A Short Essay

Witness the complications and daily obstacles that face vertically challenged youth as they "grow"

Current height: 5 feet 4 inches

“Ok guys, short people in the front, tall in the back!” the photographer announces at the end of our city championships.

            “YO! Make way for Galen,” Doug proclaims loudly.  This induces a fit of laughter from the entire group.  I strut through the mass of people I call my teammates and they part for me, patting me on the back.  I overhear one of them conferring with his friend.
            “He’s so short but still good at running and pole vault.  I don’t get it!  I wish I knew the secret so I could be fast, too.”

            I am annoyed and flattered at the same time.  There was no secret; it was just hard work and commitment.   But they’d know that if they actually knew me, and not just by what I’d done.

            3 feet 9 inches:  I first noticed it in elementary school every time the teachers lined us up for picture day.  It irked me how my school always put us in height order for so many things.  How is height even relevant to your order in the cafeteria or bathroom line?  You might as well order us by weight and make everyone on both ends insecure about their bodies; it was the same effect. 

So what was I supposed to do?  Give up and accept my fate, forever capitulating to anyone who could reach the top shelf without a stool?  Never! Fortunately, it was not as if a little guy like me had no prospect for the future.  Public School 40 gave us shorties a chance, in the schoolyard.  They pitted us against each other in ruthless matches to see who would climb to the top and beat out the rest; yes, we’re talking about a whole grade-wide footrace tournament.  And I came out close to the top.

However, it only got me so far.  P.S. 40 placed a strange emphasis on the vertical superiority and it affected the students, making them think that by being bigger they were better. 

I was in line waiting for the bathroom one day when big ol’ Muhammed came up behind me and declared, “I’m bigger than you.  You should let me go first”.
            Heck yea, you’re bigger.  Maybe you should go on a diet.

I didn’t say this out loud because that would have earned me a trip to the principal’s office.  Instead, I just told him I had diarrhea so he’d let me go ahead.  I could have let him go but I was exasperated with the whole body size comparison.  I guess my school was just preparing us for when we became mature adults and started comparing sizes of other things.  What a petty, yet real education.

4 feet 5 inches: In one of my attempts to disprove the disadvantages of shortness, I became a runner at Wagner middle school.  Tall people are faster, right?  I would prove them wrong.  While I was shorter, I was athletic enough to keep up with the pubescent behemoths called classmates and managed to make the track team.  Was I trying to prove them wrong or was I doing it because I liked running? Both are true.  I tried out because I liked running; I trained even harder because I wanted to spite them.  They may have had longer legs but I could still keep up.  So what if I care about what others think?  At least I’m motivated and I like what I do.  Also, I was fast.  I was aiming to be the fastest kid in the whole middle school: the fame, the girls, the glory!  Remember back when being fastest meant being most popular? 

However one day, my mom dashed my dreams by telling me I couldn’t keep missing school for the competitions and I had to quit.  I was devastated.  Middle school was supposed to be the time where I explored my passions and tried new things. 

“It’s just middle school, ma!”  I had pleaded. “It won’t hurt to miss one day.”
            To which she replied, “One day here, one day there--soon you’ll miss a whole week of school, become a failure, dropout, and pump gas at a Sunoco gas station in the bowels of Brooklyn, far from society.”  I had never been to the bowels of Brooklyn before and her story scared my 12 year-old mind.  I’d later visit friends in these bowels and it was not as traumatic an experience as I’d thought. 

I digress, but the effect stood; I had quit the track team and my dreams of becoming the next Usain Bolt were stuffed into a box, sealed with superglue, and shipped at ludicrous speed to the opposite side of the galaxy.  Luckily physics was on my side.  By E= mc², my small mass meant I would have less energy which therefore brought me to the conclusion that it wouldn’t take much energy for me to catch my dream on the opposite end of the world (please don’t fact check my science, just believe it).

