Friday, May 14, 2010

How Big is Lisa?

When I was quite little, one of my strategies to get attention was to throw my hands high above my head and shout: "How big is Lisa?" This entreaty meant that those around me had to immediately stop what they were doing, raise their hands in the air and reply, "Soooooo Big!" If I didn't get what I wanted right away, I was not deterred - I would start chanting, hopping from one foot to the other: "How big is Li-sa, how big is Li-sa?" Responses to this would vary. More often than not, I would get a sing-song chorus of "so big" - placated, I'd move along. Other times, people were busy or talking so they would ignore me until my chants became louder and more persistent. When it became impossible to hear themselves over the din, someone would finally yell "SO BIG" loud enough to blow my hair back and I would shuffle off, feeling hard done-by, wondering what was everyone's problem.

Why did I do this? I imagine it had something to do with being the youngest of five daughters who were equally, if not more, talkative than I - getting enough 'air time' was something we fought over. My verbally talented sisters had a decided advantage over me, but none could match my tenacity. Talk all you want, I thought, I will keep chanting. When I think back, that was a tough room. It wasn't easy being on the tail end of that lot. Wendy, the eldest, was poetically beautiful. People would stop her on the street and tell her so. Katie, the brain, was known for her kindness and her intellect - she was the only one of us who had any talent whatsoever for mathematics. Gayle's voice was larger than life. I remember her singing Ave Maria a Capella filling the cathedral church to its rafters. The only person who could match Gayle's talent for performance was Lynne. She was gifted with a crazy, disarming sense of humour and could mimic any accent. Plus Lynne was always different than everyone else. Fearless. I remember one time she shaved her head on one side and died it purple; the other side she left long, ebony, hanging to her waist. People stared, but she just laughed. It wasn't her problem they weren't cool.

Perhaps "How big is Lisa?" had something to do with carving out a space for myself in amongst all this excellence. Maybe I insisted on being seen. Lately, however, I wonder if there wasn't something more to it than this. If you think about it, I was asking a deeply important question. Standing on my tip-toes, stretching my arms as high as they would reach, I wanted - needed? - to know how big I was. I don't think I have stopped asking this question, I've merely internalized it. And the insistence upon external validation still looms as large as it always did. Every new challenge, every goal I set, every impossible mountain that I scale, has this question at its heart.

How big is Lisa?

I guess we'll find out.

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