My dad used to tell a story about when he was in high school. He and a group of fellow football players went to a corner drugstore to buy Cokes after football practice. After leaving, my dad found out that a few of the guys stole a bunch of other items. So, he got in their faces and told them that they’d better return their stolen goods or else. To a man, each teenager went back and returned the items they’d stolen. My dad emerged a hero. I never knew it then, but that story set the stage for me and my idea of what being a good man was all about. You have to be tough. You have to do what’s right. And never shy away from confrontation.
As a child, I mostly lived up to the ideals set forth in my father’s story. My behavior triggered many fights, but fights I often lost. For whatever reason, I failed to understand the meaning behind a lost fight at that age. I’ll never forget playing dodge ball after school one day. One of my best friends brought his older brother (by several years) to play with us. He mocked us and dominated the game. He was much bigger, much stronger, and threw much harder. I thought he was ruining the game for me and my friends.
So, I did what dad did.
I stood up to him. I told him he should leave. He told me to “fuck off.” I defiantly responded with, “no, you fuck off.” Instead of the heroic moment I must have expected—with the bully recognizing his villainy, where he’d hang his head, and retire from the field of play—I experienced a different outcome. The bully dropped the dodge ball, raced across the uncrossable dividing line, hoisted me into the air, and body slammed me against a brick wall. He then punched me in the face and that was the end of it. He laughed at me as he got up, grumbled a few obscenities in my direction and that was that. The game ended. “What were you thinking,” one of my friends said. Nowhere did I see admiration or respect in their eyes, but a kind of disappointment and pity.
What the hell?
How come people backed down when my dad confronted them, but when I did it, they beat me up? How come when my dad issued a direct command, people said “you got it,” but when I gave direction, I only heard, “you do it, dickwad?” My childhood mind failed to reconcile the difference between me and my dad. I said the same words. I had the same attitude. I stepped up with the same show of confidence. But nobody ever backed down to me. I unfailingly faced an immediate challenge and with prospect of a humiliating defeat looming if I pressed the point. It didn’t matter if I had the moral upper ground or not. It didn’t matter whether everyone else agreed with me, and I quickly learned that it didn’t even matter whether everyone hated the guy I challenged. Somehow, against my expectations, all the accolades went the other direction. The guys who won the fights was the guy who won the day. Well, I came face to face with my future that day on the dodge ball court, and it wasn’t as the hero in my dad’s story. No, my future held the promise of life as a small guy.
By high school, size differences among men make a big difference. Height, weight, and strength play a huge role. A punch to the face didn’t sting like it did in grade school. Now, we’re talking power and speed in a violent clash. Bruises, black eyes, gashes, and even broken bones were possible. I’ve experienced all of these wounds at one time or another in fights. If I ever intended to make a stand, I better think long and hard about it.
And then it gets worse. Much worse.
Girls enter the equation.
Around the time that us boys finally stop fighting all the time, when we’ve learned our place in the pecking order, and life is much more peaceful, girls burst onto the scene. The girls we used to play with have undergone a radical transformation that I need not explain. The entire hierarchy for both boys and girls descends into chaos. Everyone is motivated enough to test the old hierarchy in order to be with the girl we like.
Nature herself, seems to have come up with this system. Watch any nature show and its right there, laid bare. Animal rules aren’t much different from our rules. We know that there is such a thing as an alpha male or alpha female. We can see for ourselves. We’re behaving in a manner consistent with the rhythms and cycles of nature. Whenever two rams went head-to-head in a spectacular physical contest, almost always for the right to mate, I always felt bad for the ram who lost. The losers limp off, sometimes terribly mauled. They’re alone. They become estranged from the group, and in some cases, their injuries lead to a disgraceful death. “What were you thinking, Mr. Ram?”
From insects to elephants, we see the hard rules of physical combat, when it comes to that, and we see the prevailing and elaborate social systems that go into place to avoid such costly combat. Who wins the fist fight now makes room for who gets the girl.
