Oh, what the hell . . . I have no patience with political correctness, so let’s just call it what it is. I’m short. I’ve always been short, and the older I get, the shorter I get. That’s not such a bad thing when you start out life as Shaquille O’Neal; but when your maximum adult height was 5’2 and 1/2” (that 1/2 inch was very important to me), shrinking is not something you look forward to. You know it’s inevitable, but so is death, and no one is going to be able to make you feel good about either one.

You’re probably thinking that there are so many worse burdens that one could have to carry through life than just being vertically challenged, and you’re right. I have all of my limbs, all of my senses (except perhaps the one known as “common”), and no wart on the tip of my nose or Cyclops eye in the middle of my forehead. My brain is in reasonable working order, and I’ve already lived many years longer than predicted by the actuarial tables at the time of my birth. And yes, of course I’m grateful for all of those things. But still . . .

*. *. *

When you’re five years old and entering first grade (there was no kindergarten in my town in those days so everyone started first grade at five), it’s hard to suddenly find that you’re an object of special attention. My curse was twofold: first, my older sister had taught me to read, write, and do basic arithmetic from the age of three, so I was considered bright, which always makes you something of a pariah among your classmates; and second, I was short, which meant I always had to sit in the front row so I could see the blackboard and the teacher . . . and she could see me. And being of a somewhat mischievous nature, that made it really challenging to carry out my devilish little plots and schemes . . . although I did get better at it as I got older.

“What, is that all?” — I hear you ask. Uh-uh. Not by a long shot. Because, having been given a jump-start on the “three Rs,” I was deemed as wasting my time with all the “normal” kids in first grade, and they skipped me in the middle of the school year to second grade, because that’s what they did in those days. I was six by the end of the school year, when I was promoted to third grade with all the eight- and nine-year-olds.

Do you know how much a child grows in two years? To a short kid like me, it’s a lot. And here were all these big kids, and here was shrimpy me, sitting in the front row as usual . . . and having to stand on a freakin’ step stool to reach the freakin’ blackboard! But I hung in there. And since I was still just 16 when I graduated from high school, I never did catch up in height to most of my classmates — not that I was ever going to anyway.

On the up-side, however, I did get to date the really cute short guys. You know, all the ones with Napoleon complexes . . .

Crap!!!

*. *. *

Then at last it was off into the real world, where I wore the highest heels my feet and back would tolerate, and still wound up looking most people directly in . . . the neck. I lost count of the strangers whose eyes I nearly poked out with my umbrella as I tried to navigate among the crowds on rainy days. And I know people got sick to death of hearing me ask for help hanging my coat on the hook that was always just that much too high, or to retrieve the file from the top file cabinet drawer.

Did I say it could always be worse? Yes, I did . . . and I know whereof I speak. Because having all five lumbar vertebrae fused later in life just added to the normal age-related shrinking thing. I have, by actual measure, now shrunk 4-1/2 inches (there’s that all-important half-inch again), to an impressive 4’10” in . . . what? I hesitate to call it “height” . . . let’s say, “vertical presence.”

And in just one minute of Google research, I learned today that I am officially — according to the advocacy group Little People of America — qualified as a Little Person. Just barely, as 4’10’ is their maximum acceptable height (average is 4 feet) . . . but still qualified, even though I wasn’t born with the condition known as dwarfism. Finally, after all these years of not fitting in, I have found my place among those wonderful, feisty, hard-working, smart, talented, lovable short folks.

So, screw all you tall people. I’m off to see the Wizard . . .

Come on, Toto.

See ya . . .

Brendochka
6/19/24