The Boy They Called 'Odd'

Eighth grade was a minefield for Jeremy. He wore mismatched socks, hummed classical music in the hallway, and carried a butterfly notebook everywhere he went. The other kids called him “Odd.” Not cruelly—just consistently. It became his name.

Jeremy didn’t mind. Not really. He knew he was different. He saw patterns others missed. He remembered things no one else cared about. He felt things deeply—like the way the wind changed before a storm, or how the janitor’s eyes looked sad on Fridays.

But being odd came at a cost. He ate lunch alone. He was picked last in gym. He was never invited to birthday parties. Teachers praised his work, but they couldn’t quite reach him. He lived in a world of gears, wires, and circuits.

Then came the science fair.

It was the biggest event of the year. Students had spent weeks preparing—coding robots, building volcanoes, wiring solar panels. Jeremy had built something too, but he hadn’t told anyone. He didn’t like attention.

The morning of the fair, the school’s power went out. Computers failed. Projects fizzled. Panic spread. Teachers scrambled to reschedule, but the judges had already arrived.

Jeremy stood quietly, watching. Then he raised his hand.

“I can help,” he said.

Everyone turned.

“I built a backup generator. It’s in my locker.”

The principal blinked. “You did what?”

Jeremy shrugged. “I thought it might be useful someday.”

With permission, he wheeled out a contraption made of bicycle parts, copper wire, and a repurposed toaster. He connected it to the gym’s emergency panel. Lights flickered. Then held.

The science fair resumed.

Jeremy didn’t win first place. But he won something better. Respect. Awe. Belonging.

The kids who once called him “Odd” now call him “Genius.” But Jeremy didn’t change. He still wore mismatched socks. Still hummed Bach. Still carried his butterfly notebook.

Only now, others asked to see it.

One classmate, Maya, sat beside him at lunch the next day. “I like your drawings,” she said. “They look like dreams.”

Jeremy smiled. “They are.”

By spring, Jeremy had started a club for inventors and dreamers. It wasn’t big. It consisted of only a few kids who enjoyed tinkering and imagining. But it was enough.

Years later, Jeremy became an engineer. He designed systems that helped communities recover from storms. He still carried a butterfly notebook—now filled with sketches of what he wanted to invent next. He had pages of numerous projects he intends to work on when he has enough time.

Now that he is married with a family, he doesn't have much free time. He has frequent date nights with his wife, Maya, who once called him "odd." He also spends a considerable amount of time in the garage with Jeffrey, his five-year-old son, teaching him to tinker and use his imagination to build things, just as Jeremy had done when he was that age.

A Call to Action

Jeremy never forgot the day his oddity saved the day. And he never stopped believing that being different was his gift.

Have you ever felt too different to belong? Let Jeremy's story remind you: your oddity might be the very thing that saves the day. Write your dreams. Build your contraptions. The world needs your kind of wonder.

May you honor the parts of yourself that others call “odd.” May you carry your butterfly notebook with pride, even when no one asks to see it. May your difference become a gift that will be helpful someday.