When life is short...and so are you

 

when you have to stand at the back of the line- behind twenty-five monsters- your toes pointed straight ahead, your mouth shut, and your arms down at your sides like some kind of toy soldier- it isn’t fun when some wiggleworm can’t keep still in front of you…and you end up getting in trouble. because your teacher isn’t going to be able to see it wasn’t you who had ants in his pants. but that’s the way it is when you’re the shortest one in line.

back in the olden days. back when little girls wore dresses to your patio birthday party, organized by your big sister and her bigger friend. and everyone had a paper name tag, complete with a giant safety pin, pinned right there on the front of your shirt or blouse because, well, life was kind of clunky. you’d stand around in a circle waiting for your big sister to tell you what to do next, because she knew exactly what came next. and when it was time to play spin the bottle, why everyone played and you just couldn’t get out of it, even if you tried.

i know. i remember Katy-did…that’s what we called her….with the insect-like hairdo…spun the bottle and it pointed directly at me. in the ensuing panic, she managed to graze me slightly on the side of the head, lips touching hair, and i was spared the cootie invasion.

at least it wasn’t Judy, the girl who galloped around, whinnying like a cartoon horse whenever you said something she didn’t like. she galloped around the playground at recess like she’d lost her mind…but here, sitting in the circle, she couldn’t do that. as long as my big sister was there, she was half-way human.

and after a few games, it was time for treats. not the decadent processed goodies you get today, but some baked peanut butter cookies and a big glass of green kool-aid. i loved the taste of green, and although i cannot tell you what it tastes like today, i know it turned my tongue green, and that was good enough for me.

when you’re short, you have to do something to attract the cute little girl from down the street…so i practiced making my tongue green…and purple and orange. i ran down the street in my father’s boxer shorts…over my own pants. i rode my skateboard into her father’s vehicle, and face-kissed the front.

But because i was short, and life was short, I was too nervous to take the time to settle down and respond to the female gender with some vocal fluidity.

by the time i managed to get the courage to speak to her in complete sentences, she’d found herself some real friends, and i was standing at the back of the line again…literally and figuratively.

i managed to grow up, graduate from the line, and grow tall enough to not be the shortest man on the street. but back in the olden days, being the shortest one in class always meant you were probably the last on the cute little girl's list.