At first, the thought of it was empowering, like that of one of the hero origin stories in his comics.  He was sure that his body would eventually catch up with his brain---enforced completely by the way his mother constantly told him that he would grow into his hand-me-down clothes---sooner or later he would have to grow to immense proportions! He would often spend Saturday mornings sitting at the breakfast table, holding his tiny fork and lording over his breakfast with his most hulking face, his knees crammed up against his chin because his head was already mashed into the ceiling, making little cracks.  He would watch as small flakes of plaster would drift down into the syrup on his pancakes.  He was eight then but already thinking about possessing a giant thick brown beard to go along with his gargantuan limbs.  This---the staring---would go on for quite some time until his mother would inevitably grow frustrated and call over to him, "Dirky!  Sweety, you need to eat."

"I can't, Ma!  I can't get any bigger or I'll bust out of the breakfast nook!"

She'd ponder him for a moment, a skinny little boy with frazzled, just-out-of-bed hair, in his white boxer shorts and white t-shirt and white socks pulled up to his knobby knees, squatting on his chair and staring down at his plate.  He was so thin she could see straight through to his collar bones.  "Dirky, I know you're big--"

"Gigormous!"

"Yes, dear.  Gigormous.  But still, you are a growing boy and you need to eat."

"I just don't understand," he would say, slowly shaking his head in disbelief, still staring at the plate.

"What's that, dear?"

"Why would you want me to get any bigger?"

"I know, Dirky, you are big--"

"Hugmonganamous!"

"Yes dear, huge--humo--"

"Hugmonganamous!"

"Yes, that dear.  But even giant boys need nutrients and vitamins or their bones will get weak and break and... and you might throw out your back."

"Oooookay."

The final admission that there were still essentials to be had despite his hugmonganamous state would inevitably be followed by what sounded like the snuffling of at least three pigs as a little Dirk Isaway would wolf down his pancakes and syrups and the little strawberries and blueberries decorating them.  Perhaps it was a result of patiently staring at his food for at least a half hour before he ate that gave him such a voracious appetite, but after his mother's initial prodding, he would eventually finish every meal in about the span of five minutes, with constant cries of cookie monster "Om! Om! Om, Om! Om!"