Tall Tale

     In a recent photo of the Solomon family, I notice that my husband is the shortest man in the picture.  Next to his brother Art, my husband looks tiny.
     My husband is 6'4". This is the warped reality of being the "little brother" in his family.
     When we first moved to Wilmette many years ago, we attended our village's July 4th festivities. There were games and food at Gilson Park, and my four-year-old son was enthralled when he saw, for the first time, a man walking on stilts.
     "Mommy, who is that?" he asked with great wonder.
     "Honey, that's Uncle Sam!" I told him.
     He turned to me and very seriously said, "Mommy, Uncle Sam is even bigger than Uncle Art!"
     My sons have mostly enjoyed inheriting this height, although when they were young, strangers always assumed they were older than their ages.  At eighteen months, one son was scolded by a woman in a restaurant when he bumped her and did not apologize.  I had to explain that he didn't actually talk yet.  At two and a half he needed to potty train quickly because the next sized diapers were Depends.
     Now that the boys are fully grown (please God, it's enough!) I've noticed that being big has some downsides, although complaining about them puts you the the same category as lottery winners who lament the higher tax bracket.  It's not a group that gets a lot of sympathy.
     The Solomons have trouble sitting in a car, airplane or movie theater.  It's a treasure hunt to find clothes and shoes. I always knew my sons would be big when they were grown men, but I was surprised to have a Bar Mitzvah boy in a size 44 suit.
     I am resigned to being the shortest in my family, but like all people my size, I have just one nagging question.
     How is the weather up there?