SPEAK
MARKETING
RISING ABOVE
// HANNAH DECLERK
a short tale of my tall life
Standing tall Hannah DeClerk (back row, center — not the teacher) with her kindergarten classmates. DeClerk grew up embarrassed about her height, as she was always the tallest person in her class. She has since learned not only to live with her height, but to embrace it.
Contributed photo
My alarm goes off at 6:45 a.m. It is the first day of eighth grade. I wake up, stretch and feel a pang of nausea mixed with excitement. I have a new outfit picked out: a jean skirt with a white T-shirt that reads "Abercrombie Beach Babe '02." My favorite part of the outfit, however, is the shoes — a pair of brown clogs with a 3-inch heel. I get dressed, put on my new backpack and prepare for the walk to the bus stop.
Before I even get on the bus, I am greeted by friends at least five inches shorter than me. They lean in for hugs, and I give them the awkward side hug. I figure they wouldn't want to suffocate in my chest region. As I enter the school building, I immediately regret my choice of shoes. I walk through the hallway like a real-life Goliath. My friends, crushes and even teachers come barely up to my shoulder. Stupid shoes. I get home from a long day of school and, feeling like a freak of nature, chuck my shoes into the trash.
Pretty much since the day I was born, I have been a "big girl." The second I came out of my mother's womb, the doctor exclaimed, "Wow! That is one tall baby!" I was 22 inches long, I still wonder why my height came as such a shock to the doctor. My whole family sitting in the waiting room that evening resembled a tribe of Jolly Green Giants.
My dad is 65" and so are my uncles and my grandfather. I fit in well with the men in my family. As I grew into my toddler years, people thought I was mentally challenged because I was, basically, a 2-year-old in a 5-year-old's body. People would kneel down to speak to me, expecting a 5-year-old's response, but I would just hit them and run away. My mother was shunned by her church group because I used my size to beat up other children; I literally would take them by the hair and pull them off the ground.
When I reached my elementary school years, I began to develop much sooner than everybody else. In the third grade, I remember looking down and finding two small rounds placed perfectly on my chest. I remember my mom surprising me a few days after with a Wal-Mart sack packed with training bras and Clearasil. I remember her sitting me down and telling me, "Hannah, you are starting to bloom into a young woman. I am starting to see your mosquito bites (that's what she used to call my breasts — hurlnillating!), and they need to be covered now."
By the time sixth grade came around, my feet had grown to a women's size 10. It looked like God had played a mean joke and stuck two skis at the
bottom of my legs. I tried everything in the book to make my feet look smaller. I wore extreme flare JNCO jeans. I even crammed my feet into tiny shoes. People still noticed. I remember people making comments to me such as, "Gee, Hannah, you have some huge feet."
Guys made up nicknames for me such as "Big Bird." Still, all I wanted to do was make out with them. Unfortunately, guys were more apt to run from me than stand on their tip-toes and pucker up for a kiss.
By the time I got to high school, I started to
embrace my height. I began to indulge my love of shoes — and of short guys. Being tall became less of an issue. As I stayed the same height, other people grew. While my best friends in high school were watching their weight, I was eating for my height (meaning, to my friends, "like a guy"). I ended up dating the cutest boy in high school, who was an inch shorter than me and loved me in heels. I finally embraced my height, and in return people respected it.
Now that I am 22, my height is my favorite attribute. I still have some problems with my
posture, and once in awhile I feel like a giant at the bars, but that's what seats are for. Besides the fact that the only gloves that will fit my hand are baseball mitts, and I occasionally get embarrassed when raising my hand to answer a question in class, I am OK with my height. Looking back to eighth grade, I wish I knew what I know now. I would have worn my brown clogs with pride Jp
15