Who Likes Short Shorts?

I’ve always been short.  I was born short, I’ve lived short, and I’ll die short.  It all started back in grade school.  We used to line up by height for certain events: assemblies, photo day, and such.  While other people wandered around, saluting each other from the crown of their head, I would walk uncontested to the front of the line.  A new kid once usurped my position for a year, but I spent most of grade school as line leader when height was a considered factor.

It's not that I come from a particularly short family.  I just got, dare I say, the short end of the gene pool.  My brother and one sister are taller than me, as is my dad (I honestly have no idea how tall my other sister is).  I have tall uncles and tall cousins.  One grandpa was what others might consider tall and I remember the other being really tall, though he admittedly died when I was only 3.  When you are three, everyone seems exceptionally tall.  But not me.  I’m just short.

Five foot, six and a half inches, to be exact.  That’s eleven and a half inches shorter than Michael Jordan and over a foot and a half shorter than Shaquille O’Neal.  I am three and a half inches taller than Mugsy Bogues, but he was the shortest player in NBA history.  Those three and a half inches also accurately describe my vertical, while Mr. Bogues could leap 44.3” to dunk.

I do, however, tower above the shortest man to ever play baseball.  That would be the 3’ 7” Eddie Gaedel.  He was a bit of a publicity stunt for the 1951 St. Louis Brown.  He had one at bat, walking on four consecutive pitches, after which he was promptly removed from the game for a pinch runner.  Besides him, the list I found notes only one other MLB player who was shorter than me, while four players match my 5’ 6”.

Probably the most demeaning measurement of my height is this.  I am roughly as tall as four of Shaquille O’Neal’s size 22 shoes stacked heel to toe.

I also married short.  Mollie, my wonderful wife, was kind enough to let stand a whole 3 inches taller than her.  While that did restrict the height of the heels she chose to wear for our wedding, it has at least allowed me to occasionally ‘feel’ tall when I can reach something on the middle shelf that she cannot.  I do, of course, need two ladders and an elevator to get anything off the top shelf.

Given our children contain our mixed DNA, I had very little hope for their future stature.  Annaliese, as she has always been, will remain tiny.  But Andrew apparently dove deep into the gene pool and found some recessive height trait. 

I have enjoyed watching him grow, taking every opportunity to rag on him for being shorter than me, knowing full well a time will come when he will echo my insults from far above.  That day is fast approaching.  Just last week, Mollie stood by him and declared, “Andrew, you’re really tall!” 

I was overjoyed.  Grinning ear to ear, I thanked Mollie for her compliment.  If she thought Andrew was really tall, and I stand an impressive half an inch over him, then I too, for the first time in my life, must be really tall!