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Oh, It’s Tuesday: The Short of the Matter

Photo Credit: chooyutshing
Photo Credit: chooyutshing

So it occured to me the other day that I’m finally coming to terms w/ not being tall. When I was seven, I went to the doctor and he told my mother and me that based on my large hands and feet (9.5) and my parents’ height that I would probably grow to be at least 5’7.

And things seemed to be going in that direction for quite awhile. I was never the tallest girl in my class. But I was taller than most of the other girls. So imagine my horror when I reached 5’3 at the age of 12, then stopped growing, while many of my female classmates w/ smaller hands, feet, and parents seemed to keep on going. My father was 6 feet tall. My sister made it to 5’6. Even my mother at 5’4 was taller than me.

In a way I’ve always felt cheated out of being tall, or at least tallish. For five glorious years I walked, talked, and felt like a tall person, and then it turned out that I just … wasn’t. Though, that didn’t stop me from holding on to my tall-girl personality, I’ve just never had the physicality to match it.

But lately, I’ve been very grateful to be short. I can’t reach the top shelf, but I can curl up just about anywhere, I can lead w/o being physically intimidating, and I think flying is super-comfortable. Also, lately I’ve been thinking that there’s something to always having that one thing that you really, really want, but will never, ever get. It keeps me striving for the things that I can get, if that makes any sense.

Still, if someone offered me a pill that would make me grow to an above-average 5’7, I’d take it…  so m/b I haven’t really come to terms with being short.