Sandy was also big. Not just in muscle and brawn, but also in height. He stood over six and a half feet tall, a feat he achieved when he was in the ninth grade.
At an early age, Megan rode on his shoulders whenever he walked the four miles to town, his bushy beard tickling her legs. When she was older, she’d also walk, sharing with him what she was doing in school while he’d tell her all about engines and crops—for many years it all sounded like a foreign language to her, but over time she learned more and more from him.
“He’s no dummy,” she’d tell anyone who tried to make fun of him. “He could probably fix the Space Shuttle if it ever broke down.”