The Long and Short of Gifts
I sat outside my father’s classroom with my knees drawn up, my head resting across my arms. Determined not to cry, I took subtle deep breaths. My father would not appreciate having his daughter bawling like a baby in front of his students. But I was so sad. Barely 11 years old, a grade ahead of most kids my age, I had just received the worst news. I’d just came from the pediatrician—a mortifying enough experience since I was in middle school, but my mother insisted that I still go to a kids’ doctor—and Dr. Owens had just remarked to my mother, “Well, she’s in the 99 percentile.” Whatever that meant. I was a big girl, thin, but not too. I had pebble breasts, but still needed a training bra, and I just learned that I was 72.5 inches tall. I wanted to weep. I held in tears through sheer will power.
As my father’s students shuffled out of the classroom, some of them having taken previous classes with my Dad, greeted me by name. Others pointed and spoke to other students with comments like, “Mr. McCary could never deny that girl,” and “Man! She’s an Amazon!” I wanted to disappear, but instead placed my feet on the floor and sat up like the young lady my grandmothers taught me to be. When my father came up to me with his usual, “Hey, chicken!” I threw myself in his arms.
Dad was an affectionate man, most of the time. He could also be stern and rules mattered. He was 6-1/2 feet of pure male energy, slightly nerdy with a gap between his teeth, like mine. He was a very light shade of caramel with little brown freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks. His hair was a weird shade of brown, but dark and he had giant hands—hands that could soothe and hands that could build almost anything. Mostly, he was kind and his students loved him. I was in awe and fear of him, but mostly, I just thought he was the smartest man God ever made.
“What cooking, chicken?” he asked, sensing a mood. I held on for another minute and then stepped back.
“I’m a giant!” I said with emphasis on the word giant and added, “I’m a freak, too!” The will power held up and I didn’t cry and I realized that anger was quickly replacing the need to cry. I was angry that I could not be normal and I was angry because I would be normal if he weren’t my father.
So, my Dad—being the smartest man God every made, knew exactly what to do. He sat with me, running his hands across my hair. “Well, Hon, that’s quite a bit of news. You are neither a giant or a freak, just a girl whose been given an incredible gift.” He let that sink in for a few minutes.
“A gift?” Now a tear did fall. “What do you mean? I’m taller than all of my classmates, even some of the high school boys. I’m taller than all of my teachers.” The sob came. I took a deep breath. “Girls aren’t supposed to be this tall.”
“Who says?” he asked gently.
“Everybody!”
“Whose everybody?” he asked very gently.
I didn’t exactly have an answer. This is where my Daddy excelled. I know now that it separated him from a lot of teachers I’ve known. He didn’t always give answers. Sometimes he asked questions and when he was asking questions, he was urging me to think. I did. I stopped and considered the question.
“Well,” I said hesitantly, “not everybody. But a lot of people do. The kids call me the jolly green giant.”
“And are you?” he asked rather seriously.
“What?”
“Jolly and green?”
I laughed as I think he hoped I would. “Daddy, that’s not the point!” I looked at him and now he was smiling. But, the crisis was only abated. A part of it still hung in the air. “Are girls supposed to be this tall?”
“You tell me.” He sat back and crossed his legs, waiting.
I was always tall. The truth was that I didn’t just shoot up one day and become a six-footer. Comments had been made all of my life about being taller than other children. The year before I had to stop trick-or-treating with my friends because a woman accused me of being a college student taking candy from little kids. The year before was also the start of school dances and no one ever asked me to dance.
“Daddy, I think I would see more tall girls if girls were supposed to be tall,” I said. “I mean, I’m the only one. There are no tall girls in my school.” Thinking about it some more, I said, “Boys come in all sizes. Big, tall, short.”
“The school is just a speck in the world, P.K.,” he stated and you haven’t seen much more than that speck. There are other tall women out there, I promise you.”
“Really?”
“Really. But, you’re right that there are not a lot of tall girls. That’s what makes you unique and also makes your height a gift.”
“It doesn’t feel like a gift,” I pouted slightly.
“It doesn’t?” he queried. “Hmmm. Maybe you’re not looking at it the right way.”
“Most of the time I’m looking down on people,” I responded. “What other way is there to look?”
“Now that’s a good question,” he told me. “It tells me that you realize that your height allows you to look down on people, which means that they realize that they are looking up at you.”
“Yes,” I said hesitantly. “It makes me feel like I’m in their space or something. Like I take up more room than I’m supposed to.”
“And you do. In a way.”
“I do? Well, people don’t like it. That’s obvious.” I realized then that of course he understood. People were always looking up at him. That made me feel good, too. I liked that my Daddy was bigger than my friend’s fathers.
“Chicken, it’s not that they don’t like it. It’s that it makes them uncomfortable.”
“I’m not doing it on purpose,” I exclaimed.
