On Being Tall (2016)
Me (guess where) with my 8th grade basketball team When we know a thing too well, when we are too familiar with a certain place or person or event, it becomes that much more difficult to describe. Our mind creates such a realistic rendition of what we are trying to portray that when we retell it, we simply sketch an outline with charcoal and let assumption take care of the colors. We forget what the listener or reader doesn’t know about that certain thing. When the butterflies of love flap their freakish wings with the most gusto, write of hate. When one is caught in the currents of people and cabs in busy city streets, write of the country. Often, the most erudite of scholars make for the worst of teachers because they forget what it is like to not know. On that note, I write this essay on being tall. You see, although I was well watered by the constant rains of Washington I was raised in, my vertical growth is less than impressive...