At five feet tall, I’m short. I guess I’ve always been short; but since both my legs reach the ground it’s something I’ve never really paid attention to.
That is, until Earl came home a couple days ago, having been to Walgreen’s to get some photographs developed. There was quite a collection, dating back to last Thanksgiving, and it was fun to recall about our activities of the past few months.
That’s when I noticed my shortness. There I was, standing with my aunt and uncle in front of a bakery in Sacketts Harbor, New York. Both of them clearly were a head taller than I. There I was, standing with my good friend, Noreen, at Hoover Dam. She is the taller one. There I was, standing next to the peonies in my backyard; and, yes, I was taller, but not by that much. I looked at some of the photos Earl has of the two of us in his office; and, even when we’re sitting down, he’s taller.
It’s my understanding that people shrink as they age. So it’s possible I reached my full height potential back in sixth grade and have been on the way to being shorter ever since. Even if I only hang out with people in my age group and they are shrinking too, I’ll never be basketball material in the senior Olympics. And someday I’ll probably have to get a taller stepstool to reach the top shelves in the kitchen cupboards.
In the meantime, I will at least be able to wangle my way into the front at the upcoming Fourth of July Parade . . . right there with all the kids.
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