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Freak the Mighty
by
Rodman Philbrick
I never had a brain until Freak came along and let me borrow his for a while,
and that’s the truth, the whole truth. The unvanquished truth, is how
Freak would say it, and for a long time it was him who did the talking. Except
I had a way of saying things with my fists and my feet even before we became
Freak the Mighty, slaying dragons and fools and walking high above the world.
Called me Kicker for a time – this was the day care, the year Gram and
Grim took me over – and I had a thing about booting anyone who dared
to touch me. Because they were always trying to throw a hug on me, like it
was a medicine I needed.
Gram and Grim, bless their pointed little heads, they’re my mother’s
people, her parents, and they figured whoa!
Better put this little critter with other little critters
his own age, maybe it will improve his temper.
Yeah, right! Instead, what happened, I invented games like kick-boxing and
kick-knees and kick-faces and kick-teachers, and kick-the-other-little-day-care-critters,
because I knew what a rotten lie that hug stuff was. Oh, I knew.
That’s when I got my first look at Freak, that year of the phony hugs…
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