They high-fived over my head again. I hate when they do that. But it’s preferable to when they carry out entire conversations up there. Most people think my size is funny, kinder people think it’s adorable, and the kindest people know it’s almost a curse.
I am a whopping 4’ 9 1/2”. It used to be something I was ashamed of; I can’t play sports well and people never tire of pointing out my size and comparing my child-sized hands to their own. Still, I found a way to cope by seeing it as a calling: I’m a confidence booster for short people. The moment anyone stands next to me, they instantly feel taller.
I’ve found other things to like about being small. People pick me up when they hug me, and once I get over how embarrassing that is, I like it. Everything silly I do, whether it’s tripping up the stairs, sticking out my tongue when I concentrate, or accidentally wearing mismatched shoes to school, gets labelled as "cute" because of my size. It’s a running joke, and I know I’ll always be this small, so I have to love it.
Some people wouldn’t be so positive. I have to climb on counters to get to the top shelf and one of my friend’s belly-buttons is the same level as my collar-bone, but it’s ok. My shape has shaped me and I don’t mind that. I’m distinctive. People remember me. I wouldn’t change for the world.
feb 2014
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