Height Disorder: Growing Up Short in America

This is a not so tall tale about being short.  From birth, I was an undersized  preemie.  Short enough to snuggle in a shoe box.  I weighed four pounds according to my Mom.  But you won't find my height or weight recorded on my birth certificate, because in the Covered Wagon Era no one cared.

My height, or lack thereof, has been a constant source of jest for normal folks over five-foot-seven inches.  That includes most American males under the age of 100.  If old age brings shrinkage, I will soon be auditioning for a role in the circus.  I'm talking shrinking stature guys, by the way.

My earliest memories of my height complex were entering first grade.  Most of the girls towered over me let alone the boys.  I was the target of bullies, who once chased me around the schoolyard until I leaped into a trash barrel eluding their grasps.  I emerged smelling of sour milk and spoiled Spam.

The cruelest blow to my ego was administered by my oldest sister Charlene, who is 11 months younger than me.  By third grade, she was a foot taller than me.  (It was actually less, but it seemed that way.)  I called her the Big Dunker.  It was humiliating to introduce her as my little sister.

The only advantage of being short in school was no teacher ever called on me.  I hunkered in a desk at the back of the class.  Teachers couldn't see me for goodness sakes.  Most thought that small lump was a jacket left on the desk by another child.  Honestly, I can't think of any other advantages.

In the fourth grade, I lucked out with one classmate shorter than me.  It may have been the highlight of my growing up days.  His name was Billy Bellnoski.  I can still remember his name because it has a life-altering experience.  Soon, however, I began to dislike Billy as much as spinach.

Billy liked a fourth grader named Marilyn Raddigan, my secret girlfriend.  She was blonde, blue-eyed and the mere sight of her hiked my jeans three inches.  I was insanely jealous that Marilyn seemed to be sweet on Billy.  So one day I challenged him to a fight on the school yard.  Bold for a midget.

Billy whined, "You're bigger than me!"  No one had ever said that before to me.  I was giddy with excitement.  But I was still bent on revenge.  So next day, I recruited my brother, Bob, a first grader at the same school.  I told him I wanted him to teach Billy a lesson.  He unhesitatingly volunteered.

When recess came, I cornered Billy.  "You won't fight me, so this is my brother Bob.  He is shorter than you."  What transpired next is a memory I cherish even to this day. Bob waylaid poor Billy.  I never saw Marilyn again until the day I moved from that city. We waved goodbye.  Sweet parting.

In high school, I shot up to about five-feet-two inches my freshman year.  Pretty lame, right?  I played football, basketball and baseball.  I discovered sports was the great height equalizer if you were tough and smart.  However, I also learned that bigger boys had physical advantages coaches favored.

You can spot me in every high school team sport picture.  I am the guy kneeling on the front row, which was reserved for the runts.  I never got to stand in the back.  Never.  My ego still suffers today. It could have been worse. I could have been coaxed to stand on a box like Mike Bloomberg.

Even in what should have been a shining moment, a public address announcer delivered a height slander.  I had returned from the football locker room to join teammates for a halftime ceremony honoring our state baseball championship.  Most of the players received flattering introductions.

Mine went like this:  "And now, accepting his letter jacket, the smallest player on any team at Clarksdale, Drew Roy."  You heard it right.  If I knew the PA announcers name, I would fly a drone over his home right now and bomb his front yard with rolls of COVID toilet paper.  Mean SOB.

My senior year, I finally made it to my current height.  I also gained nearly 20 pounds from my junior year.  Suddenly, I was nearly, almost, but not quite normal.  Although, truthfully, no teacher of mine would ever think of me as normal. I was a little short in the "caring about school" category.

Today, I am all grown up and over my height fixation.  Except I beg my child bride not to order shrimp at a restaurant.  The waiter always chuckles and says, "Mam, you already have a shrimp sitting next to you."  Okay, I made that part up.  But it doesn't mean waiters aren't thinking that.

Schools today probably have counselors just to work with boys like me with a height disorder.  They are called "special needs kids."  These boys are provided shoes with taller heels and desks with thick cushions.  I imagine schools today are forced to accommodate short boys with separate restrooms.

Throughout my life, some well meaning friends and acquaintances point out all the famous people who were short in stature.  Issac Newton, Ludwig van Beethoven, Winston Churchill, Pablo Picasso, Voltaire and Danny DeVito.  As if, other people's modest height makes me feel taller.

Of course, today boys and girls are getting taller.  All those vitamins, hormones and unhealthy eating habits are producing larger and taller folks.  My only hope is that an asteroid will smash into Earth and make everyone over five-foot-seven-inches extinct. It could happen. Just ask the dinosaurs.