We went home this weekend — kind of a pre-Easter visit, since I’ve signed untitledson up for a fancy, reservation-only Easter egg hunt next weekend. Last year, we took him to the free citywide Easter egg hunt, and he got railroaded by rabid four and five-year olds who knew their Easter shizzle and had come with their game faces on. If I remember correctly, the morning ended with untitledson pacing around a nearby compost pile, where he saw some broken egg shells. Poor thing kept thinking he’d finally found an egg. This year will be different, even if momma has to lay down a fee to make it so. But I digress.
untitledmother said my hometown (where she and untitledmother-in-law both still live) was sponsoring an Easter egg hunt uptown in the Youth Center. It’s a town of about 2,000 people, and I spent many an aimless night at this same Youth Center, whiling away Fridays and Saturdays, sucking on Blow Pops until I was old enough to drive. At that point, I had commenced to sucking down Purple Passion and Strawberry Hill, but again, I digress.
And so we hustled down to the Youth Center bright and early Saturday morning, only to find the place in the exact same condition as I left it almost 20 years ago. As I walked through the door, I felt small and self-conscious, like my underwear might be billowing over the waistband in my jeans and my zits were crowning through my make-up. This place that I once thought was so cool was now so pathetic — beat-down naugahyde furniture, a few tables and chairs, cement-block walls. The faint smell of old hot dogs and must hung in the air.
I saw some familiar faces. People I had gone to high school with. I’m always gun shy of running into these people, cause as soon as I leave the room, I imagine they’re saying, “Oh my god. Has SHE let herself go or what?” “I bet she weighs 100 pounds more than she did in high school. Maybe more.” I’ve changed so much since high school — in ways they’ll never see. And them seeing me fat — they’re going to think they know me. And that I will not tolerate.
And so more often that not, I simply choose to avoid these situations. But on Saturday, I willingly went to the Youth Center, because my desire to see untitledson in the thick of the hunt, tracking down stale jelly beans and temporary tattoos like the sugar bloodhound that he is outweighed my issues.
Not surprisingly, I ran into an old classmate. Someone who hadn’t gained 100-plus pounds since high school. Back in the day, she was quite the bitch. But man, she certainly had mellowed. I said hi to her and her new husband (second husband), and I met her kids. As we exchanged small talk, I could feel that she didn’t care about what I looked like. It seemed she was more interested in just seeing a familiar face.
For the longest time, I thought no one would be able to get past the fat. It was the reason I never attended my high school reunions. But here was someone who didn’t seem to care, who perhaps was more self-conscious about the fact that she was under age 35 and already on husband number two (which, in my book, is nothing to feel bad about). But I guess we all have our demons. Some of us wear them under our plus-size jeans, others on their ring finger, and still others in the darkest corners of their tattered hearts. The exchange lasted all of two minutes, but it was long enough for me to see that it’s not always about me. It made me feel like perhaps it’s time to get past my shit.
WOW! You caused me to have an enormous flashback to the dreaded insecure, stringy haired days of adolesence. Why is it that I now am a successful business owner, married for 25 years, 3 great kids that have so far managed to stay out of trouble, etc, etc….why is it that I still can see “Pam”, “Judy”, “Brenda” and the host of other ones sitting at the lunch table looking down their noses at me? I guess the better question would be why does it STILL bother me?
Im going to have to agree here……why is it that those few kids from our childhood can STILL dictate how we feel about ourselves?
The one thing I have found is that as insecure as they were as teens…..as mean and hurtful as they were…..they had issues just like I did. I just wore mine on the outside.
I have run into a few…and thats a very small few who are happy as adults. I, on the other hand, Im the happiest I have ever been.
I am heavier, louder and stronger and couldnt feel better….
Poetic justice??
I’m with ya sista, that shit is HARD to do. I’ve actually heard men say that if a woman is confident, that is a turn-on in and of itself.
I’m fat, have always been fat but I don’t FEEL fat and THAT makes a difference in how people perceive me.
I’m confident about myself, my body and most importantly - my mind. I’ve overheard people describe me with phrases like “the smiley girl”, “the chubby girl with kind green eyes”, “the nice rotund woman”. This is a battle won. Because I have managed to impress them with other things besides my excessive weight.
I have never allowed my extra weight to weigh me down (psychologically) and cause problems with my relationships with other people. Why? Because it ISN’T the main thought in my mind. Life is too short (if you’re obese, even shorter) to waste it on what other people are thinking or saying behind my back. Those who cannot see behind the fat are near-sighted and will either be won over by my personality or just go merrily along on their ignorant paths. Those who are open-minded and want to know more about the PERSON behind the fat are worthy of my time and sentiments.
Unfortunately, ALL of society discriminates against fat people and fat people fall for it every time. We feel guilty because of our self-induced fat, whereas discrimination against blacks and gays is different, it’s political, because they didn’t EAT their way to blackness or gayness. Nope. According to society fat people are contemptuous because they are incapable of properly handling their bodies. Never mind the medical, psychological and hereditary issues.
A good sense of humor helps and auto-sarcasm catches the ill-mannered off guard and robs them of their potential wisecracks about “fat people”. I’m all for people with a healthy bodyline. More power to you. And if a fat person feels robbed of a good life because of their weight, fine, you know the drill. Diet and exercise. Otherwise, don’t let the fat stand as an excuse not to enjoy life. You are alive, size 6 or 26 matters not, make the most of your time here.
Well put, flubberwinkle. I am mentally and physically trying to work my shizz out. Isn’t always easy. Actually, it’s never easy. I guess I’m a work in progress. I think it all goes back to me reaching for a second helping of tater tot casserole when I was, oh, 8, and one of my parents said, “Do you really need that?” From there on out, food and guilt have been synonymous. Just this weekend, I heard untitledmother congratulate my niece for finishing her plate. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. It could take a lifetime to undue all the unhealthy food attitudes that were brandished into me as a child.