by Sabrina Redlingshafer

Have you ever walked into a door frame? Been asked what the weather “up there” is like? Ever ran into a low tree branch hanging in the Quad? As the shortest and so-called “midget” in a family of six, standing a whopping 5 feet 10 inches, I can outline exactly why being a tall girl isn’t always easy.

Born at 21.5 inches long, I surpassed the average female infancy height. And this is when it all started. I must have consumed miracle milk as a toddler to gain strong bones because between then and now, something happened. About 48.5 inches happened.

My height is like a constant spotlight I can’t turn off. Everywhere I go, people look up at me in awe. It’s a never-ending conversation I deal with. Giant, Reptar, Godzilla, Human Tree, Sabrinasaurus Rex: These are just a few nicknames I’ve been given. I’ve grown accustomed to the “How tall are you?!” “You’re really tall!” comments, but I did not expect the day I strided into Ms. Swadell’s classroom and she proclaimed, “I think you grew overnight!” And the sad thing is, I probably had.

As a youngster, I participated in all kinds of sports: basketball, volleyball, soccer, softball, track. You name it, I’ve probably played it. Since then, I’ve messed up my knee and stopped playing sports competitively. After removing myself, I feel like every person is a recruiter and I’m their diamond in the ruff. You see, when you’re tall, everyone assumes you’re a star athlete. Sorry ‘bout it, but I can’t full-force spike a volleyball, and God only knows how I’d be able to dunk a basketball.

I’ve always been one of the tallest girls in my class. On picture day, standing in the back row towering over adolescent boys was a yearly occurrence. Sad thing is, as a junior in high school, I still tower over about half the male sex. And I still am in the back row in pictures.

Taking pictures when you’re tall is a struggle. It’s especially awkward when most of my friends are currently the same height I that I was in 4th grade. I lean, I bend, I squat. It’s awkward. For that reason, I don’t, nor will I ever, model.

Clothing’s a whole different subject matter. Dresses look like shirts. Shirts look like crop tops. Pants look like capris. It’s a tough life when the retail industry doesn’t keep us girls with giraffe-like legs in mind while designing sassy skirts or dresses. When good ol’ Homecoming season rolls around, things get really tough. First, there’s the dresses. Then, there’s the shoe options. Oh man, there’s nothing like ordering a hopeful Teresian dress and trying it on only to put a mini skirt to shame. Additionally, it’s great to look for a pair of shoes that add inches to my initial height.

STA is a tall-friendly environment because I don’t feel like I’m being judged. But there’s nothing like walking across the quad dodging the low hanging oak trees to prevent getting mauled in the face. And the minuscule desks in Mr. Bertalott’s room do me no justice. Also, walking next to Jordan Berardi can be a struggle when she is as tall as my belly button.

Attending STA has taught me that being “vertically blessed” is not all that bad. I’ve learned to embrace my height and use it as an advantage. During Mikey Needleman Concerts, the General Admission style crowd is practically front row for me. Reaching books off high shelves and using the Quad as my runway are also advantages.

These obstacles have made me a stronger, more accepting person. I now carry myself in confidence and accept all 70 inches of myself. I don’t imagine life any different. And I can’t imagine what the weather forecast is like down there.