaped a world.