When I was 10 years old, my mom took me to see Dr. Shteiner, this short, squat German Jew who pulled out these charts that showed how my height compared to other kids my age. But I didn’t care that I was small for my age.  My pal, Steve Brody was even shorter…

“You’re so far behind your peers…”

“No, I’m not, Mom.  I’m right there with ‘em.”

“You vish you were taller, like ze other kinder?”

“Noooo…”

“But zey make fun of you.”

“Noooo.”

Like my mom, Dr. Shteiner had the best of intentions… But he had a theory to go with them. He’d been prescribing these little white pills to old ladies with low bone density.  He figured if I ate those same pills, along with a high protein diet, I’d begin to close the gap.

I now wonder if maybe Dr. Shteiner’s desire to right-size other short people had something to do with his own post-Holocostal trauma, his inability to blend in with the master race…  Whatever.

It was decided I’d get the “scrip.” And because I was a compliant kid, I took those pills every day for the next five years. So did Steve. Our mothers were colluding.

And we’d visit Dr. Shteiner every few months and look at the chart. I was never able to close the gap, but my mom was happy, cause maybe I wasn’t falling further behind.  

And there were some positive developments in my life that may have had something to do with those little white pills. In 8^th grade PE class, we played a game called “Throw the guy off the mat.” Steve and I, still the shortest in our class, teamed up: we’d fix our attention on the biggest lunk, spring at ‘em like a couple of mini, rabid Sumo wrestlers, and …See ya. Then we’d turn our attention to the remaining prey.  We were unbeatable.  The PE Teacher said it was because of our profound will to win.

In high school, I set the freshman record for pull-ups: 40 of ‘em. Doug Powell said it was because I was so little and light I had an unfair advantage, but he never explained why Steve set the record for bench press at 220 pounds.

Halfway through college, Steve called me some with disturbing news… He discovered we’d been taking anabolic steroids all those years…. We were way ahead of Barry Bonds and Lance Armstrong. But what did this mean about my identity? …Would I have to live my life with an asterisk beside my name?

“Never mind that,” Steve said.  “Check out the side effects:  kidney damage, shrunken testicles (for the record, they’re just fine!), gynecomastia—that’s when boys start growing boobs because of a hormone imbalance.  Steve and I both needed surgery to remove our embarrassing breast tissue… “But’s that’s not the worst of it, we’re probably sterile!” 

Now, to be fair, I wasn’t ready to think about having kids, but what the hell? Why should I suffer the consequences from a decision I didn’t actively make?  When I confronted my mom about the health issues that I was dealing with, she explained that a shorter man might face significant challenges… getting a job… or finding a life partner. Then she added, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Well, I had to find out if I was shooting blanks. I called the University Health Center, and they were more than willing to count my sperm.  But, I’d need to refrain from sex for three days (even with myself!), and I’d need to get… the sample to them within 20 minutes of release, in this tiny plastic container (yeah), and not let it get too cold. Easier said than done in the winter, in Michigan, with a mile walk between me and the health center…

I headed out with steely resolve, and plodded through a fresh layer of snow, protecting what I hoped was a high motility wad of potential offspring in the warmth of my armpit. Of course, I ran into Cassie Evishevsky… I had a major crush on Cassie. She was five foot nine with cascading brown hair. She was a poet. 

“Hey! Watcha got there?”

“Nothing.”

“No really, whatcha got?”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

To this day, I don’t understand why I didn’t ditch the sperm for a cup of coffee with Cassie, or why the rain check was never redeemed…

Well, it turns out, I had swimmers! And fast forward a few years and I had a couple of kids who’ve grown into healthy adults– without the help of Dr. Shteiner. My son’s 5’10, my daughter     5’ 11, … which may have had something to do with the height of their Swedish mother. 

And when I think about the path my mom placed me on, I’m reminded of a Carlos Castenada story where he’s walking this trail with a Yaqui Indian Sorcerer and he almost steps on a caterpillar. Carlos picks it up and gently places it in on a branch beside the trail.  A moment later… a crow swoops down and gobbles it up. The Sorcerer turns and says, “Before you take any creature off its path, you better make damn sure you know the path you’re placing it on…”            

I don’t think Carlos told the Sorcerer: “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”