One Inch

The girl, all dolled up in her spring dress and stick-on earrings, stood atop the telephone counter in the baggage claim hall. She is only 3 feet tall, and used the added boost to peer through the throng toward the escalator.

She was looking for Nana, who, with Papa, eventually descended into sight. Squeals and hugs followed, with the obligatory: "You're looking good!"

My parents, who arrived this morning to watch the kids for the weekend, both looked at me kinda funny. "Have you gotten taller?" my mother asked. And I had to say "yes" in return.

Now, I've always been tall, and unless I'm at Inog's house or out with Tom, I'm often the tallest person in the room.

At 37, however, I've been roughly the same height for nearly two decades. Height, is the sort of thing you stop noticing after a while. You take it for granted. It dictates, the clothing you buy, airplane seat that you take and your daily perspective on the world.

I'm used to seeing the dust on top of the fridge. I have to hang pictures on the wall below eye level, because my eye level is too high for most folks. I also have a good impression about other people's thinning hair and scalp hygiene in general.

Relative height, like that of my wife or my boss, is fixed with relation to mine. My wife's head comes up to my chin and my boss's head reaches to about my nose. Or, at least, it used to.

Everything seems to have changed.

Friends, recently have seemed shorter. The wife doesn't quite reach the chin. My head seems to strike more low-hanging objects and my pants do not fit quite right.

Til now, I have put aside the silly thought of a mid-life growth spurt, but my parents confirmed it. I've grown, I suspect, about an inch.

If only I had grown the inch elsewhere...