4 feet 9 inches: I wasn’t about to let my height limit me.  I had been dealt a short hand but I’d still win.  That’s why I didn’t give up hope when I started liking this girl who made me feel like David next to Goliath. Middle school contained some of my darkest days that I’d like to put behind me.  I was a pimply, crooked toothed, four-eyed, bean sprout; but I was smart!  My witty and sarcastic attitude could make many fair maiden swoon, just not the one I truly had a crush on.  She was out of my league and yet in my league: my best (girl) friend.  She was beautiful, smart, funny, and I could talk to her about everything! I just couldn’t talk to her about my crush…for obvious reasons. So I went about courting her as any suave middle schooler would; I made a fool of myself to make her laugh.  I’d have done anything to make her smile because as that famous boy band would say, “[She lit] up my world like nobody else”.  Unfortunately, it never worked though because I lacked the guts to confess.  Taller people are more confident than short people�"confirmed.

5 feet 0 inches: My life hadn’t meant anything until this time.  This milestone marked the beginning of high school and my life as a track star.  That’s right, I managed to cajole my mom and travel to the other end of the galaxy to catch my dreams.  I made the cutoff by .01 seconds but I didn’t care.  I would become great. 

One day, Coach Mendes came to the sprinters looking for field eventers. He asked us in his gruff and callous voice, “Anyone here have hops and want to do hurdles?”  Jokingly, I raised my hand saying I could do high jump.  This incited a couple of laughs from my teammates.  However, much to my surprise, he didn’t scoff in my face but rather stroked his scraggly grey beard and suggested I try hurdles, because I had hops. 

I kept training and while I was about a foot shorter than the rest of my competitors in the finals, I didn’t finish last. 

5 feet 2 inches: I wouldn’t be limited by hurdling.  What else did they not expect short people to do?  Fly many stories into the air? Oh yes, pole vault it is.  This would be my future, defying gravity and soaring through the air all the while desperately praying to God I would land safely on the mat far below.  I would later hear from teammates that watching me jump was a lot like watching the pros because the bar dwarfed me.  I suppose that was good.  Perspective always made me feel like I was flying over a mountain each time I jumped, which is what made pole vault so attractive.  It was all about making me look larger than I was.  I was vain and cared about what others thought; I still am. 

5 feet 4 inches: When my friends make short people jokes about me, I can’t help but feel the rage boiling inside me.  Each time they hoist me up Lion King style, I feel the itch to hit someone; every time they put my hat on the top of the fridge, I want to dropkick them; and for every time they’ve squatted down a little to talk to me eye-to-eye I hold back from giving them a swift uppercut to the jaw.  I’m pissed about my physicality and these “friends”.  Friends are supposed to raise you up when you feel down, not make you feel even more down.

My girlfriend tells me she mocks my height because it’s the only advantage she has over me.  I don’t understand the appeal of holding an advantage over someone.  Power is nice but to the extent of making a person feel like s**t?  Hell no! However, I was told I should take it as a compliment because there is nothing else to jeer at. My friends even refer to my height disability as a “debuff” given by the gods as a way of leveling the playing field.  I know they’re just trying to mollify me so I don’t get physical with them.

  I’ll admit their insults played a part in making me who I am today.  I defied stereotypes and didn’t back down when told to wait longer in line.  I liked a girl taller than I was and still pursued her.  I became a hurdler and pole vaulter.  All of this would have been easier had I been a little taller.  But I followed through with what I wanted.  I didn’t let norms dictate what I should or shouldn’t have done.

Yea, I’m vertically challenged but I won’t be written off as that short guy; I’ll be proud and defiant.  So I’ll never break 5’9”, whatever, I’m happy the way I am.
            “Make way for Galen!”

I make my way to the front of the group with a confident smile as the camera flashes.

Author's Note

I wrote this about three years ago in high school so forgive me if I don't write like an adult. I think I still write the same way though.

Reviews

[Matthew M Murill]

Great essay, thank you very much for sharing it. There are times when, while writing an essay or other type of academic assignment, I just don't have enough inspiration. I can't write a single paragraph. In such cases, I turn to EduBirdie, which has very professional writers who help me with my essays