mattfromnossa
01-17-2008, 06:58 PM
Hold the comments. Ellen Frankel, from her neck-craning 4 feet 8 inches, knows them all.
Shrimp. Shorty. Pee-wee. Oompa Loompa. Smurf - or Smurfette, if the jokester prefers gender-specificity.
Then there have been the cheek pinches and the head pats, and comments from height-challenged friends that they're at least "taller than Ellen."
Co-workers and business associates have scooped her off her feet to say, "You're so little, I can do this." Others have used her head as an armrest, or dropped to their knees to shake her hand.
At an airport, one particularly rude businessman even asked her why she didn't just stuff herself into her suitcase to save money.
That's just a sampling of denigrating situations from her 46 years - but it's proof enough to Frankel that height discrimination, or what she and a growing organized group of short-statured adults refer to as "heightism," is still condoned, and sometimes even encouraged.
To battle it, the Marblehead mother of two teenagers - who, incidentally, also are of below-average height - has written a memoir about her travails navigating a tall world, and is working with the Legislature in hopes of adding height and weight to the state's discrimination laws.
"Heightism is rampant in this culture, but it's also invisible," the activist, author, and motivational speaker said during an interview at her home. "It's really one of the most extreme forms of discrimination."
And, she and many others in the petite population contend, it's one of the final frontiers of prejudice in an otherwise politically correct society.
We live in a world where the small are expected to be meek and childlike, they say - and those who have aggressive personalities are dubbed "Napoleon." It's a world where women never seek out "short, dark and handsome," and where height-endowed professionals see a benefit in their paychecks. (Tall businesspeople get roughly $789 more per inch, per year, than their shorter colleagues, according to a study in the Journal of Applied Psychology.)
Stature discrimination is even prevalent in language, where some of the worst affronts or indignities are to be shortsighted, shortchanged, sold short, and cut short.
For years, retailers and doctors also have pandered to the short person's insecurities, offering insoles, elevator shoes, "proven" stretching exercise systems, herbal supplements, and, in more extreme cases, the excruciating process of limb lengthening.
Another new alternative is growth-hormone injections, which have been approved by the federal Food and Drug Administration for undersized children.
That's when Frankel finally became appalled. "With what other prejudice would we try to change characteristics?" she said, shaking her head.
The decision has riled many in the short community, prompting the organization of such groups as National Organization of Short Statured Adults. Some among that enraged population even equated growth hormone injections to eugenics, the genetic exercise of removing undesirable traits to further evolution.
According to numerous studies, the benefits of growth hormone aren't at all significant - a paltry 1 or 2 inches, on average. On top of that, Frankel said, is the exorbitant price - $20,000 to $40,000 a year - and the severe side effects, which can include high blood pressure, glucose intolerance, scoliosis, and bone fractures.
Frankel called the development "tragic," adding that "we need to celebrate size diversity."
The hope is to start that at the state level. Byron Rushing, a Democratic state representative from Boston, filed an antidiscrimination heightism-weightism bill last year; it's his fifth try in eight years. The bill, which would allow people to file complaints against alleged height or weight intolerance, is in committee and is likely to get a hearing this year, Rushing said. "It is not fair to raise arbitrary issues, which are essentially based on prejudices, to deprive people of opportunity," he said.
If passed, it will be one of the first antiheightism laws in the nation: Michigan, San Francisco, and the District of Columbia are the only other areas that prohibit prejudice based on height and weight.
Where the stigma against society's shortest members originated is nearly inexplicable - although some say it is fueled by Hollywood and pharmaceutical companies, and is a throwback to ancient times, when strong, tall leaders were needed to offer protection and kill animals.
Still, Frankel wryly noted, we're not living in the wild and slaying boars anymore.
"There are very few things in this world where height would affect what we do," she said. "It's about fighting '-isms' and making sure that people are judged on merit."
Even so, she is sympathetic to anyone who has ever longed to be taller. She certainly has.
