It’s time for short people to stand tall

Years ago when I was in Philadelphia on a business trip, the hotel where I stayed was hosting a convention for people with dwarfism. Once I realized that, I understood why I kept seeing groups of people smaller than me in the lobby and on the elevators.

Barely five feet tall myself, I took a keen interest in the conventioneers, pleased that for the first time in my life, I stood (slightly) taller than humans older than 12.

Afterwards, when I told my six-foot husband about it, he quipped, “A convention of dwarves? I bet you felt right at home.”

I thought about his remark the other day in the supermarket when I couldn’t reach a bottle on the top shelf. For the umpteenth time, I sought the assistance of a “grown-up” and pondered my pint-sized fate.

Since childhood, I have suffered from an inferiority complex about my height. At Kennywood Park, kids had to be as tall as Henry — a bald kid in the comic strips — or Howdy Doody to ride roller coasters. I never measured up. No coaster rides for me.

In grade school, we had our heights and weights checked annually by the school nurse. During 5th grade, I watched as everyone else reached 60 inches, while I stalled at 50. I can still see the nurse’s disapproving looks when she recorded my petite stature as if it were a shameful reflection on her, the principal and the entire school. (Excuse me for not being the Colossus of Rhodes.)

It doesn’t help that society reveres titans and denigrates wee folks.

Songwriters are some of the worst offenders. “The Girl from Ipanema” was tall and tanned, the Beatles crooned about “Long Tall Sally,” and Randy Newman mocked that “short people got no reason to live.” (Hey, Randy — thanks for the confidence-booster.)

My tall, lanky son once tried to console me about my height. “Mom, at least you’re not a guy, “he offered. “Guys can’t be shrimps.

Psychologists say we believe tall people are considered more attractive, intelligent and powerful because our early ancestors valued behemoths in the fight for survival. Furthermore, economists find statistical correlations between height and income. Employees who tower over others in the workplace often make more money than their puny cohorts.

It’s not that the lofty among us are more talented than the diminutive, but they are more self-confident because they get plenty of positive feedback in our height-obsessed culture, unlike the negative vibrations I have garnered from the likes of Randy Newman and judgmental school nurses.

So I ask myself, what are the pros and cons of being short? On the minus side:

• I must sit on a pillow when driving so I can see above the steering wheel.

• I must mount a chair when dusting cobwebs off the ceiling.

• I can’t stand behind spectators on St. Patrick’s Day or I’ll miss the parade.

• I can’t stay slim because I have fewer inches over which to spread pounds.

• I’ll never play pro basketball or be a super model. On the plus side:

• I’m closer to the ground when I fall down.

• I don’t bump my head when touring caves.

• I have no beef with the airlines regarding leg room when I’m aboard a plane.

• I have been mistaken for being younger than I am because of my size.

• I may live longer than taller individuals per some scientific studies.

• I could play a Munchkin in “The Wizard of Oz” or a Lilliputian in “Gulliver’s Travels.”

Did you know our fourth president was short? James Madison stood at 5 feet, 6 inches. And that short athletes have actually played in the NBA? Spud Webb and Muggsy Bogues had successful basketball careers despite being only 5 feet, 7 inches and 5 feet, three inches, respectively.

Short people have prevailed in show business. Think Dolly Parton at 5 feet, Patty Duke at 4-feet, 11 inches, and Danny DeVito at 4 feet, 10 inches. Also Ringo Starr, the shortest Beatle.

And notwithstanding his own diminutive, Napoleon rose to towering heights by conquering the world — an astonishing stunt for a runt.

Hmmm … worth remembering next time I find myself vertically challenged.