Measuring Up.

"Short girl."

The words pierced my tiny heart. There I stood, tears in my eyes, looking down at my feet. I was in the sixth grade. The kid who called me the name was standing there, just looking at me, waiting for my response.

"Why are you so short?"

I didn't answer. What was I supposed to say? Instead, I remained staring at my shoes, hoping they would just take me away from this spot. My spirit was crushed.

I remember it plain as day, and will probably never forget the way those words made me feel. Though they stung at the time, they drastically changed my life forever. You see, this was the first time I'd ever felt insignificant because of my height. In the past, no one said anything about it. I just lived my life the way everyone else did. But at this moment, I did not measure up.

Another occurrence I vividly remember was during sixth grade where a teacher (yes.. a teacher, nonetheless) dedicated me a song during class and then commenced to playing the silly Randy Newman song, “Short people got no reason to live.... Short people got nobody to love.” Everyone laughed, including me. How could I let my peers see me cry? I couldn’t show weakness. To this day, that is the most humiliated I've ever felt in my entire life. 

Growing up as the shortest kid in class was a challenge. In grade school, there were lots of kids that were small. The only time anyone noticed I was short was on picture day, when they made you line up shortest to tallest. Even then, I never felt inferior. The worst part is that they want to pick you up and carry you around like a child, which can get annoying. Middle school was different. I guess no one informed me that everyone hits their growth spurt the summer before entering middle school, so I was left behind. I was much smaller than my friends. And for the first time, they began to notice. “Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” is the biggest lie they teach children. The comments were burned in to my brain.

To me, being vertically challenged was a detriment. All through middle school it seemed as though I was less important than others because I was little. I tried playing basketball, but struggled with being as aggressive as the others. Running track wasn’t for short legs. To a seventh grader, grades aren’t important, being in choir wasn’t cool, and no one cared if you were a gymnast. I didn’t have a boyfriend and I didn’t fit into Abercrombie clothes like my other friends. A sense of failure came over me. How would I ever amount to anything?

My friends were always nice to me, but they didn’t see me as the same age as them. I was much smaller, and hanging out with me was like hanging out with a little sister. Yes, I was well below 5’0, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t understand things.

In high school, things got worse before they got better. I was often accused of having an eating disorder. I didn’t have one. I was just born with a fast metabolism, and still had the body frame of a 13 year old. I couldn’t help it. “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” What’s a short girl with a gymnast background supposed to do? Try out for cheerleader. I spent a great three years being thrown in the air, standing on the sidelines, and waving my pom-poms. I took what I was given, and made it work. I embraced my height, and put it to good use.

I eventually learned to overcome. I made up for my lack of height with attitude. Each time my grandma would measure all of my cousins at her house, I was always much smaller than everyone else was at that age, but I would just say something about being "much smarter." I realized that hoping I’d grow a couple of inches over night wasn’t going to work, and I would just have to face my “height deficit.” It was not easy, but I enjoy my height now. Being short has it's perks, for sure. I never have to worry about my future beloved being shorter than me, and I never have to duck when everyone else has to. I can wear 4 inch heels every Sunday, and no one complains. People occasionally view me as being incapable of doing manual labor, and do it for me... which doesn't bother me one bit. Now don't get me wrong, there are some cons. Short girls cannot look elegant in long dresses. We just look rather awkward. You must become a proficient kitchen cabinet climber, and get used to the fact your feet don't touch the floor while sitting in a chair. You get called names like "Shorty," and "Little Bit" more often than you'd like, but there are definitely worse names that people could call me. Also, driving can be an annoyance. The seat has to be scooted all the way up, and the steering wheel lowered. Lastly, can you imagine trying to get this short legged body into a large pick-up truck? It's practically impossible.

I realize that I have been joking about my height, but I am trying to convey a very serious message to you. Nowadays, people tweet “#shortgirlprobs” all the time. They don’t realize the struggles behind that hashtag, or the tears that fell because of someone calling you “shrimp.” You can pretend that your feelings are not hurt on the outside, but inwardly, those comments take quite the toll on your self-image. I beg and plead you to be careful with your comments about someone's height. They cannot help it. 

I have a favorite children’s book: Stand Tall, Molly Lou Melon. It’s by Patty Lovell, and is quite possibly the best book ever written. Molly is the smallest girl in the first grade. You would think that Molly would be shy, or that she wouldn’t have very many friends, or that she wouldn’t be any good at sports. No worries, though. Molly’s grandma gave her great advice: “Walk as proudly as you can, and the world will look up to you. Believe in yourself, and the world will believe in you.”

To my other “Petite” readers out there: Shakespeare says, "Though she be but little, she is fierce!" Be that. Be fierce. Don’t allow people to walk over you or doubt you because of your height. Be proud of who you are, and when you walk into a room, own it. Size isn’t everything. You’ve got a brain in your head and a heart in your chest that outweigh the number the height chart reads.