My first encounter with cliffhangers was the 1960s “Batman” TV show. It aired Wednesday and Thursday nights, and the Wednesday night episode ended with something like Mr. Freeze about to to transform the dynamic duo into Frosty Freezies or Batman forced to marry Marsha, the queen of diamonds. A mysterious narrator always told me to tune in tomorrow: “Same Bat Time!” Same bat channel! The worst is yet to come!”

Is it any wonder that I can’t concentrate on Sister Mary Magdalene’s division tests on Thursday morning? It’s for this reason that I’ve always hated cliffhangers, and this column has been devoid of them for many years.

But then, in December, I informed my beloved readers that on January 1, we would be holding the annual boy count to find out if my sons were indeed still my “little” angels.

Our bathroom door jamb in Bedlam Blue Bungalow in Outer, Outer, Outer, Outer Excelsior features some 32 slash marks, each marking the heights of our sons Zane and Aidan on New Years Day every year. There was a cut for Dad (that’s me), and both boys had been at it until Zane passed right by in 2019.

Last year, Aidan was closing the gap. In fact, I let him train to be taller than me. I let him reach the top shelf to get the chocolate chips for baking. I let him put the Christmas cards on the picture rail.

Suspenseful music… Will I officially become the smallest Fisher-Paulson?

But then you had to provide the answers to the 6th annual post-Christmas quiz. And sadly, last week’s column was derailed because our beloved dog Buddyboy passed away.

So here is finally the Talling of the Boys, the sequel. Installment 17. The moment of truth (or as close to the truth as possible in this column).

Breaking with tradition, we traveled to Dillon Beach with the Sasbs to welcome the New Year. But on January 2, we measured. Zane was 7 inches taller than me. Then came Aidan. His sharp was correct below the sharp for dad, the one who has been a reference for 17 years.

No one in the Fisher-Paulson family loses gracefully. “I want a recount!” Aidan asked.

“Dad (my husband Brian) has already measured you,” I insisted.

“No,” he replied, “I want you to be measured again.

I took off my shoes. Brian pulled out the ruler and – sigh – there was the truth of 2022: a mark ¾ inch shorter than the mark 17 years ago.

That explains why Zane now uses my head as an armrest.

I used to be as tall as Luke Skywalker, Martin Luther King Jr. and Albert Einstein: 5 feet 7 inches. I could have despised Napoleon Bonaparte (5ft 6in) and Harry Houdini (5ft 4in), and I’m still much taller than Frodo Baggins. Fictitious, but still just 3ft 6in.

And lest you ask, my husband, even minus the toe he lost in July, is still an inch bigger.

My new size is humiliating. But as I told my boys, although “I may no longer be a person to look up to, I will never be a person to despise.”

And there are a few advantages. I have less far to fall when I stumble. I have a lot more leg room on the plane. I will no longer outgrow my clothes (well, at least vertically.)

Thus, the cliffhanger is resolved. (Hmmm…maybe if, like Pauline, I hung from a cliff, I could get taller?) The Talling of the Boys is officially over. From now on, it will be the Taling of Men.

Cliffhanger, part 2: It turns out Michael Lazarus of Tiburon has the rare ability to guess how my brain works. He got all the answers in the 6th Annual Boxing Day Quiz. As such, he is now the proud owner of a signed copy of my book “How We Keep Spinning…!” Many thanks to the very many people who sent many answers, some of them better than mine!

Kevin Fisher-Paulson’s column appears on Wednesday in Agenda. Email: [email protected]