“Of course not, chicken. You would be a bully if you did that. But, here …” he shifted around and stood up, pulling me with him. “Everybody has a sense of his or her own personal space,” he told me and stood back a few inches. “Like now. I’m not standing that close to you, but it seems that way doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, but it’s okay.” I liked standing next to my Dad. It made me feel safe and protected.
“For us. Yes. But to someone else, it would seem like you’re crowding them, taking up their personal space.” He stood back a few more inches. “Even when you step back, you can never be quite sure where their personal space begins and ends. Do you know why?”
“No,” I said. “How would I know?”
“You have to be observant, P.K. You have to be able to judge it by the body language and whether or not they are still straining because they’re looking up at you.” He made me look at him. “See how it seems we’re almost eye-to-eye?”
I realized that I didn’t feel towered over by my Dad as before. I also realized that my siblings looked small next to him while I looked grown. There was no other way to put it.
“People think I’m older,” I told him. “I’m always having to remind people that I’m only 11. They think that I must have been held back in school or something. Well, my teachers don’t,” I amended. “They know because they know you, but I feel like I should be a senior in high school.”
“Well, you’re not, chicken. You’re 11 and ahead of a lot of your classmates who are older.” He hesitated. “That’s not the point I’m trying to make.”
“Okay.”
“The point is that for the rest of your life, you must be observant about this area of space and to know that there are things that you can do when you recognize that someone is uncomfortable. It’s your responsibility.” He spread his arms out, almost touching me.
“This might be considered my personal space,” he said while holding his arms out, “but that wouldn’t be fair to others. See?”
I did.
“So, you have to meet people somewhere in the middle. Think of their arm space and know that you must give them at least half of their arm space and reduce yours.”
“That doesn’t seem quite fair,” I muttered softly.
“True,” he smiled as he returned his arms to his side. “But, this is not about fair, it is about respect.”
“Respect?” I ventured. Then I got it. “Oh,” I added. “If I’m aware of another person’s space, I’m showing them respect.”
He grinned. “Precisely. But there are other ways to show respect.”
“How? I can step back and what else?”
“You can offer to sit down with that person.”
“Sit down? What good would that do? I’m still taller.”
“Yes, but the space changes.” He sat and gestured for me to sit as well. “It evens the space between you and the other person. See?” He gave me a chance to absorb what he was saying. I looked over at him and he was right. Strange.
“Oh, yes. I never thought about that,” I told him. I was feeling better already.
He patted me on the head and smiled. “But, chicken that’s not the gift.”
I had forgotten he said my height was a gift. I still didn’t see it.
“Chicken, people will always notice you. It means that when you are doing something good, like speaking, people will listen to you more. That’s a gift and …” He took my hand and looked me in the eye. “There are reasons for you being tall. I can’t tell you what they all are, but I know that one is that you’re tall so that people will notice.”
“Sometimes I don’t want to be noticed, Daddy,” I said solemnly. “Sometimes I want to be just like all the other kids. Just be regular.”
“Well, I’m going to have to disappoint you there. You aren’t just regular. You’re tall for a reason. Because it is a gift, it is to be used for good.” He sat back and closed his eyes for a second or two. Then he turned back to me. “This gift comes with a lot of responsibility and you may not know when to use it now, but later in life you will.”
I was a little confused and more than a little frightened.
“Daddy, you sound like you know something.”
“I do, chicken,” he said. “I do,” he repeated.
We sat there silently for a few minutes and looked out straight ahead. I waited because I wasn’t sure I was ready for what he was going to say and I think he was asking himself if the time was right to tell me what he had to, and I guess we both knew when that time was when I turned back to him and wached him. Waiting. He sighed and told me the thing that has been with me all of my life.
“Perri,” he said softly. My Dad always called me P.K., but this time it was my proper name. “Perri,” he repeated. “There will be moments when taking up space, standing up and making yourself visible, is what this gift is for. There will be moments in your life, when you have to stand for a greater cause than yourself. You’ll know it when the time comes. I believe you will be ready, too.” He smiled now.
“There will be times when someone is picking on someone and no one knows what to do. You will. There will be times when something needs to be said and no one is ready to say it. You will be ready. This is not a curse,” he added. “It is a gift of great proportion and God doesn’t just give it to anyone. And God will make you ready when the time comes.”
I swallowed hard. Something was stuck in my throat it seemed. What do you say to something like that? I wasn’t sure, but as I looked at my Dad that day, I knew that he was giving me everything he had at his disposal to help me prepare. The years taught me a great many lessons. Size has its uses.
Today I stand 75 inches tall. I still remember. As I stood up with my father that day, I knew I had learned the greatest lesson of my life. Don’t shirk your responsibilities and don’t waste the gifts you’ve been given. I stood tall and walked home with my father. From that day forward, I never complained about my height. And to this day, I consider this height a real gift.
Peace.