Growing up, there was an intense focus on her height: Her mother took her to endocrinologists and put her on high-protein diets. (And to this day, her mother still thinks she would have been happier with a few extra inches, Frankel noted with a roll of the eyes.)
Faced with those pressures, Frankel struggled with eating disorders as a teenager, striving to meet at least the weight part of a "tall-and-thin, vanilla-Barbie" ideal. Those trials later led to long-term eating disorder counseling.
For a long time, she also felt compelled to fit into the silly, acquiescing, "little female" stereotype. She became a cheerleader, acted giggly, flirty, and powerless, and self-deprecatingly poked fun at her stature.
At the same time, she suppressed her spiritual growth. Raised as a Jew, she explored Buddhism as a teenager. It was then that she began to realize that she could be small physically but "full of stature" spiritually.
Now a practicing Buddhist, she finds peace in meditation and has made a pilgrimage to Tengboche Monastery, which sits at the base of Mount Everest in Nepal. She described the nine-day trek to a 13,000-foot height as "incredible," with snow-drenched mountains and the clanging of yak bells as backdrops.
Now, in her motivational talks - and in her 2006 memoir, "Beyond Measure," published by Pearlsong Press in Nashville - she uses the mountain as a metaphor for height. "Ultimately, we are all dwarfed by Everest," noted Frankel, who said her idols are the Dalai Lama and Mother Teresa - who was, by the way, 4 feet 9 inches tall. Among her other mantras: "Stand on your own two feet, short legs and all." "True stature is fully growing into yourself." "Self-esteem can't be governed by inches on a tape measure."
Her inspirational words - and her outspokenness - have made her a legend among the short populace.
"She's got her finger on the pulse of the short person's pain," said Matthew Campisi, president of the National Organization of Short Statured Adults, which was organized in 2005 and has 400 worldwide members.
Being short is a constant challenge, Campisi said. "At work, many of us are treated as children. We have to work harder just to prove ourselves as capable adults."
Even so, Frankel wouldn't change an inch. "See me as a short person," she said, "because I am."
Shrimp. Shorty. Pee-wee. Oompa Loompa. Smurf - or Smurfette, if the jokester prefers gender-specificity.
Then there have been the cheek pinches and the head pats, and comments from height-challenged friends that they're at least "taller than Ellen."
Co-workers and business associates have scooped her off her feet to say, "You're so little, I can do this." Others have used her head as an armrest, or dropped to their knees to shake her hand.
At an airport, one particularly rude businessman even asked her why she didn't just stuff herself into her suitcase to save money.
That's just a sampling of denigrating situations from her 46 years - but it's proof enough to Frankel that height discrimination, or what she and a growing organized group of short-statured adults refer to as "heightism," is still condoned, and sometimes even encouraged.
To battle it, the Marblehead mother of two teenagers - who, incidentally, also are of below-average height - has written a memoir about her travails navigating a tall world, and is working with the Legislature in hopes of adding height and weight to the state's discrimination laws.
"Heightism is rampant in this culture, but it's also invisible," the activist, author, and motivational speaker said during an interview at her home. "It's really one of the most extreme forms of discrimination."
And, she and many others in the petite population contend, it's one of the final frontiers of prejudice in an otherwise politically correct society.
We live in a world where the small are expected to be meek and childlike, they say - and those who have aggressive personalities are dubbed "Napoleon." It's a world where women never seek out "short, dark and handsome," and where height-endowed professionals see a benefit in their paychecks. (Tall businesspeople get roughly $789 more per inch, per year, than their shorter colleagues, according to a study in the Journal of Applied Psychology.)
Stature discrimination is even prevalent in language, where some of the worst affronts or indignities are to be shortsighted, shortchanged, sold short, and cut short.
For years, retailers and doctors also have pandered to the short person's insecurities, offering insoles, elevator shoes, "proven" stretching exercise systems, herbal supplements, and, in more extreme cases, the excruciating process of limb lengthening.
