The four of us exchanged wary glances, assessing the situation with half-hearted sighs. It was a familiar scene. The enemy began to fill in the remaining seven lanes, and in horror, we craned our necks upward to meet the eyes of our competition. We were easily the shortest 4x4 team in the district. Excluding Stacey Kozlowski, the very tall anchor to our quartet, each of us barely had sixty inches to our name. The girls that surrounded us towered high into the sky. Their long, powerful legs seemed to go on forever. We could feel their stares bearing down on the tops of our heads and could continue to feel them as we left the track, preparing for the first leg to begin. They had already written us off and therein lay our victory. In the end, we won first. We always won first. We were the fastest.
Being short can sometimes feel like the mark of Cain. When an individual stands at a diminutive height, he is destined to spend his days enduring the short jokes of friends and foes alike. It’s a struggle enough without the cheeky reminders. I’ve discovered that with small stature, life tends to be full of inconvenient situations. Shopping for jeans that accommodate both my waist and leg length is often a fruitless endeavor. Retrieving an item off the shelf may require the use of a stepstool, which has become a permanent fixture to my family’s pantry. Furthermore, the world is full of awkward proportions since most things aren’t made for people of my dimensions. Reaching the gas pedal is a stretch, erasing the whiteboard usually involves some jumping, and pushing through the doors of Senior Academy calls for the strength and the weight of my entire body.
Indeed, it is a tiresome thing, being short. Yet with all things consider, height should not have to be a hindering trait. I cannot speak on behalf of other short people, but my size is something I have accustomed to, adjusted to, and accepted. So whenever someone tells me, “You’re short,” I have to wonder why the fact is even worth mentioning. I think to myself, “Yes, I am short. Here I thought I had you fooled!” It’s amazing how such a trivial observation can be so irritating. There was a time when snappy comebacks were difficult to choke back, but now I have grown callous to remarks about my height.
Because I am small, I am empowered. True, getting the short end of the stick is frustrating: with it come trials and tribulation. However, considering the hand I’ve been dealt, I am one lucky duck. I love my size. I enjoy it and admittedly it is sometimes humorous. It has not defined my capabilities, but it has contributed in defining me. The trouble is that shortness is mistaken as a handicap. While size, among other things, limits what one can do, it is by no means crippling.
My 4x4 team was a force to be reckoned with. Before we earned a reputation, however, it was terrifying to race in those first few track meets. We didn’t know what we were dealing with as we sized up our opponents. All they could see was that we were miniscule and all we could see was that they were ginormous. It wasn’t until we started running that we began to gain confidence in our own abilities. With every pass of the baton and with every hard earned victory, we proved something. I may not have grown since the eighth grade, but in reflection, perhaps it’s for the better: while short, at least I’m forced to live with a head held high.