Thank you for teaching me that height is actually an awesome gift. Aged 12 and 5’10” I was pretty damn sure it wasn’t. I wanted to go incognito, blend in like the other kids, but no. Standing head and shoulders above my Year 3 peers and relegated to the back row of school photos, it certainly didn’t feel like a gift. But three decades on, and standing at 6’ (6’3” in heels), I get it now mum. I really do.
Thank you for teaching me to stand tall. Remember when I used to shrink into myself by popping my hip and cocking my knee? In my mind it made me three inches shorter. In reality I looked like I had spinal issues.
Thank you for making me smile through the tears when the Year 5 girls called me Skyscraper. And that day when the bus driver didn’t believe I was 13 and I didn’t have enough money for the adult fare. *Shudders.
Thank you for all the plasters on my scraped knees when I went through that phase of tripping over thin air. I was all limbs. Limbs everywhere. I like to think I’ve got the hang of the coordination gig now.
Thank you for reminding me that it’s my right to wear heels. And you’re right mum, it’s a little man - in every sense of the word - who can’t have a taller woman on his arm.
Thank you for showing me that true height isn’t measured in feet and inches. You’ve lost a couple of inches over the years mum (admit it, yes you have) but you’ll always be a tower to me.
Thank you mum for giving me the best view of life. I love it up here.