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Once upon a time, in a farmhouse in France, a baby boy was born. "Such hands," his father said. "Perhaps he will be a man to match my father."
"But you have told me that your father was a giant," said his wife with a smile. "Was he truly as large as you say? A head above two meters, and 250 kilos?"
"All that and more," the father replied sternly. "I am the son of a giant. Why not the father of one as well?"
And so it came to pass that as the boy did the work, ate the food and breathed the air of rural France, he grew. And grew. And grew again, reaching a height of 6'3" and a weight of more than 200 pounds as he entered his 12th year. Even then he could do the work of a man. One day as he was raking hay beside his father, a friend of the farm's owner drove slowly past the field in a Rolls-Royce.
"I will own such a car as that someday," the tall boy said quietly as he paused to watch the elegant machine glide by.
"Stop dreaming and start raking," his father replied. "You are a big boy, but that dream is too big even for you."
Two more summers passed and the boy's body as well as his dreams continued to wax. Neither his clothes nor his circumstances seemed ever to fit. Finally, when he was 14, the farm and the village could contain him no longer, and he left his home and family to seek his fortune.
Five more years went by. Then, one afternoon, while his mother was in the kitchen preparing a quiche, she heard a knock. "Ce grand, who could it be?" she said to herself as she saw a large car out the window on her way to the door. "And me all covered with flour!" As she opened the door she beheld an enormous man, all hands and feet, smiling enormously. She stood there dumb struck.
"Is the man of the house at home?" the huge stranger inquired, at which point she rushed from the room, calling to her husband. Together they approached the doorway and the man who filled it.
"Yes, can I help you?" said the husband cautiously, looking up.