I’ll state right now that I am tall. In fact, consider it shouted. Today I rather like my height but during those wonder years of adolescence filled with self pity and doubt, I was easily humiliated. I could never fully sympathize with those who experience emotional pain from being overweight. My problem was more serious. Weight can be lost. A tall person has no where to go but up.
There were the relatives who would exclaim over how “nice and tall” I was, along with my peers who omitted the word nice. The “nice” never cushioned anything, anyway, because if there is one thing an adolescent does not want to hear, it is that she is in some way different from the rest of the world. I used to give people a wan smile whenever they pointed out my height to me. “Do you know you’re a very tall girl?” as if it were possible I did not. There was always an awkward silence. What was there to say? “Oh, you are wrong. It is you who are suffering from amnesia and have wandered off from your tribe of fellow pygmies!”
I was always the second tallest girl in the class during the elementary school years. I used to cling to this “secondness.” It brought dubious relief. There is no one as conscious of the tallest girl’s height as the second tallest. I felt so sorry for Louise who held the title. She was not only the tallest in the class, but the smartest which alone was enough to dampen one’s popularity. I was constantly haunted by the fear that Louise’s father would suddenly be transferred to a new city, or, she would be run over, say, by the school bus and I would be plunged into her position. Worst yet, well for me anyway, was the possibility that at any moment she might stop growing and I, a la a science fiction nightmare, would begin to pass her out.
I remember another classmate, little Mary Beth, who lived down the street. Mary Beth was the kind who would suck a life saver until it was a thin little rim and then present it to everyone’s eyes with its complete circle as a sign of her superiority. She was always the one, self-elected, to let the new kid in school know that his feelings of estrangement were not of a temporary nature. I sensed then that Mary Beth was a perfect candidate for exorcism. Nevertheless, we often played together since friendship, at that point in life, was based more on proximity than compatibility.
I will never forget the summer afternoon Mary Beth smugly informed me that her grandmother had declared that she was the perfect height for a girl of her age. Since we were the same age, Mary Beth was letting me know using the sinister subtlety of a child, that I was a freak since I towered over her. I was disconcerted. I could not very well call her grandmother a liar. Since my grandmother had never discussed the matter, I had nothing to use for ammunition. Who dares refute a grandmother except a fellow grandmother? Perhaps I should have had mine beat hers up, since mine was bigger.
Diane was another childhood friend. She was little and cute and her fifth grade personality corresponded very nicely with the stereotype of an army sergeant. This seems a rather extreme comparison, but it was made one day by my father, who recalled his days of boot camp with a little less than nostalgia. Diane enjoyed giving orders and since I was always a pleasant and passive girl (a description that makes me gag) I cooperated with her. There were times, however, when even I had to take issue with some of her assertions. The arguments were exasperatingly futile, since Diane devoted all her energy to insisting and thus never broke momentum by stopping to listen. Whenever my reasoning did begin to penetrate, she would, infuriated, stomp off with the closing statement, “You’re tall!!!”
Diane had confidence and since I lacked it, I respected her. She made decisions with impressive rapidity, and speed seemed more important than accuracy. Looking back, I can now appreciate just how different the two of us were. If I had been asked at that time to put human beings into two categories, I would have said that the world was made up of gigglers and non-gigglers, a rather non-threatening axis of differentiation. I can state unequivocally that I was a giggler. Louise was also a great giggler. In fact, I seem to recall that the taller girls were always gigglers. This may have been from the nervousness of feeling physically awkward, or , more respectably, due to the lack of oxygen at our excessive heights. Now, Diane could not begin to giggle. All she ever mustered was a short, sarcastic bark that resembled a laugh. I never did get to do much giggling around Diane since it takes two to produce a good giggle.
I grew up in a primarily Italian-American suburb. My ancestors were Irish and Scandinavian. I will never lose the memory of the Sunday morning in the middle of a church service, when it occurred to me that I was, at the age of twelve, not only taller than the majority of adult women in the parish, but also their husbands. It was then only a matter of time until I had perfected my slouch.
How often had the nuns emphasized that our posture in church was a direct indication of the condition of our faith? Also, and here comes the graphic image to really get the point, that if we knelt and stood straight and tall, the Blessed Mother would smile down on us. Ah, for the catechism instructor who would have suggested that the Virgin Mary might have had to cope with her own little vanities as a child.
When I was 13 years old the family physician informed my mother that I was developing a slight curvature of the spine. He eased her mind by explaining that it was rather frequent phenomenon affecting teenage girls. I remember coming to a shattering realization as I sat there being discussed. The reason for the curvature was my excessive slouching. I considered for a moment sharing this insight with medical science, but I was too ashamed. My posture miraculously improved.
Of course, height was not the only source of my emotional growing pains. Glasses and braces did nothing to enhance my self-image. But with time, one does develop a more mature sense of priorities. Besides, braces are eventually removed, contact lenses can be purchased, and upon completion of junior high school boys decide to begin growing again.
By the time I entered college my self-confidence had increased significantly. Admittedly, however , encountering a height bigot could easily throw me off balance. There was personable Don, who took me aside one day and revealed that it was unfortunate I was so tall , because he could have really gone for me. When I reported this experience to my roommate she was sympathetically indignant. “Do you mean he actually said to that to your face?” “No, more to my chest,” was my resigned reply.
I also received a Dear John letter from a fellow I dated for a short time. He admitted in the letter being embarrassed to be seen in public with me since I was so tall. Today I can admire his courage at verbalizing the prejudice. I was actually uncomfortable myself over the difference in our heights. If only he had changed the wording, so that he was too short for me, rather than I too tall for him, I wouldn’t have fired back about how I hadn’t realized just how small he really was, and that I was a much bigger person for having known him.
Actually, I believe we do become bigger people for the character building we must endure. I am happy to report that today an inch is no longer as a good as a mile to my once peer-pressured mind’s eye. Still, on occasion, when I hear someone exclaim, “My, but you are tall!” my eyes begin to water beneath the contact lenses and I am seized by just the flash of an old desire to bash the poor innocent in the mouth. Who knows? Perhaps it would cure an overbite.
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did you ever watch that movie? the 50 ft woman? the poster is now somewhat iconic.
you never get into any of the "pluses" of being tall. think about that a little.
you never get into any of the "pluses" of being tall. think about that a little.
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