Jul. 7—On Dec. 27, 1948, I burst into the world. Although an average length at 20-and-a-half inches, I soon towered over my peers. Unbeknownst to me, that worried my mom, so she decided to send me to kindergarten at age 4 — only because of my height. Back then, Minnesota set Jan. 1 as the school age cut-off date. I barely made the deadline. Only 4 years old — nearly a year younger than many of my classmates. The “first day of school” photo featured me with a friend: a head taller than she.
As my third grade class stood in single file one day, a teacher strolled by. Glancing at me, she remarked, “My, aren’t you tall.” I looked at the students behind and in front of me. Sure enough, I towered over them all. Apparently, the subject of my height remained taboo at home because I never thought about it until that moment. Meh. No big deal for an 8-year-old.
You’d think in Minnesota — the presumed land of Scandinavians — that tall people would outnumber shorter folks. But I found out that those of German ancestry outnumbered the Norwegians. The Irish placed third, never known for their height. So there’s that.
When we moved to South Dakota, tall classmates surrounded me. In the late 1800s, thousands of Germans and Russians poured into South Dakota with the promise of land. Not tall people and no Norwegians. We were the only Petersons in town. Although I never knew why so many students were tall, I no longer towered over all of my classmates — only some. No big deal in elementary school.
No big deal until our Minnesota friends visited us. My sister and I especially looked forward to seeing our friends. Then their 4-year-old little brother sashayed in with the parents. Gazing at me from my feet to my head, he blurted, “You sure are be-ig!” Not just big, but be-ig — dragging out the word until I wanted to slap him.
Of all the nerve! Twelve-year-old me cringed at his announcement, “I am NOT big. I’m tall!”
By junior high, I kept growing while others leveled out. At age 13, I stood 5 feet, 8 inches tall with a size 10 shoe, and not through growing either. Surprisingly, my height never bothered me, except when it came to boys. With all those budding hormones raging through me, I only cared if the boys liked me.
Once a month, the boys and girls’ PE classes joined for a dance. We brought our 45s and the teachers spun them on a record player. The boys sat on one set of bleachers and the girls on the other. When a song started, the boys would ask the girls to dance. Me? Now the tallest girl — again. Always chosen last. Stuck with nerdy Eric Lautzenheizer. Who, by the way, became a successful lawyer with a wife and kids — no longer nerdy and awkward.
I was not only tall, but super skinny. And never be-ig! That comment still burned me. One day, I needed to see my PE teacher during the boys’ class. Why they lounged on the bleachers instead of working on their PE routine remains a mystery, but there they sat, and I had to walk in front of them. Seriously self-conscious, I held my head high and scooted past them. No cat calls or whistles. Just one mean boy hollering, “Hey skinny!” It was pure torture slithering past them again as I left the gym.
My family moved to Wisconsin in 1963 — the land of tall Norwegians like us. I could hope! Still growing in high school, surprisingly, my height intimidated those boys. A pretty, golden hair girl with good posture at 5 feet, 10 inches scared all those insecure boys away. Even those tall Norwegian boys! Some of those basketball players reached 6 feet, 9 inches at age 16. But no dating for me.
By the time I attended college, boys had gained confidence, so I never lacked for dates — and marriage proposals. Reaching 6 feet with size 11-1/2 shoes, my height did not bother me.
Shortly before Mom died, she remarked, “You were always my special one.” When I asked what that meant, she replied, “Because you were tall.” I guess she never stopped worrying about my height.
As a teenager, my daughter often complained that I intimidated her friends. I could never figure that out because I’m a friendly person. Once she became a mom, I mentioned this to her one day. “Oh,” she sighed. “It was only because you were tall.”
There you have it. When a woman is tall and wears her height with confidence, apparently it’s intimidating — kind of sad that people are so insecure. Nevertheless, armed with that knowledge, I make sure to smile to make others welcome. So here’s to tall women: may we wear it well.
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