I was always the shortest one in my class at school. The ultimate insult
came in Form 3 at High School back in 1965 on annual classroom photo day.
Lining us up from tallest to shortest so we could be arranged in evenly sized
rows with the tallest in the middle, and the gradual slope down both sides, the
photographer in his misplaced wisdom sat me on the ground with the board displaying
Dandenong High School’s Form 3B. Doing such a thing in Grade 3 might have been
acceptable, but Form 3? I was fourteen years old for goodness sake, which
explains the only school photo I have which sports not the usual compliant
smile but a look of absolute disdain.
My shortness was never a drawback as far as I was concerned. I was good
at athletics, my stature gave me less wind resistance I reckoned, and even now
I have no qualms about borrowing tall people in the supermarket to get things
from the top shelf which I can only reach if I climb on the bottom shelf, which
is somewhat frowned upon and an obvious workplace health and safety hazard.
I embraced Randy Newman’s song Short
People with pride, I saved money by shopping in the kids department in my
slimmer days, and even enjoyed a friend’s affectionate description of me as
being vertically challenged. I don’t take up much space, and am perfectly happy
to continue to do so.
good things come in small
packages
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