I am (almost) the shortest one in my family.
I take after my grandmothers, both of them were short. And they both married tall men, but my ex-husband is for another post.
Being short never bothered me. It is just the way I am. But most of the women in my family are at least average in height. The kid that came to stay with my this weekend is just plain tall. She is thirteen and 5 foot 6 inches already.
But my grandmother and her sister were short, and got even shorter as they aged. So by the time I was twenty-five they had shrunk enough that I was technically not the shortest one in my family.
A few years ago my mother called and said “You know your now the shortest one in the family. The kid is taller than you now.”
I said “Yeah? So what? Saw that coming as she was almost as tall as me when she was ten. Not a big surprise mom.”
“Well, I just thought you should know that.” she told me.
Didn’t bother me, I knew I was short, nothing has changed. But then I got to thinking about this. What the hell, had great-aunt Donna died? Did someone forget to tell me this. Not an impossible thing in my family, we aren’t all that great at keeping in touch.
So I called my mother back and asked “Did you forget to tell me that Aunt Donna died?” “No.” she replied. “Well then I’m not the shortest one in the family. What she doesn’t count?” I retorted.
She started laughing and said “So it does bother you that you are the shortest one in the family!”
“Hell no, I don’t care. It bothered me that I thought great-aunt Donna was dead and you forgot to tell me! It isn’t like you tell remember to tell me these things.” I told her.
Seriously my family is really good at leaving out important (or at least really interesting), relevant facts. I spent my whole life being told in an off hand way that grandpa #1 died after my Aunt Kitkat got married. What does that mean to you? I know what it meant to me.
I was in my thirties before someone let it slip that grandpa #1 died the day after his eldest daughter got married. In a hotel, with out his pants on, and it wasn’t grandma that called 911. You think someone might have mentioned some of this before.
So I’m short. My family is weird. And great-aunt Donna is still alive, I think.