LIFE AS A SHORT GIRL

That's not what I expected.

Mom always said I took after my Aunt Norma, and she was probably about five feet eight.

Though I was a small child, I thought I'd grow and grow until I caught up with everybody else.

All my life in public school I was the shortest in my class.

That meant the teacher always put me in the front row desk right under her nose.

Which meant I couldn't talk to the other kids or pass notes or copy someone's test answers.

It was kind of lonely, and I knew I was missing out on some fun. When you sit in the front row, a lot goes on behind your back.

When we lined up to go to lunch or out for recess or down the street to the library, there I was, first in line.

Yes, my teachers always made us line up by height, shortest first.

Sometimes some of the other kids would stand back-to-back to sort out who was taller, but I never got to do that.

And I used to hear the kids in back of me talking and laughing and having fun on the way to lunch.

Me - I had to follow the teacher and behave like an angel.

I'll bet some of you readers used to think the short girl felt special, being first in line and all.

Far from it.

What's fun about being the shortest and missing out on the fun?

We'd get to the lunchroom and stand in line against the wall, waiting to go through the kitchen with out trays to fill.

Day after day, the boys teased me with every word they could think of for a short girl. Shorty. Pipsqueak. Peanut. Shrimp. Pee-wee. Midget. Half pint.

Actually, though, those 'short' names went right over my head. I just didn't think of myself as short, even though everyone else did. I'd outgrow it, I knew I would.

Inside my little body there was always a tall woman.

Even when I was in my thirties and admired the tall old lady who lived next door to my father, I expected to be statuesque myself some day. Just like her. That was the way I imagined I'd be.

Then one day I drove two little old sisters to the grocery store. They'd starved as children in Russia during WWII and their growth had been stunted, leaving them both less than five feet tall.

At the register, as they were checking out with their groceries, the cashier, just being friendly, asked me if one of the little old ladies was my grandmother.

When I told her no, they were friends of a friend, she exclaimed, "Oh, I thought you must be related because you're short like them!"

That hurt.

I didn't want to be a little old lady the way those sisters were, but it was starting to sink in that I wasn't going to ever be tall.

I'm not looking for sympathy, just explaining. Maybe encouraging you to think about short girls in a different way.

When I took a job as the house mother for a sorority, I was glad to realize I liked all of the girls.

In all honesty, I'd thought there might be one or two I wouldn't like much, and I'd prepared myself for that. My first rule for myself was not to let it show if I didn't like one of the girls.

Happily, I can say I didn't have to use that rule.

But there was one girl who didn't like me. She made it clear that she didn't like me. It seemed no matter how much I tried to befriend her, that girl had no use for me. She was a tall girl, the tallest one in the house.

Then, one night at dinner, one of the girls remarked to the tall one that she was too tall.

"I wish I was tall like her!" , I blurted, and went on to say how elegant she looked.

That did it. Without planning, I'd broken through to her. From that time on, the tall girl talked to me and even smiled.

Obviously, she'd had a preconceived opinion of me because I'm short, while from my side, I haven't found one advantage in it.

Some women think a short girl has any and all men to choose from. They're all taller than I am.

Well, I have a memory of going on a date with a man who was about 4 inches taller than I.

We were on the dance floor for a slow dance.

I looked around. Everyone was way up there above both our heads. I didn't like it. It felt foolish. Kind of like they were all adults and we were a couple of little kids.

Sometimes I look at photos and feel foolish, too. There's everybody up there, and me down here, ruining the symmetry.

I don't feel sorry for myself, I just wish it was different.

Sometimes I end up shopping in the children's department. I have some nice, warm fleece pants I like, but I have to wear them with a long sweater to hide the little-girl decal on the hip.

Yet if I buy a dress from the junior or ladies section, I have to take it up 5 inches.

So what's my point?

Just want to tell the world that being short isn't a choice.

And though I've had to accept being short, and I've learned to live with it, I'd rather be tall.