Shadows of these early hierarchies seem to follow us into adulthood and right into the workplace. I’ve noticed that a lot of my supervisors or managers over the years have been men who are taller, bigger, more confident, or better-looking than I am. Companies consciously or unconsciously wants those in leadership roles to look like a winner, not a whiner. Companies want a ram who can win if challenged. Women, too, prefer men who looks the part of a winning ram. Ironically, many of the alpha males that women compete against and despise in the workplace are the same men who have enjoyed such preferential treatment by women in the dating arena. Height, strength, and good looks are tough traits to compete against because they’re genetic and mostly out of my control. Yet these traits have such an impact on outcome.
Studies consistently show that height discrimination is a merciless source of discrimination for men. One quick glance over at Wikipedia and I found a few things that reinforced my suspicions. Without doing any serious research, here’s what I found:
“Research indicates that the human brain uses height as a measurement to determine social status and fitness. The brain automatically associates physical size with leadership potential, power, strength and intelligence, an effect which has been discovered in infants as young as 10 months old. Evolutionary psychologists theorize that this is due to height indicating that the individual had been better fed, indicating higher social status and thus resources available to them, as well as indicating general health and physical strength, the latter of which can be useful in asserting dominance. The automatic association between height and the aforementioned traits has also been found to be much stronger when it comes to assessing men than women.”
“Surveys have uncovered that less than 3% of CEOs were below 5 ft 7 in (1.70 m) in height. 90% of CEOs are of above average height [which is 5 ft 9.5 in].”
So, I’m 5 ft 9 in. Only 10% of CEO’s are my height or shorter. I’ll bet accounting for other factors leave me in a smaller category than even 10%. I’ll wager that of those 10% of the short CEO’s most weigh more than me due to a denser, more muscular build. And a better socioeconomic background probably helped those other small guys out.
For us small guys, discrimination is part of our life. In fact, we spend most of our young adult lives getting passed over by women and employers alike, all of whom seem to prefer taller, stronger, and better-looking men all the time. We’re the last ones picked in the draft, if we’re drafted at all.
Here’s one of the most amazing quotes I found on the Wikipedia page for height discrimination:
“Nevertheless, studies have shown that short people are paid less than taller people, with disparities similar in magnitude to the race and gender gaps.”
So, when a millionaire actress hoists her golden Oscar and demands income equality for women, many guys like me aren’t overwhelmed with emotion. Our apathy is not toward women. To the contrary, I think most guys like me are extremely sympathetic to being discriminated against in the work place, to being passed over, and paid less than bigger guys who “look the part” of a leader. In fact, many women lose out to the same alpha males that I do for job interviews or perceptions of relevancy at the workplace. When I give direction or take charge, I’m not taken very seriously either. Men and women both draw instant conclusions about me after one look.
No, I feel apathy at the arrogance of a millionaire demanding more money and an Oscar winner demanding more social respect for people who happened to be the same gender as she is. She’s “starsplaining.” Hollywood is perhaps one the most exclusive domains for great-looking people in the world, openly practicing the most unforgiving form of discrimination, seeking only those people who “look the part.” When these star-studded A-Listers, who wield such disproportionate influence and wealth, blame people who look like me for discrimination, I get turned off by the insensitivity and disconnection. Their message falls flat to many male ears, even those of us who would otherwise agree with the cause. My apathy stems from the idea that discrimination or income equality is something that doesn’t also apply to men.
So, as a small guy, I live with a discrimination that falls on deaf ears. Truly, no one cares. But maybe being a small guy allowed me to gain certain perspectives that make me stronger and well-rounded. I believe that men and women have many of the same struggles together as human beings. If equality is our general goal, then finding equal ground is what draws us all closer. Can a small guy find success? Obviously. Can a woman lead the free world? Absolutely. Can people of color command great prestige? Hell yeah. We see breakthroughs all the time.
It’s probably why I’m inexorably drawn to heroes and heroines. Heroic figures are hierarchy-breakers. They are the men and women who tell us not to worry about our gender or color or height. They can come from any place on the hierarchy, top or bottom. And their stories affect us all for generations. Maybe it’s good to be a small guy.