Bunyanesque
My nieces Emily and Lauren are convinced I'm a giant. With each passing month, I bloat larger and larger in their minds, like that blueberry girl Veruca Salt from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory without the greediness.
This past summer, they asked their grandmother if Uncle Steve would have to sleep outside. By their four and five year-old reasoning, I was too big for the summer cabin, and my feet would stick out the window if I were to lay down on the bed.
Because I'm their biggest relative, and because they only see me a few times a year, they expect me to be larger-than life, and I'm loath to disappoint them. I love the "Big Uncle Steve" role, and appreciate all the horseplay, roughousing, and gluttony that goes along with it. It's pretty gratifying to be someone's Paul Bunyan, so I do my best to tromp around their house as though each footstep could create a new lake; mom needs a ladder to stack the pancakes high enough for me.
Eventually, the girls will figure out that I'm not a man of epic proportions in any sense. Sure, if alien beings came to this planet to hunt human beings for sport, I'd be the equivalent of a ten-point buck, but what's that worth in the job market these days, anyway?
Due to the family genetics on their father's side, my nieces will most likely mature into petite women. Because of this, my sister often reminds them that it doesn't matter how tall a person is. Even though I realize that the persona I present to her daughters presents a subversive counter-example, I go along with it, and point out the fact that their brilliant father, who stands more than a foot shorter than myself, is the leader of a 36-member research team. Their Bunyanesque uncle, on the other hand, couldn't lead a piss-up at a brewery.
All the same, social science research has shown that employers are more likely to hire men over 6 feet tall than shorter men with identical credentials. Even our metaphors militate in favour of the vertically endowed (head and shoulders above the crowd, standing tall, etc). To a certain extent, height does matter, just like size matters to a certain degree, as does appearance. I'm sure there were some that were biased against my brother-in-law until they were face-to-face (or face to chest)with his obvious excellence. Are we setting kids up for a fall when we tell them that certain factors out of their control don't matter when reality clearly tells them otherwise? Perhaps a better strategy would be to ask them "what do you feel your strengths are", and let them learn to cope with not being the center of the universe.
This past summer, they asked their grandmother if Uncle Steve would have to sleep outside. By their four and five year-old reasoning, I was too big for the summer cabin, and my feet would stick out the window if I were to lay down on the bed.
Because I'm their biggest relative, and because they only see me a few times a year, they expect me to be larger-than life, and I'm loath to disappoint them. I love the "Big Uncle Steve" role, and appreciate all the horseplay, roughousing, and gluttony that goes along with it. It's pretty gratifying to be someone's Paul Bunyan, so I do my best to tromp around their house as though each footstep could create a new lake; mom needs a ladder to stack the pancakes high enough for me.
Eventually, the girls will figure out that I'm not a man of epic proportions in any sense. Sure, if alien beings came to this planet to hunt human beings for sport, I'd be the equivalent of a ten-point buck, but what's that worth in the job market these days, anyway?
Due to the family genetics on their father's side, my nieces will most likely mature into petite women. Because of this, my sister often reminds them that it doesn't matter how tall a person is. Even though I realize that the persona I present to her daughters presents a subversive counter-example, I go along with it, and point out the fact that their brilliant father, who stands more than a foot shorter than myself, is the leader of a 36-member research team. Their Bunyanesque uncle, on the other hand, couldn't lead a piss-up at a brewery.
All the same, social science research has shown that employers are more likely to hire men over 6 feet tall than shorter men with identical credentials. Even our metaphors militate in favour of the vertically endowed (head and shoulders above the crowd, standing tall, etc). To a certain extent, height does matter, just like size matters to a certain degree, as does appearance. I'm sure there were some that were biased against my brother-in-law until they were face-to-face (or face to chest)with his obvious excellence. Are we setting kids up for a fall when we tell them that certain factors out of their control don't matter when reality clearly tells them otherwise? Perhaps a better strategy would be to ask them "what do you feel your strengths are", and let them learn to cope with not being the center of the universe.
