Small Things

Small, poorly focused, black and white. The picture tells a story.

I was always the smallest.

In childhood, as an adult, over generations past and present.

I noticed the difference quite early. In the photo shown, and so many others like it, my older sister towers over me, yet we are only 2 years apart.

A favorite aunt often told me “Nice things come in small packages. ”

It didn’t make me feel any better, but it was a thoughtful attempt.

My mother’s only sister, and my godmother, Aunt Mary came to me for a lifetime with words of kindness, reached me in a way that no one else could.

She suffered with polio in childhood, her own growth was stunted, her legs developed differently, resulting in a pronounced limp.  Yet, she was still a bit taller than me.

When we walked as a family I always lagged behind, or worked a lot harder to keep up the pace.

There was an incident at a popular Farmer’s Market where I let go of someone’s hand, slipping unnoticed under a vendor’s counter. Panic ensued, “lost child” announcements came over a loudspeaker.  It is one of my earliest memories, at age 2, about the timing of the photo shown.

I caught up in height a bit later in the adult years, but not by much. Family reunions, special occasions, formal wedding photos all reflect the same. The youngest siblings were all over 6 ft. tall, even my baby sister.

My children followed suit, so that my somewhat shorter legs still lag behind today.

In my spirit, I remain as tall. I just work harder, or ask them to slow down.

 

 

 

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