“I can teach a lot of things, but I can’t teach height.”
Those were the words spoken to me by our high school volleyball coach who had attended one of my middle school matches. These were also the words that launched my year round involvement in a sport that would take away and give so much to me over the next six years.
It also called attention to the one thing that everyone notices about me first: my height. Yes, I’m tall. Five feet, eleven and a half inches to be exact. However, rosters always list me as six feet tall because, you know, shoes add an inch.
Being a tall girl is a rocky road I’ve navigated my whole life. It has brought many benefits and hardships.
I was tall very early, and I grew very fast. In third grade, I was already 5 feet tall. In elementary school, I was always the tallest girl and often the tallest kid overall in every single class.
I remember a classmate, Isaac, calling me a giraffe in sixth grade. He thought he was so clever and funny. I thought he was ridiculous, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt.
It was tiresome listening to everyone talk about my height – from clerks in stores to close friends and family to new acquaintances. I never really understood the reason to point out something that was already obvious.