Another new alternative is growth-hormone injections, which have been approved by the federal Food and Drug Administration for undersized children.
That's when Frankel finally became appalled. "With what other prejudice would we try to change characteristics?" she said, shaking her head.
The decision has riled many in the short community, prompting the organization of such groups as National Organization of Short Statured Adults. Some among that enraged population even equated growth hormone injections to eugenics, the genetic exercise of removing undesirable traits to further evolution.
According to numerous studies, the benefits of growth hormone aren't at all significant - a paltry 1 or 2 inches, on average. On top of that, Frankel said, is the exorbitant price - $20,000 to $40,000 a year - and the severe side effects, which can include high blood pressure, glucose intolerance, scoliosis, and bone fractures.
Frankel called the development "tragic," adding that "we need to celebrate size diversity."
The hope is to start that at the state level. Byron Rushing, a Democratic state representative from Boston, filed an antidiscrimination heightism-weightism bill last year; it's his fifth try in eight years. The bill, which would allow people to file complaints against alleged height or weight intolerance, is in committee and is likely to get a hearing this year, Rushing said. "It is not fair to raise arbitrary issues, which are essentially based on prejudices, to deprive people of opportunity," he said.
If passed, it will be one of the first antiheightism laws in the nation: Michigan, San Francisco, and the District of Columbia are the only other areas that prohibit prejudice based on height and weight.
Where the stigma against society's shortest members originated is nearly inexplicable - although some say it is fueled by Hollywood and pharmaceutical companies, and is a throwback to ancient times, when strong, tall leaders were needed to offer protection and kill animals.
Still, Frankel wryly noted, we're not living in the wild and slaying boars anymore.
"There are very few things in this world where height would affect what we do," she said. "It's about fighting '-isms' and making sure that people are judged on merit."
Even so, she is sympathetic to anyone who has ever longed to be taller. She certainly has.
Growing up, there was an intense focus on her height: Her mother took her to endocrinologists and put her on high-protein diets. (And to this day, her mother still thinks she would have been happier with a few extra inches, Frankel noted with a roll of the eyes.)
Faced with those pressures, Frankel struggled with eating disorders as a teenager, striving to meet at least the weight part of a "tall-and-thin, vanilla-Barbie" ideal. Those trials later led to long-term eating disorder counseling.
For a long time, she also felt compelled to fit into the silly, acquiescing, "little female" stereotype. She became a cheerleader, acted giggly, flirty, and powerless, and self-deprecatingly poked fun at her stature.
At the same time, she suppressed her spiritual growth. Raised as a Jew, she explored Buddhism as a teenager. It was then that she began to realize that she could be small physically but "full of stature" spiritually.
Now a practicing Buddhist, she finds peace in meditation and has made a pilgrimage to Tengboche Monastery, which sits at the base of Mount Everest in Nepal. She described the nine-day trek to a 13,000-foot height as "incredible," with snow-drenched mountains and the clanging of yak bells as backdrops.
Now, in her motivational talks - and in her 2006 memoir, "Beyond Measure," published by Pearlsong Press in Nashville - she uses the mountain as a metaphor for height. "Ultimately, we are all dwarfed by Everest," noted Frankel, who said her idols are the Dalai Lama and Mother Teresa - who was, by the way, 4 feet 9 inches tall. Among her other mantras: "Stand on your own two feet, short legs and all." "True stature is fully growing into yourself." "Self-esteem can't be governed by inches on a tape measure."
Her inspirational words - and her outspokenness - have made her a legend among the short populace.
"She's got her finger on the pulse of the short person's pain," said Matthew Campisi, president of the National Organization of Short Statured Adults, which was organized in 2005 and has 400 worldwide members.
Being short is a constant challenge, Campisi said. "At work, many of us are treated as children. We have to work harder just to prove ourselves as capable adults."
Even so, Frankel wouldn't change an inch. "See me as a short person," she said, "because I am."