That's where he sat in my classroom. Third period. 8th grade English. He was quiet, but had a devilish sense of humor. When he did speak, a slow smile would creep across his face. He'd look down at the desk when he cracked a joke, and then his eyes would trace up as he broke into a smile. He worked hard, though it was a struggle for him. He was so small. He often wore a hockey jersey. Though I don't remember a lot, I am saddened.
This is why I believe war is bad.