My height is always something I’m complimented on. Something people wish they had. I’m the one who gives good hugs, is leaned on, and has her feet hanging off of every bed. I don’t usually get piggyback rides from anyone because I already tower over most of them. I look down as I tell people I would love to be shorter and blend in, but it’s really all a lie. My mother is short and so is my younger sister, who I’m afraid will one day shadow over me. My father has shrunk over the years, but was once a gentle giant. He still is, but from my view he is closer to the Earth, or maybe I’ve just grown farther away from it.
Once I came to high school, I felt like I finally fit in, considering everyone was like me. I still think it’s something special about me, although others would view it as just another physical attribute. I can hold my mother, and when I enter the house needing a hug, she stands on the step to hold me for once. I don’t usually get to be held, like the child I once was and still miss.
I can’t let go of that small human being who sits in my heart begging me to come back down, down to Earth where she sits and plays in the dirt. But that little girl has grown to 5’10” and still growing, a flower planted in the soil she once threw, hoping that the world won’t catch her. That she will keep being watered. That the sun will shine on her, so she can grow like a sweet sunflower and touch the sky. I will be a flower swaying in the wind, never blown away or wilting. I will stand steady and firm planted with my two feet on the ground. The world isn’t ready for this sunflower to be born.