Essay on being short

I wrote this many years ago and after looking at it today, it made me laugh. But it's still true. So enjoy, and viva las short people! - Shannon

A SHORT EPIC

I looked up at The David. The muscled marble towered fifteen feet above me. One oversized hand drooped gently on his leg, while the other hand sagged over his shoulder, holding the stone that would kill the giant. I marveled at the artistry for a moment. Then my gaze came back to the other tourists standing near me, and I smiled in satisfaction that everyone had to look up to the statue. They were all experiencing what I must every day - being short.

I was born 16 inches long, six pounds, four ounces. Dad could place my head in his palm while my feet barely brushed the inside of his elbow. My mother and aunt had to buy doll clothes for me, because there weren't any infant's clothes small enough.

Elementary school was difficult for me. Every day in second grade I remember running in from recess crying, because someone had been teasing me about my height. I could never think of anything horrible enough to say back to them, so I just cried. I didn't think there was anything I could do about being shorter than the rest of the class.

It wasn't until junior high that I finally got defensive about derogatory comments regarding my height. It had been so frustrating for so long that suddenly all I could do was strike back. I developed a stunning repertoire of smartass comments that always shut people up. Though I don't remember any of these comments now, I recall that they usually consisted of an inventive rumor about the object of the insulter's desire, some habit of their mother's, or a remark about the way they dressed. It was junior high. Insults didn't need to be fancy then - just very embarrassing.

In high school, I dreamt one night that I was tall – about 5'10" or so. I was the tallest girl in my class. My shoulders were wide, proportional to my waist and hips, but my head was the same size as when I was short. In the dream I was hanging out with friends by some lockers, and they were all ignoring me because I was towering above them, and they couldn't look into my face to talk to me. I was hideous. I vowed from then on to love being short, accent being short, even, because if I didn't, I might wake up one morning tall and horrendous. If I'd been fat during high school, I probably would have seen the dream as a positive sign, but as it was, I was a bony, shapeless 15-year-old. Being tall and thin would have been a living nightmare.

Worse than anything else are the questions I get. I'm so tired of answering the same old questions all the time. I think I'll have a t-shirt printed up that says, "I am five feet tall, and I weigh 100 pounds. I wear a 6 1/2 shoe, and no, I don't buy clothes at children's stores."

Some of the worst questions are, "Are your parents short, too?" (Not when I need money, they aren't). One thing I hear a lot from people of average height is, "I feel tall when I'm around you." I usually respond with something creative like, "So?" I also get a lot of, "So, have you ever gone out with a tall guy?" Yes, I have. It was hard to kiss him but we got over it. "Shorty" has been my obvious nickname ever since I can remember, along with "little woman," "midget," "welchkin," (when it was found out that I am of Welch ancestry) and the ever-popular short shit." But the worst statement of all is, "Boy, are you short!"

It was only recently, in an Dear Abby column, that I learned an appropriate response to "Boy, are you short!" A woman wrote in saying she was 200 pounds overweight and she liked herself that way. When people asked her why she didn't try to lose weight, she'd reply, "I just lost 20 pounds." That shut 'em up, she said. And to the really rude people who said to her, "Boy, are you fat!" she'd reply, "Boy, are you rude!"

I've never used this reply, but I did have the opportunity to a few months ago. While waiting in line to talk to a professor I knew, a guy I'd never seen before, walking in the hallway, stopped next to me and gasped, "Boy, are you short!" The fat woman's reply popped into my head, but I didn't say it for some reason. Instead I rolled my eyes (which someone told me I do professionally). The rude guy turned to Kurt, a friend of mine standing in line, and said, "That probably wasn't the right thing to say, was it?" Kurt shook his head, bugging his eyes in amazement at this guy's audacity. Apologizing and introducing himself, ironically, as David, the rude guy, tried to make it better by telling me I was very cute - for a short girl. Over his shoulder, I made a furtive face at Kurt that said, "Help me get rid of this guy!" Kurt only shrugged.

However, I defeated the giant by throwing the rock of superiority in his face. Just then, it was my turn to see the professor, so I went in, chatted with him, and got a favor out of him because we were old friends. I made sure all of this conversation was just loud enough for David to hear. Poor David had to wait in a very long line to see this professor, whom he didn't know, and who probably wouldn't do him a favor, when I only had to stand in line two minutes and got exactly what I wanted. That was sweet enough revenge for me.

I have found some definitive advantages in being short, however. No one ever asks me if I play basketball, or encourages me to do so. I don't have to worry about hitting my head on doorways. And I thank fate that adjectives like "lanky," "gangly," and "ungainly" cannot apply to me, nor can the nickname "beanpole," or the phrase "You've grown like a weed." I revel in the fact that my younger sister and my friends can no longer borrow my clothes or shoes, since they're all at least two sizes larger. I win limbo contests. I love singing "Kiss Off" to people who sing me the song “Short People Ain't Got No Reason." Ten bucks can usually get me drunk, no matter what type of alcohol I buy. I hardly ever use the whole towel to dry off with, and I can fall asleep - horizontally - in a recliner quite comfortably.

But I smile widest when I see someone taller than me grabbing a chair to reach the top cupboard in the kitchen. No one can say they have never come up short at some time in their lives.