I would like to say that it’s taken me a long time to come to terms with it, but it actually hasn’t. In fact, until this past weekend, I didn’t even know about it. Imagine that – something has been affecting me and making my life drastically more difficult for years and years and here I didn’t even notice it. I have to thank Owen for pointing it out to me. It came to light this past weekend in a conversation that went a little something like this:
Owen: Are there any tall people in your family or are they all on the short side?
Me: Well, my grandma was tall.
Owen: Not when I knew her.
Me: Well no, but back in the day she was like 5’10”, which was really tall for women. And Uncle Bill was like 6’4” which was freaking huge.
Owen: Well, because I just hope we don’t have short kids is all.
Me: (Incredulous) Why would you say that? What’s wrong with being short?
Owen: Well, I mean, look at you. You can’t ever reach anything. You always need the step stool in the closet…and the kitchen…and the bathroom. It’s like a disability. I feel bad for you.
Me: (Even more incredulous): Are you serious? I manage just fine. It’s not like I can’t do what I need to. It’s not a disability…it’s not like I’m blind or deaf or something. I don’t get a special parking place at the mall or anything.
Owen: Yeah but deaf and blind people have to manage and cope too. Face it. You have a disability.
Me: Yeah but it’s not like I’m medicated for it or anything. It’s not like I have ADD or something (that was me getting my dig in).
Owen: Ha! But you would if you could, wouldn’t you? If there was a pill you could take that would make you 6 feet tall, you’d take it, wouldn’t you?
Me: (Grasping at straws) Well yeah but if there was one that could make me drop 75 pounds I’d take that too, so I don’t really think that counts…
Owen: Face it, you have a disability.
Me: (too busy thinking about how this can work to my advantage parking at the mall this Christmas season…)