Mummadeuphermindaboutone
thing:shewouldn’tovercompensate
formydisabilityandI wouldn’tbe
treatedanydifferentlytomybrother
andtwosisters.
Well,my interferingNanahad
otherideas.Whenshelearnedofmy
dwarfism,shesuggestedthatMum
shouldhidemeawayfromtheworld.
WhenNanagrewup,disabledpeople
wereoftentreatedasashameful
secret andwere segregatedand
institutionalised.Toher,I wasa bur-
denonthefamily.Thankfully,Mum
wasn’tgoingtohavea barofit.
WhenNanawouldvisit,shewould
oftenreachintoherpurse,whipouta
$5or$20noteandhandit tomysister
Jill. This wasthe1970sandthatwas
a lotofmoneybackthen,especial-
lyasa kid.“Hereyougo,Jill,”she’d
saybrightly.“Somepocketmoney.”
Thenshewouldwheelaround,her
eyesnarrowing,andgiveme 10 or
20 cents.“Youdon’tneedmoneylike
yoursisterdoes,”she’dsay,f lashing
mea lookofdisapproval.
“Thankyou,Nana,”I’dsaypolitely,
asI hadbeentaughtbyMum.But
thenI’dwalkawayfromtheexchange
feeling heav yandsad, wonder-
ing why my sister got more money
thanI did.Whatmadeherworthso
muchmorethanme?Nana’ssubtle
put-downsthroughoutmychild-
hoodreinforcedwhatI learnedto
believeaboutmyself– thatI wasa
second-classcitizen.
From as farbackas I remem-
ber,I’vehadthedesiretoescape.
Athome,ifI everheardthedistant
rumbleofa planef lyingoverhead,
I’drunoutintothebackgardenand
gazeupintothesky,imaginingwhat
it wouldbeliketof ly.
Thestartofprimaryschoolwas
challenging.EventhoughMumhad
adjustedmyuniformtofitandmade
suremyhairwasshortsoasnotto
accentuatemylargehead,therewas
nogettingawayfromthe truth: I wasmuchshorterthaneveryoneelseand
abitoddlooking.I’donlybeenin
primaryschoola fewdayswhenthe
cruelinsultsbegan.“Hey,Fathead.”
“He y,Shor t ie.”
Kidscanbelikethat– inquisitive
and,occasionally,cruel.I remem-
bermanytimeslookingupattheir
faces,heartpounding,andfeeling
theshameofDrSpence’swords,“You
willneverbetall.”
Fuellingthecommentswereone
or two ringleaders who weremuchTHEREWAS NO GETTINGAWAY
FROMTHETRUTH: I WASMUCHSHORTER THAN
EVERYONE ELSE AND A BIT ODD LOOKING121
“My Life in Short”