The Kimblee family were simple folk. Immigrants from the Southern border of Amestris, they settled down in the outskirts of Central City. The husband worked as a gardener for a rich family. The wife became a housekeeper in the same household. Their only son was then 7 years old.
Their child was clearly a scholar, with his thick glasses and unkept black hair. His skin was pale from the lack of exposure to the sun and his frame, small and thin from little exercise. His parents could barely afford the monthly rent, feed and clothe them. Thus, little Jork wore clothes his mother had sewn, thrift store items, or hand-me-downs from the children of the rich couple the elder Kimblees worked for.
Any little money Jork would get would be spent on books, mostly on alchemy and fiction novels. His father had once studied to be an alchemist, but didn't have the talent. He read his father's old, dog-eared textbooks, fascinated by the mechanics of alchemy.
He excelled in public school, was consistently top of his class and accelerated two grading levels. With his appearance and intelligence, he was branded as a nerd. Thus, making himself the target of bullying.
Even the children from the rich family taunted him whenever he tried to help his father in the grounds. Although he earned some measure of respect because he tutored them in their homework, his name was fair game for ridicule.
"Jork the Dork! Jork the Dork!" The boys would jeer at him.
"Eeww! Get away from me you freak!" The girls would shun him.
At least Jork's mother had the sense to reason with her husband to change their son's name. His father though, was stubborn as a mule.
"But dear, clearly our boy's name isn't fashionable anymore..."
His father's voice could be clearly heard from the neighbors. "Nonsense! In the old country, Jork is a fine name! A very 'fashionable' name!"
"Papa, we're not in the old country anymore..."
Jork's protests went unheard. "Your name is Jork. The same name as my father, your grandfather, and his grandfather, and his grandfather's grandfather! It is TRADITION! Do not forget your roots!"
Mother and son backed down, knowing they were fighting a losing battle.
"End of discussion!" His father said, with finality. "Now eat your cabbage. You do want to grow big and strong like your Papa, don't you?"
"Boy." Jork's eyes met his mother's.
"Make famous. Make yourself big. With a brain like yours, you'll be going places... unlike your useless father here."
Mr. Kimblee growled around the spoon in his mouth.
"Make it so that they will never laugh at the name Jork Kimblee again. Do something that would shut them up. And do something big and wondrous and magnificent, so that they will never forget. You understand me?"
"Understood perfectly." His lips curled into a sneer. "How do you like fireworks, Mother?"