The Tyranny of Height
They changed the audio message that blares through the express bus every 20 minutes or so. Around two weeks ago, it went from two alternating messages to a single message. One of the alternating messages cautioned us all to beware of pickpockets and their evil tactics while the other told us we could keep New York moving by always exiting through the center doors. This one was a hoot for us “X-bus” riders since the buses they use on those routes only have one set of doors at the front of the bus.
The new message features a tired-sounding middle aged woman likely from Queens judging by the accent reciting the fares for the local and express buses, advising us on how to ask for transfers and finishing with a statement that roused me from my morning bus nap. She says “up to three childwren less than fawty-faw inchas tawl may ride da bus fow free”.
Suddenly it was the 1970s again and I was standing with my mother outside the Rae Twin Cinema as she held a birth certificate ready to challenge any ticket agent who would charge me more than the children’s admission. The children’s admission ostensibly covered kids under 12 years of age, but the people working the ticket booth were instructed to judge based on height who was a kid and As a tall kid, it was always a fight to get the cheaper ticket but mom was always willing to fight that fight. Money is money, after all.
I wonder how much of my worldview has been formed by being taller than average. Yeah, I’m a fat-ass too but that’s fodder for another post. I was always taller than average and in New York public schools in the 1970s and early 80s that meant I was always put to the back of the line and the back of the room. From a young age I was placed in a position of being outside the crowd, more of an observer than a participant and the only reason what I was taller than the average kid. Funny how people always assume that being bigger was some kind of advantage.
Now I know there are people out there who say “I always got made fun of for being short, for being fat, for wearing glasses, for whatever”. Relax. Guess what? We all got made fun of and tortured. Kids are assholes. So are most adults. Except for those who suffered extreme cases of abuse we all went through more or less the same thing. OK, except YOU. You’re right, yours was much worse. There, now that I’ve acknowledged that can I move on? Thanks.
Another trauma of being a tall kid (I didn’t start getting chunky until high school) was when I outgrew the moon bounce. For those of you who don’t know what a moon bounce is it’s one of those big inflatable rooms that you go in and jump around and the giant inflated mattress and walls act like trampolines propelling you up and down and sideways. I remember they had such things in shopping malls for kids to occupy themselves with while the grown-ups went around being good American consumers. One sad day I tried to go in the moon bounce and the nice wooden doggy statue with its hand held out wouldn’t let me. I know, usually those things say “You must be AT LEAST this tall to go on this ride.” In this case Fido said “No one TALLER THAN THIS can go in the moon bounce”. Later in life I figured out that the reason was a large kid could break the damn thing or hurt the other children.
I walked away dejectedly. Fortunately, there was a petting zoo in town as well so I cajoled my mom for money and went in, whereupon a goat ate one of my shoelaces, sucking it out like a strand of spaghetti. I learned the virtues of double-knotting one’s shoes at that moment, a habit I practice to this very day.
My height continues to haunt me in various pursuits even today. Airline trips are borderline intolerable. My knees get smashed regularly by seat-reclining types on the bus. I was a poor skater when I played roller hockey due to my high center of gravity (and, to be fair, my innate spazziness). I’m a crap curler for the same reasons. I naturally gravitate to the back of any line, the perimeter of any crowd, my school training of “stay out of the way, don’t block the view of the other children” permanently ingrained in my psyche. One thing I don’t regret is the perspective from the perimeter. When you’re not immersed in something you can often see it more clearly or at least with an alternate perspective.
The new message features a tired-sounding middle aged woman likely from Queens judging by the accent reciting the fares for the local and express buses, advising us on how to ask for transfers and finishing with a statement that roused me from my morning bus nap. She says “up to three childwren less than fawty-faw inchas tawl may ride da bus fow free”.
Suddenly it was the 1970s again and I was standing with my mother outside the Rae Twin Cinema as she held a birth certificate ready to challenge any ticket agent who would charge me more than the children’s admission. The children’s admission ostensibly covered kids under 12 years of age, but the people working the ticket booth were instructed to judge based on height who was a kid and As a tall kid, it was always a fight to get the cheaper ticket but mom was always willing to fight that fight. Money is money, after all.
I wonder how much of my worldview has been formed by being taller than average. Yeah, I’m a fat-ass too but that’s fodder for another post. I was always taller than average and in New York public schools in the 1970s and early 80s that meant I was always put to the back of the line and the back of the room. From a young age I was placed in a position of being outside the crowd, more of an observer than a participant and the only reason what I was taller than the average kid. Funny how people always assume that being bigger was some kind of advantage.
Now I know there are people out there who say “I always got made fun of for being short, for being fat, for wearing glasses, for whatever”. Relax. Guess what? We all got made fun of and tortured. Kids are assholes. So are most adults. Except for those who suffered extreme cases of abuse we all went through more or less the same thing. OK, except YOU. You’re right, yours was much worse. There, now that I’ve acknowledged that can I move on? Thanks.
Another trauma of being a tall kid (I didn’t start getting chunky until high school) was when I outgrew the moon bounce. For those of you who don’t know what a moon bounce is it’s one of those big inflatable rooms that you go in and jump around and the giant inflated mattress and walls act like trampolines propelling you up and down and sideways. I remember they had such things in shopping malls for kids to occupy themselves with while the grown-ups went around being good American consumers. One sad day I tried to go in the moon bounce and the nice wooden doggy statue with its hand held out wouldn’t let me. I know, usually those things say “You must be AT LEAST this tall to go on this ride.” In this case Fido said “No one TALLER THAN THIS can go in the moon bounce”. Later in life I figured out that the reason was a large kid could break the damn thing or hurt the other children.
I walked away dejectedly. Fortunately, there was a petting zoo in town as well so I cajoled my mom for money and went in, whereupon a goat ate one of my shoelaces, sucking it out like a strand of spaghetti. I learned the virtues of double-knotting one’s shoes at that moment, a habit I practice to this very day.
My height continues to haunt me in various pursuits even today. Airline trips are borderline intolerable. My knees get smashed regularly by seat-reclining types on the bus. I was a poor skater when I played roller hockey due to my high center of gravity (and, to be fair, my innate spazziness). I’m a crap curler for the same reasons. I naturally gravitate to the back of any line, the perimeter of any crowd, my school training of “stay out of the way, don’t block the view of the other children” permanently ingrained in my psyche. One thing I don’t regret is the perspective from the perimeter. When you’re not immersed in something you can often see it more clearly or at least with an alternate perspective.
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