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My eight year old brother, Jay, stands out in a crowd of children because of his distinctive appearance and gentle manner. The first thing I notice when I look at him is his height. He stands at shoulder height next to me; indeed, he is a head taller than other children his age, and is definitely stronger. His weight is a hefty 121 pounds; without a doubt, he weighs forty pounds more than other children in his grade level. Recently, my dad signed him up for flag football, where he was told: “It is a good thing the children aren’t playing tackle football, because he might inadvertently hurt the other kids.” Also remarkable is his red hair; it is thick, coarse to touch, and styled in an old-fashioned boy cut. Hardly a person can pass Jay without rubbing his head for good luck, and saying “Where’d you get that hair?” Jay’s chubby face is fair, with freckles lightly dotting his exceptionally boyish features. His eyes are brown, and his eyebrows black; in fact, white, in contrast with his red hair. His lips are full and somewhat feminine, and his newly-grown permanent teeth, which appear large alongside his remaining baby teeth, have a wide gap. His shoulders are broad, his chest juts out, and his belly is plump. His forearms are bulky, and will someday be powerful, yet his wrists retain the same creases he has had since he was a ten pound newborn. When we hold hands, his hands feel nearly as large as mine, and are unexpectedly soft. His legs are sturdy and strong, and his knees are covered with fresh scrapes and purple bruises, received while skateboarding and biking. His ankles are also solid; consequently, he can’t wear boots. His feet are size 6 and wide; therefore, too wide for slip-on tennis shoes. Despite his appearance, Jay is unexpectedly sensitive and caring. He likes to open doors for our family, tend his little brother, and help my parents grocery shop. From head to toe he is a contradiction; although he is only eight years old, he is big and strong, while