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In my little town growing up, we had our very own Forrest Gump, name was Leon. I still don& #39;t know what developmental defect he had, but they said he wouldn& #39;t make it past 20. He did, though. His mom never put him in a facility, she took care of him his whole life.

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When Leon was about 4, she had to go back & re-teach him how to crawl. It worked, & he walked just fine. He& #39;d wander the town, cheerful as could be, mowing people& #39;s lawns, etc. He had a big crush on my oldest sister, but his speech impediment resulted in her lifelong nickname.

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Mar-Tee. He couldn& #39;t say Marcia (pronounced mar-SEE-uh). When she went away to college at BSU in the late 70s he was bewildered and always asked me, "Where& #39;s Mar-T??"

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The years passed slowly and pleasantly for Leon in our little town. His tiny little mother, Fern, (barely 5& #39; tall) cooked up a storm, man her dishes were legendary at the Legion Hall get-togethers, etc. One of her sisters wrote a cookbook & some of Fern& #39;s recipes are in it.