"It was ginormous," Kenny said, holding his arms outstretched. The dragon in his dream, and that was just the length of his claws. His wings were as "ginormous" as the house.
Not even sure how to spell ginormous, but some squashed-up version of giant and enormous.
The meaning of "ginormous", as Kenny has gotten older, has morphed into the more realistic, but when he was younger, maybe five, most things in his world, even the smallest could be ginormous. An inch worm he'd tried to catch hanging from the trees was as big as a man-eating snake. "It was ginormous."
His brother loved to challenge him: "If it was so ginormous, why couldn't you catch it?"
"YOU wouldn't want to try to catch something as ginormous as that. It could EAT you."
At the beach he tried to catch a minnow "as big as a beaver." But it was too ginormous for even his net. And even if he did catch it, it would have been too ginormous for his pail.
"No beavers in the ocean," Big brother was quick to correct. "Not like they can chew any trees around here, for a dam or anything...."
"I said ginormous AS. Not it WAS a beaver...." Kenny said, fishing for more beaver-big minnows.
Now ginormous are mostly the dragons or man-eating snakes in his dreams, but it can also be the red-tailed hawk spotted on their school playground. Or squirrels, as they are indeed big and fat around here; the various tom cats that sprint like foxes through the woods. Raccoons caught in headlights are indeed ginormous. So, honestly, are the roadkill possum mounds we can pass driving to school. "Ewwww. ginormous yuck ginormous."
Ryan can be more thoughtful. "No. That was dead. That was sad ginormous."
When Kenny was a toddler his excuse for not being able to do anything you asked him to do, like go sit on the potty to poop rather than in his training pants, or pick up the popsicle stick he'd dropped on the kitchen floor was: "I can't because I'm too big."
Maybe what he really meant, was that he was too ginormous.