My Writing for Today

And A Half Inches (Original) 

I'm the runt of my family. At 5'8" (and a half inches), I'm inches shorter than my younger sisters, a head shorter than a young cousin, and I have to crane my head to look my dad in the eye. Grandma, is actually two inches shorter than me in the real world, but lives in a world where I am still only 4'10". But I'm not. I'm 5'8 (and a half) inches.

Grandma used to measure our heights against the wall in the laundry room. The strip of wallpaper is still covered in pencil markings detailing my growth, alongside the rest of my family.

"Oh Heather," Grandma says every time she presses my back to the wall, carefully checking that my feet are flat, "When you were a baby, I thought for sure you'd be tall. But you're not. You just didn't grow."

Dad's pencil mark is the pinnacle. Followed closely by his younger brother, then his sister, then my grandfather (who I'm told used to be taller). Next is Emma, then Bre, then me, then grandma. Grandma swears I cheated when I marked hers even though Dad and Aunt Brenda witnessed it. Dad even had to stop her from standing on her toes.

Shopping with my sisters and my grandma, I am never allowed to buy "long" pants. They insist that I, at 5' 8 (and a half) inches do not need long pants. I am not tall, like them.

I realized, as I was walking to class this morning, that my pants are too short. I know Bre was with me when I bought them. I know she told me I didn't need the long cut. The average height for women in America is something like 5'6", so, comparatively, I am tall. Tall enough for long pants at least. The thing is, I keep buying pants that are too short at my family's insistence that I'm too short.

The thing is, I'm different they are, aside from being short. There are other things about me that are just too too for them. I'm too liberal. Too outspoken. Too masculine. Too sensitive. I try not to let these things bother me. I try to believe that I'm outside of their influence. But if that's true, why am I standing in front of my class today in high waters?

At my age, it's highly unlikely that I'll continue to grow anymore, so I'll probably always be the runt. But I don't always have to wear high waters.

And A Half Inches (Revised)

At 5'8" (and a half inches), I'm inches shorter than my younger sisters. I have to crane my head to look my dad in the eye. Grandma, who is actually two inches shorter than me in the real world, lives in a world where she is two inches taller, and measures our heights against the wall in the laundry room: a strip of wallpaper is a spatial family tree.

"Oh Heather," Grandma says every time she presses my back to the wall, carefully checking for flat feet, "When you were a baby, I thought for sure you'd be tall. You just didn't grow."

Dad's pencil mark is the pinnacle. Followed closely by his younger brother, his sister, then my grandfather (who I'm told used to be taller). Next is Emma, then Bre, then me, then grandma. I marked Grandma's height. She swears I cheated.

Shopping with my sisters and my grandma, I am never allowed to buy "long" pants. They insist that I, at 5' 8 (and a half) inches do not need long pants. They need long pants. They are tall. I am not tall.

I realized, as I was walking to class this morning, that my pants are too short. I know Bre was with me when I bought them. I know she told me I didn't need the long cut.

The average height for women in America is something like 5'6". In America, I am tall, or at the very least, above average. I'm definitely tall enough for long pants. But I keep buying pants that are too short at my family's insistence that I'm too short.

The thing is, I'm different they are, aside from being "short". I'm  too too for them. I'm too liberal, too outspoken, too masculine, too sensitive. I try not to let these things bother me. I try to believe that I'm outside of their influence. But if that's true, why am I walking around today as if I am waiting for a flood?