Sinéad Burke - Break A Leg

 

Earlier this year, I was walking through Dublin in a suburban area just outside of the city. I wasn't really paying much attention. There were cars in one big queue waiting to make their way into town. I think I had my iPod in my ears. It wasn't until I saw movement out of the corner of my eye that I turned around. A car had pulled out of the traffic and into the bus lane. That was strange. Stranger still, they stopped right where I was walking. Nosiness got the better of me, and I looked into the car. I saw the passenger take out her phone, she put it up to the car window, and aimed it at me. The camera flashed, the photo was taken. And as quickly as it happened, they drove off. 

 

I have no idea what that photo was used for. And even more scary in the era of social media, I have no idea how far it went. I'm terrified to think of what the caption might have said, and even more so, what the comments underneath might say. I don't think I've ever felt more upset or felt more vulnerable than in that one moment. And if I had to question why that left me so shaken and upset, I think it was because the only thing they saw about me in that moment, was that I was different. But what do you do after something like that happens to you? Only try your best to carry on as normal, whatever that word means. 

 

So, I got on the bus surrounded by complete strangers. I remember having to physically hold in the emotion and the tears. I didn't want to be seen to be crying in public. I got to college and my friends, my lecturers, my peers and colleagues, they could see that I was visibly shaken and asked me what had happened. So, I told them. And understandably, they were shocked. They were hurt on my behalf. But one of them really kindly said, "You know, Sinéad, maybe they just really liked what you were wearing. [audience chuckles] You know, you have a great hat on today. It could be that." And that made me feel better for about 30 seconds. And then, I remembered that, you know, I'm almost 25. And for two decades I have lived my life of walking down a street, and somebody pointing at me or nudging their friend to tell them that I'm near, for staring at me, or worse, calling me names. And on all of those days, I wasn't wearing a hat.

 

And what upsets me most about those moments, is that they only see me as something different or unusual. They only see that I'm 3’5”, and that's all they think I am. They don't see that I'm a teacher, they don't see that I'm a broadcaster or currently a PhD student, they don't see that I have this insatiable interest in fashion. They just see me as something odd. And being this height can definitely have its challenges, particularly when you're female with an insatiable interest in fashion. [audience chuckles] Finding clothes or shoes to fit can often be quite difficult. I spent my whole life teetering on children's wear or women's wear, or trying to find shoes that are a size 11, that don't over sexualized children, [audience laughter] but also don't have butterflies or sequins either. [audience laughter] And it's a constant battle.

 

If you go into a shop, it's not just the clothes or the garments that can be difficult, but reaching them. And then, you pick something and you find something that you love and think, maybe this won't fit. I'll go to the changing room. And often, I'm not strong enough to pull the curtain closed and leave myself vulnerable to be seen. Or, perhaps there's a door on it and I can't reach the lock on the door. Or, when I was in the States, when I was about 13 years of age, I went to the dressing rooms. And theirs are built a little bit differently to ours. The door comes to my navel. That's it. I would better off changing in the middle of the shop. But things like that aren't just unique to my shopping experience.

 

I can remember a couple of weeks ago I was queuing for a cup of coffee somewhere that I frequented quite often. And although the counter is high, it wasn't high enough that the barista couldn't see me, and I was next in line. But the woman who was being served beside me, she was a good bit older than me. And the barista says to her, "Is that your little girl?" Everybody was incredibly awkward and silent. [audience chuckles] My natural reaction was to laugh. And the woman beside me said, "No, I think that's a woman." She was right, [audience laughter] I think.

 

But if I'm honest, I could have had a way out when I was 12 or 13. My life could have been very different. I could have chosen to partake in a surgery and an operation that would make me taller. It's called limb lengthening. And they ask you to consider it at that age before you get your growth spurt, before puberty happens, and they deliberately break the bone. And over the course of a year, there are pins in your leg and you must turn them a quarter of an inch each day, so that the bone deliberately separates further and further, and new marrow grows. You're confined to a wheelchair for a year, and the maximum height that you can achieve is approximately six inches. At 3’5”, that would make a big difference. 

