I was showing my kids a video from the high school I teach at and my son kept asking who people were. I knew most of them and would tell him their name and if I taught them and maybe something I knew about them.
A little bit after the video ended, he asked which one was the littlest.
Ugh. I thought.
He knows.
I pointed out a really great kid who happens to be not very big but very talented, well liked, smart and athletic and told him all the great things I could about this kid.
He nodded and went back to reading Green Eggs and Ham.
Crisis averted. I thought.
Then the next day from the back seat he was talking about kids in his class.
Justin is taller than Samuel.
But CJ is even taller. He only comes up to his hair.
And so on.
Are you taller than anyone in your class Owen?
No. Not even the girls.
I’m the littlest.
Crap. He totally knows.
My son is tiny. My dad may be over 6 feet, but I don’t think my son got any of those genes. All the asthma steroids he has taken haven’t helped things either. Neither does the fact that his 2 year old sister is gaining on him fast.
And we measure his growth on the doorframe every few months or so…and lately that little black sharpie line hasn’t been moving.
And it is fine for a girl to be cute and tiny and petitie. But boys. Not so much.
There are even statistics proving it.
In presidential elections, the taller candidate almost always wins.
Among CEOs almost 60% are over 6 feet tall.
A university of Florida professor even did a study that said for each inch in height a man earns 789$ more a year in pay (all stats from the book Blink).
I’ve known my kid was little for years. Just like I know he isn’t the best kid on his soccer team or a particularly good artist.
But I wasn’t looking forward to telling him.
Turns out I don’t have to.
Plenty of other people will do it for me.
They stand next to each other in line or back to back on the playground.
And do what most of us spend the rest of our lives doing.
Comparing.
Measuring ourselves against each other.
And realizing that we aren’t as big or as fast or as smart or as cute as someone else.
And I wonder how we would measure up if we weren’t using other people as our standard. Because until a few months ago, my son had no idea that he was the littlest.
And yes, maybe my kid will grow. But he will probably always be the little.
When he compares himself to the kids in his class. Even the girls.
But.
I will always love him the biggest.
A little bit after the video ended, he asked which one was the littlest.
Ugh. I thought.
He knows.
I pointed out a really great kid who happens to be not very big but very talented, well liked, smart and athletic and told him all the great things I could about this kid.
He nodded and went back to reading Green Eggs and Ham.
Crisis averted. I thought.
Then the next day from the back seat he was talking about kids in his class.
Justin is taller than Samuel.
But CJ is even taller. He only comes up to his hair.
And so on.
Are you taller than anyone in your class Owen?
No. Not even the girls.
I’m the littlest.
Crap. He totally knows.
My son is tiny. My dad may be over 6 feet, but I don’t think my son got any of those genes. All the asthma steroids he has taken haven’t helped things either. Neither does the fact that his 2 year old sister is gaining on him fast.
And we measure his growth on the doorframe every few months or so…and lately that little black sharpie line hasn’t been moving.
And it is fine for a girl to be cute and tiny and petitie. But boys. Not so much.
There are even statistics proving it.
In presidential elections, the taller candidate almost always wins.
Among CEOs almost 60% are over 6 feet tall.
A university of Florida professor even did a study that said for each inch in height a man earns 789$ more a year in pay (all stats from the book Blink).
I’ve known my kid was little for years. Just like I know he isn’t the best kid on his soccer team or a particularly good artist.
But I wasn’t looking forward to telling him.
Turns out I don’t have to.
Plenty of other people will do it for me.
They stand next to each other in line or back to back on the playground.
And do what most of us spend the rest of our lives doing.
Comparing.
Measuring ourselves against each other.
And realizing that we aren’t as big or as fast or as smart or as cute as someone else.
And I wonder how we would measure up if we weren’t using other people as our standard. Because until a few months ago, my son had no idea that he was the littlest.
And yes, maybe my kid will grow. But he will probably always be the little.
When he compares himself to the kids in his class. Even the girls.
But.
I will always love him the biggest.
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