A Lesson on Envy

Some girls wanted to be skinny, some wanted long hair and a larger bra size, some want to be lighter or darker.  I just wanted to be tall.

   This wasn’t a new thing that came out when I discovered that all the “beautiful” models had to be over 5’12.  No, this ‘I want to be so tall that you have to crane your neck up to look at me’ started way back in the day when every cousin in my family started patting me on the head.

   As the seasons changed and my height seemed to stay the same, I took to trying to be cute by wearing high-heels and thick clogs.  I only succeeded in spraining an ankle and hurting my feet.  When I finally did get to the point where I seemed to gain vertical inches instead of hips, I still had that tall people envy.

Mind you thanks to Flintstones vitamins and chocolate milk, I grew to be a slightly above average 5’8’.  However, at the age of twenty-one, I was still thinking that had I just been a few more inches taller my life would have been better.

On a student exchange to Tokyo, Japan, I got my wish.  After a fifteen-hour plane ride, two-hour layover, and half-hour interview with customs inspectors, I stepped into a crowed subway train and looked down onto a sea of black hair.  To my weary jet lagged eyes, the sight was just the first step on a long road of culture shock.  I knew that the Japanese were not the tallest people on the planet, but I’d ignored the fact that my average height would be considered tall.

That night after sitting down at the dinner table with my new Japanese family, the topic of conversation wasn’t about my color or nationality, but it centered on my height.  I was taller than the parents and my host mother had decided to use my height as an example of why her twelve-year old son should drink more milk.

For the first time in my life I was tall and I was loving the feeling for about four weeks.  At that point, I was less of a tourist and more of shopper and as I watched all my petite classmates go crazy buying cute clothes, I could do nothing but pick up a pair of pants and laugh ‘til I cried. 

I put a pair $250 jeans next to my waist and looked down.  You couldn’t even say that they were high water since they weren’t even long enough to be called Capri.  Even if I could have fit my rear end in the tiny pants, they would have been shorts.

Shoes?  The middle aged salesman took one look at my feet, bowed while mumbling some incomprehensible apology, and ran not walked in the opposite direction.  That morning I could have signed my name, Brandy and gotten my picture taken with a group of kids.  That afternoon after watching one more shoe salesman flee into some back room, I felt more like Godzilla.

There are many ways to cure phobias and I unknowingly stumbled into a way to cure height envy.  I’m not saying go to Japan or if you’re really tall take a trip to some parts of Africa where the average height is a mere 5’10.  No, you don’t need to do anything that expensive.  Just follow the prescription:

1. Be a mentor to a little kid (I mean age not size)

2. Buy a cat or dog: Everyone’s a giant in a pet’s mind

3. And remember: The grass is always greener on the other side and the standard sizes of clothing will be 2x shorter on you.

Now, in the 2002, I’m older and wiser and going back to Japan. Only this time, I’ll be carrying a lot less envy and a lot more pants and shoes.

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