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For adults, height poses a paradoxical problem. The "mature" approach to this problem is to deny that it exists. Since the relative length of bodies should make no difference in the way people interact, therefore it doesn't. No one really believes this, of course. We're constantly making assessments of each other based on height alone. ("Well, that's the way little guys are." "She's a big woman and can take care of herself." "Little and feisty." "Big and strong.")

At some level we're all aware of each other's height -- particularly when we must look way up or down to make eye contact. Such consciousness of relative size comes out in odd ways, many quite innocent. When a tall man sweeps a small woman off her feet in warm embrace, for example -- he may not consider that a statement about who's bigger but she does (ask any little woman). When a smaller person backs off from a taller person, this could simply mean that the taller person doesn't use Dial. More likely it means that the shorter party is trying to make eye contact without developing a stiff neck. For the same reason, tall people tend to spend a lot of time seated when they're with smaller companions.

Our daily lives are made up of so many such micro height adjustments that we're normally not even aware they're taking place. Yet the life of each one of us is channeled into paths determined by the reactions of other people to our height and our own reaction to theirs.

Research has shown, for example, that the relative length of bodies can dictate choice of friends: like heights tend to cluster. When it comes to picking a marriage partner, height has been found near the top of the list of traits both parties try to match. The physical problems to which we're vulnerable vary with our body size, as do the sports we chose to play, the candidates for whom we vote -- even the work we do and salary we're paid. Some jobs are considered more suited to smalls (astronaut, religious leader), others to talls (corporate vice-president, Miss America). Personnel officers in a number of fields so clearly prefer taller job applicants that they're willing to pay them a premium.

As the result of such subtle and not-so-subtle responses to our height, we're each a product of the feet and inches we've been granted. How we feel about ourselves, how we deal with others, and how we are dealt with all depend in some measure on how tall we are.

This is not true just of talls and smalls. A secretary of 5'3" once complained to me that her average height resulted in very average treatment. "A tall woman walks in," the secretary explained, "and people say, 'Oh, she's nice and tall.' A short woman walks in and they go, 'Oh, she's nice and petite.' A five-three woman walks in and they just go, 'She's nice.' You're nothing in particular."

During interviews conducted for this book I've heard in endless variety the ways in which people feel their lives have been influenced by their height. For actor Joel Grey, being short meant being limited to parts as a sidekick, a pal, or as Billy the Kid on TV's "Maverick" until relatively late in his career. The small size of race driver Mario Andretti made it difficult for him to get cars to race and spurred his determination to "show" taller nemeses. Julia Child found that being 6'2" kept her from being able to join the WACs during World War II. Joan Rivers, a foot shorter, found that height meant she "got to be the 'girl'" when practicing with other girls during dancing class.

For teacher Sarah Wellen, being 4'11" (Mrs. Wellen did not seem that small when teaching me two decades ago) made her feel the need for 4-inch heels to stay on top of things in the classroom. The middle school teacher never realized how essential this boost was, she wrote me, until "One day I planned an afternoon softball game for my 8th graders, so I brought my sneakers to change into. I dismissed my class and sent them to the ballfield to await me while I changed and while I disciplined a boy whom I kept after. As I changed shoes behind the desk, I talked seriously and intensively and then stood up next to the boy. He very quickly put me in my place by looking down at me (now that I had lost my 4-inch heels) and saying as he looked at the top of my head, 'Yes Mrs. Wellen. Yes, Mrs. Wellen.' My authority had vanished with the 4-inch heels!"

At the spectrum's other end, a 6' 8" museum employee described what it was like to work for a 5-foot boss. "He was so uptight about my height,"said this man, "that I began coming into his office slouched and would immediately go down to my knees and then explain the new project to him. This worked beautifully; he relaxed and we soon had a fine rapport and I was promoted after a very short time. Oddly, I didn't feel demeaned by this behavior on my part. It was his problem, and I felt badly for him and just tried to help. And it worked out for us both."

Obviously, the lives of those at the extremes of the height continuum are going to be colored by such dramatic episodes more often than the lives of those closer to the middle. But even from an average perspective, one's height can shape one's outlook. "I am 17 1/4 hands high," wrote an editor, "5' 9" to you. You can't get any more average than that. My average height seems to have heightened a trait of mine. You see, people are either doers or watchers. Tall men and short men are doers. I'm a watcher. For many years I have been half-convinced that I am invisible, a bemused watcher of the doers. When a person, ten years later, says he remembers me, I don't believe him. He couldn't because I was invisible."

As such reports suggest, to some degree we're all a product of height-related feelings -- our own and others'. In response to such feelings, we commonly develop a "style" suited to our size.