by Marijane Suttor

Created on: July 08, 2009   Last Updated: October 24, 2011

When a child grows up with a genius next door, it is easy to think that it is normal to have a nerdy neighbor. When other children would have birthday parties with water balloons and cupcakes, Terry Wingate was never invited. I was one of those people that never invited Terry to my party.

Now, the common thought would be that Terry sat in his house with his buttoned up white shirt and his dark rimmed glasses wistfully staring out the window as all of my friends would arrive with presents under their arms. As we ran outside in the hot July sun, I bet that Terry was longing to be with us. That he could let go of his abilities as a genius and just be a kid.

What I didn't realize was that I was completely wrong. Terry was never like any of us and he never wanted to be like us at all.

Terry and I were not only neighbors. In fact we were born on the same day. Our mothers gave birth in the same hospital and brought us home to houses that stood right next door to each other with only a small hedge to separate our driveways.

It appeared to be destiny from the start that Terry and I would have our lives eternally linked together, but from the very first it was clear that we would not be like twins. While my mom pushed me around outside in the stroller with my father's first gift of a football firmly in my grasp. Terry was never seen outside without being covered by a blanket and his first toy wasn't a toy at all, but a book about the Russian military.

When I could toddle and run in the back yard chasing our old retriever Buck, Terry was inside taking piano lessons. By elementary school, Terry wasn't even in the same grade as me. I think he skipped right over kindergarten and first grade. By junior high his parents were prepping him for his SAT's and my parents were trying to convince me to get a C in social studies.

I rarely thought about Terry and I even made fun of him with the other neighborhood boys. I know one time we thought it would be funny to see if the genius could catch a ball. All of us brought a variety of our Nerf balls over to my house. We poised ourselves behind the hedge, just waiting for when Terry would emerge for his ride to high school at age nine. We pummeled him with every ball we could grab and watched as he held his hands to his face and just took the punishment. He said nothing, opened the car door and got in, staring straight ahead, waiting for his mom to hop in the driver's seat.

Terry was not my friend. I never gave him a chance to be my

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