My mother always told me I was beautiful… no matter what. She’d say; “Bobby, you’re a beautiful boy. My beautiful Bobby.” Then she’d smile her smile—the one everyone thought was beautiful. She’d lean down and take me in her arms for a big, squishy hug, the kind you never want to end. I miss my mother.

Hi, I’m Bobby Will, and I have a rare forearm disease. The doctor’s call it “Popeye Arms” when they think I’m not listening. I hear more than grown-ups think. My diease causes a malfunction in my pituitary gland that results in enlarged growth of my forearms, but only my forearms and of course my hands. It’s not so bad. Kids tease, but I know it’s just because they are afraid or confused, and don’t yet have the capacity to communicate their emotional reactions to my differences.

I love my arms, I’m proud of them. I can do things other boys my age can’t. They make me different and different is beautiful.

My mother used to hold me in her normal-sized arms as long as I needed, she’d gently rock me until everything was all better. I miss my mother.

I’m 12 years old and I have unusually large forearms. But, please don’t feel sorry for me, because I’m happy and I know my life’s purpose which is rare for anyone.

Thanks for listening.