Always the Last to Bed

I practiced every day for 6 weeks over the summer. I walked to practice every day in the hot summer sun, with a packed lunch and a dream. I was happy to be there for hours in a hot gym, learning the skills. I wanted to be a Cheerleader- one of the chosen ones, with bouncy, curled hair and lip gloss. In a short period of time, I went from not being able to do a split at all to doing splits with gusto. Easy! I knew all the moves, my voice was loud and I memorized all the cheers. I smiled big all the time and tossed my hair. And since I was taller, I even excelled at being the bottom of the pyramid. Letting all the petite girls climb up to finish the cheer. A real team player.

Much to my disappointment at the end of the summer, I was told cheerleading was just not my thing, I was told, see, the thing was, I was too tall. The Cheerleading Coach told me after I got the news of not making the team, that I was the tallest girl that tried out, and she chose girls who were all the same height so it looked better for the cheers. Everyone stood evenly, she said that’s how she wanted it. I was crushed. I had called into the school office while on vacation to find out the tryout results and made sure my parents brought me back to the house to use the phone at the beach house. Crushed. After hanging up, I drowned in the thoughts of hating being tall. It was the worst. So different, so lanky, drew too much attention, I stood out too much. It wasn’t what anyone wanted. There was no benefit to being tall. It was just too much all around.

Too tall for the boys. Too tall for most pants. I wore them anyway, my socks showed. I preferred to wear shorts or skirts. Thankfully I started liking shoes and started paired cool socks with shoes because everyone saw them anyway. It also helped that I wore a skirt to school everyday with my uniform. No pants required. If I did dress up, it was always flats. No heels. With flats I was still a full head taller than everyone else. Literally everyone else. Always in the back row of yearbook club photos with the boys (who were shorter than me.) Grade school was hard, got a little better in high school. Where at least there were a few more tall girls. I was recruited for volleyball, but I just wasn’t aggressive enough at the net. Hmm rewarded for being tall, but just not tall AND aggressive. Take note.

Homecoming, proms and dances- always flats. Not that anyone ever asked the tall girl to dance, but I wanted to SEEM approachable and not tower over everyone. I managed to have fun dancing in a group. Never a slow dance. Maybe once, I forget with who- whoever it was- thank you for asking the tall girl to dance.

In my 20s, I started to feel less self conscious about my height and now I don’t even think about it. Funny that the daily prison I had built in my mind about being tall has evaporated. Poof.

Occasionally I’m reminded about it like how I can see at concerts but I notice I’m blocking the person behind me. Or when someone petite asks me to reach the ranch dressing on the top shelf at the grocery store.

When I was younger I remember always looking older than I was, because of my height. For example I used to get cat-called while walking to and from soccer practice when I was 11 or 12. I was totally annoyed and scared by random old men yelling at me in my yellow soccer shorts. But now in my early 50s, I’m trying to hold onto those moments where I get carded at the liquor store and being perceived younger than I am. It’s funny how all we want to do when we’re young is get old, and when we’re old, all we want to do is be young again.

Back to the original topic, I guess cheerleading for the basketball team wasn’t my thing after all, but cheerleading for my kids, work colleagues, family and friends is. I’ve been doing it my whole life. The friend who is starting a new business, the friend who had her worst week at work ever. So I guess take that Cheerleading Coach. Turns out, Cheerleading IS for me.