I Think I Love You. Yes, You. The Tall Girl.

I’m taking a little blog break for a couple of weeks and featuring some fabulous guest writers. Today’s guest post is from Jamie Miles, a humourist from small town Georgia. Please make my guests feel welcome. I’ll be back soon with pictures from a fantastic vacation in Cabo with my hubby. Please make my guests feel at home. Thanks ya’ll!  

“This is the last time I’m ever coming late.”

Those words came from the lips of my dance partner. The comment directed past me over my left shoulder to his friend.

I was the reason Clay Kincaid, seventh grade stud of the Pounds Dance Studio 7 p.m. ballroom class, would never again arrive late.    For if the first box step had started after you entered the studio, a partner had to be selected from the dregs lining the far wall.

That night when Clay entered at 7:08, the only girl standing without a mate was…

Me.

All 5’ 8” of me and all 5’ 4” of Clay and the Sunshine Band Kincaid.

Seems he didn’t care to be caught dancing with the tall chick.

Honestly, at twelve-something, Clay was right. Preteen giant females grow up knowing life only from the back row of photographs and chorus risers. We were destined to be the base of cheerleading pyramids and stoic, yet reverent Wisemen in Christmas pageants.

I wish someone…(Someone other than my mother who told me these things repeatedly.)

I wish someone who I would have listened to, hung on every word while inscribing them as the gospel down into the depths of my very tall heart…

Someone like…Keith Partridge.

Yes, I wish Keith Partridge had parted the sea of teetering, intertwined tweenage hands and shoulders on the dance floor and told me….

No worries.

Boys will grow tall and those boys who don’t won’t give a flip about your height.

And short men who never lose their hang-up about taller women are just insecure little persons who end up writing songs about short people.

Ha.

You won’t have to watch everything you eat like your petite friends. You can live on hot fudge sundaes and Ruffles laced with onion dip. Well, at least till you turn 15.

You will have a killer tennis serve. (That is when you have the time to develop one.)

You can put the “iGadgets” you take away from children on top of the refrigerator. You will forget where they are but at least your children will be punished properly.

And you will always know who is late with a color rinse on their hair and two-thirds of the population won’t notice when you are late with yours.

Yes, Keith would have put his hands ever so gently on my shoulders, leaned in with his brown shaggy bangs and even browner, shaggier eyes and told me…it’s not about being tall. It’s about loving yourself no matter how you’re packaged, darn it.

Quit slouching, stand up straight and throw those shoulders back.

Because you need all the help you can get in the accentuating the breasts department.

But that is another post entirely.

What physical feature was your bane in adolescence but now keeps you sane?

 

2 comments

  1. Julia says:

    I am quite envious of your height! I was and am still short (not quite 5’4″) I always wanted to be tall — and wasn’t until I got out of the teen years that I started to feel tall! Married a 6 footer and I am always surprised when people comment on our height difference! For me, it was my curly hair. I always wanted straight her — and didn’t appreciate the curls until I was an adult.

  2. Mami2jcn says:

    I love this post! I am Latina and the tallest woman in my family, at 5’9″. I’m a half inch taller than my husband! LOL! Middle school was torture, because I was 5’6″ by the time I was 12 and grew to my present adult height by age 14.

    I like being tall now, but I felt SOOOO awkward when I was a kid.

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