Here's what it was like to be me when I was a teenager: Tall, slim, with honey-blond hair, I felt like the "big lummox" my mother called me when she was angry. I started to hunch over when I reached my full adult height at 14. I was way taller than any boys my age, and it wasn't considered an asset. The tallest girl in my ballroom-dancing class (what sadist signed me up for that?), I was once selected—me in my gargantuan saddle shoes—to dance with the shortest boy in the class—just to prove that it could be done, that size didn't matter. It did matter, and we proved it. As I walked home from the library with my nose in a book, men driving by shouted sexual insults at me. I didn't know what the insults meant, but I knew they were dirty—and not complimentary.
So how on earth would I know how to parent someone like C?