My granddaughter is the second-shortest girl in her sixth-grade class and she is not happy about it.
She is going to be short like me, and I think that is wonderful, but I am having a hard time convincing her that petite is okay. Hattie's mom, my daughter, is a tall, full-figured woman. She has pale skin with lots of freckles, startlingly light blue eyes, and thick, luxurious red hair. Obviously, she takes after her father. I think she is beautiful and so does her 11 1/2-year-old daughter, who wants to look just like her. But Hattie is more like me, both of us brunettes with dark hazel eyes who tan easily – no freckles on us.
When I was Hattie's age, I was determined to be taller than my grandmother, who barely reached five feet when she stood very straight – she called it being "pocket size." I managed to grow to five-foot-three-and-a-half and claimed I was five-feet-four for most of my life, stretching the truth and my height. In my sixties, I have lost a couple of those precious inches, but now I don't care so much. I am just happy to be active and healthy.
It's Different for Girls
Body image is so very important for girls as they grow up. Tall girls stoop so they won't tower above the boys. Other girls stoop to hide breasts that seem uncomfortably large. Girls who think they are too fat or too thin become self-conscious and unsure of themselves around those few "perfect" girls – the three or four in every class who seem to have it all: flawless skin, great hair, no braces, no glasses, and slender bodies with round breasts. There were two girls named Jane in my seventh-grade class who seemed perfect to me. I wanted to be in their intimate circle of friends but I never made it.
Now I want to help Hattie accept her body, and encourage her to not wish to look like anyone else – even her mom. I think she is gorgeous and perfect, but that is not the point. She needs to be happy with who she is, from head to toe. I spend a fair amount of time with my granddaughter, and we both cherish our close relationship, so I hope I have some input on this particular issue. On Wednesdays, I take her to riding lessons after school. Hattie's brother, Jack, is old enough to stay home alone while Hattie and I have the half-hour drive to the barn to talk about her school, my work, and life in general. Those are the times when I tell her anecdotes from my childhood and share the wise words my grandmother shared with me.
Lately, I have been explaining to Hattie that her body type is more like mine than her mother's. She is beginning to go through puberty already, so it seems that great height is unlikely to be in her future. I told Hattie that she would be "pocket size" like me and her great-great-grandmother. I tell her lots of stories about my grandmother, a woman I was very close to and whom I admired for her wit, kindness, and the way she joyfully embraced life.
Last week, Hattie asked me exactly what my grandmother meant when she said she was "pocket size." I remembering asking the same question to my grandmother, who told me it meant you could fit in a man's pocket, and men liked little women. Whether that's really true or not doesn't matter; at the time, my grandmother's comment made me feel special. Riding in the backseat, Hattie gave the concept her own spin: "When someone tells me I am short, I just say I am fun size."
I think I am getting my point across.
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