 

But that's not something I had to decide today as a grown adult. But as just a kid, at 12 or 13, I went to the hospital. The doctors told me of the possible complications. I had a surgery date. They said, "Go home, and think about it." I didn't sleep for days. I talked about it with my parents and my siblings. Although they're really supportive, this was my decision to make. They gave me that freedom to do so. My parents and my family are a little bit different to most people's. My dad is a little person like I am. My mother is of average height. And I'm the eldest of five children. All of my brothers and sisters are tall like most of you. 

 

I imagine that informed my decision. Did I want to be like the rest of my brothers and sisters, or was I happy to be like my dad? I had to question myself, who was I getting this surgery for, and how would it help? After a long time, I realized that the person who I would be getting this surgery for was not me, but it was for everyone else. It was to make other people feel better about the way that I looked. And at 13, I made the decision that if people didn't like me, if people didn't want to be my friend or boyfriend or relationship or any sort, because I was this size. But they weren't the kind of people I wanted to associate with anyway. I decided at 13 that I didn't need the surgery to be me. Much like my dad and with the support of my family and friends, I would find a way out of things. I would find my way around the physical environment differently, perhaps to you, but I would do it.

 

I think that sense of confidence also spurred a naivety in me, something which I didn't realize until I entered the big bad world, which for me at 18 or 19, resulted in college. I was training to be a primary school teacher. I remember on my first few days a well-meaning friend said to me, "Sinéad, how are you going to do this? How are you going to work with the children? They're going to be bigger than you. They won't take you seriously." It wasn't until that moment that I realized she might have a point.

 

And to give you an example of something that happened, I was teaching six class boys who are 11 and 12, and approximately five-foot tall, some of them taller. I was in the middle of a maths lesson and my door was open. It was quite a sunny day, we needed the air. And there was another boy from a younger class standing outside my room. And from having a conversation with him, you might understand that he had challenges of his own. But one of the more boisterous individuals in my class stood up, pointed at him and said, "He's a weirdo." What do you do in that situation as a teacher? You have a huge curriculum. Do you keep going because you don't have time? But I felt that comment in my heart, in my head and in my stomach, and I didn't know what I was going to do, but I couldn't let it go. I said, "That's interesting. What does that word mean?" They said, "You know, weirdo." I said, "I don't."

 

And thinking of my feet, I asked, “You know, can we pull out the dictionary and let's have a look what the word means?" So, we did. And beside the word weirdo was abnormal. I couldn't believe it. I said, "What does the word normal even mean?" They said, "You know, the same as everything else." I said, "Well, boys, normal for me is being 3’5”, being female, not living in Dublin, and not wearing a uniform to school. So, if I'm normal, what does that make all of you?" [audience laughter] Interestingly, they didn't have that reaction. [audience chuckles]

 

There was a bit of thinking. And I said, "Okay, I won't push you. So, being normal for you is being male, being about 12 or 13, living in Dublin, and wearing a uniform to school. So, if you're all normal, what does that make me?” Personally, that's a really scary place to put yourself in. Professionally, as a teacher, it's terrifying. I had no idea what they would say next. I was hoping it wouldn't be a derogatory comment about my teaching. All of a sudden, I could remember my first year in college and my friend telling me, "How are you going to do this? How will the children treat you seriously?" I was panicking up at the top of the room. I'm not afraid to admit that I was vulnerable standing there.

 

And one of the quieter boys in the class put up his hand and he said, "Don't worry, Ms. Burke, you're not a weirdo. You're just different." Never in my life have I been more proud to be different than in that moment. Being a little person has shaped my experiences. It has moulded my personality. But it doesn't define me. And if I was to look back or put myself in the position again of the car stopping beside me, of the passenger taking my photo, and if, for whatever reason, I had a magic wand or some higher power, and I could choose to play any character in that story, I would pick me every single time. Guh rev mah agiv.