Being a tall dude has a lot of perks. It is often expected of tall guys to have their way; they are automatically expected to be physically strong and imposing; they are seen as the most suitable for leadership positions; and the climatic point of it all is that they have the first pick when it comes to dating girls. As a result of these perks, it is not uncommon for those who stopped growing quick to look at taller people with envy. Well, I am not writing this to sing the praises of tall guys, rather, I intend using this write-up to discuss a particular problem faced by tall guys all over the world. This problem is called “OVERCONFIDENCE!!!”
Taking a journey down the Memory Lane to a day I will never forget even if I live for a thousand years on earth. I was a six-year-old primary two kid in a new school. The only thing I loved about the school was its playground. The playground was a child’s paradise. It had a lot of toys; swings— or “Jangulova” as we called them back then; and a plethora of other fun facilities which made my school the object of envy of other schools. Books were like banned drugs to me, and being a lover of social justice, I vehemently said a big “NO!” to books, imitating the popular slogan “Say No To Drugs.”
As an ardent hater of classroom learning, I found solace in the playground and other extra curricular activities such as the violent sport called “TAEKWONDO”. I still recall the way we punched the air and screamed “TAEKWONDO” whenever our master requested us to do so. Now, I was taller than my mates, and could easily trounce most of them in a fair fight. But this turned out to be my Achilles heel because I became a cocky six-year-old asshole. I felt that height was the definition of “macholiness”, but I was in for a rude awakening.
Our Taekwondo master was not a regular teacher in the school, hence, he did not know the different classes which the members of his club belonged. As a result of his ignorance, sparring partners were selected based on size and not class. I was in the category reserved for the big boys because of my height. I was chuffed. As a lover of violence, I always volunteered myself for every sparring contest, especially when I was taller than my opponent. A silly thing to do huh?
One fateful Wednesday, during sport period, the master brought out a very short and pale looking boy in primary four. I still remember his accursed name “Tunde”. He had legs like those of a malnourished goat, and his face like a squashed mango fruit. His knuckles were so tiny that I felt they would break into a trillion pieces if he managed to punch my healthy skin. I even remember calling him a small boy when he once entered my class. I was pretty certain that I would beat the living daylights out of him to the extent that he would need an ambulance. With these thoughts in mind, I quickly offered to challenge him, and in fact, I jumped into the fighting circle, smiling foolishly. I was about to commit murder!
Few seconds into the fight, I was already taking a pummeling because Tunde was giving me the beating of my life. He must have remembered the time I called him a small boy because he was hitting me with so much anger and malice— “Malevolent cunt!” I was pretty certain that I was not the person screaming “Please leave me!” Well, to cut the long story short, Tunde gave me my first black eye. Funnily enough, all these happened in less than a minute — that is, the longest less-than-a-minute of my six years of existence. The master sent me to the sick bay for treatment, but I only discovered that I wore my right shoe on my left leg when I got home.
In conclusion, never overrate your height.