I have always been fat, even when I have been physically thin (like now) I am still the fat kid. My life as a fat boy began in the fifth grade. The new school that I had moved to the year before had a lovely tradition of weigh-in day. The school nurse wheeled the white scale into our classroom; we lined up to be measured and weighed. After sliding the scale to balance the weight, she would call out each weight across the room to the teacher who was recording it, for Lord only knows what reason: just another piece of data for the mysterious permanent record card? When she came to me she called out “Ninety pounds.” In that moment I became the fattest boy in our class. I never even knew I was fat before. The next heaviest boy weighed 78 pounds. How pathetic is it that I still remember both of those numbers 40 years later? There was one girl who was fatter still (106 pounds), but that was so awful for her that she moved away after that year and we never saw her again.
My best friend at the time was named Lance. I remember walking out of school that day and Lance looked at me incredulously, and also disdainfully, and said “I can’t believe you weigh 90 pounds!” And somehow, we were never as close again after that. I don’t know what ever happened to Lance. I hope he is fat and happy somewhere and surrounded by friends who don’t care how much he weighs. Because I’ve spent most of my life obsessing about my weight and allowing it to deny me life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
One of the reasons that I am starting this blog is because I believe that most of us end up carrying around baggage that we picked up as kids, most likely between fifth grade and eighth grade. What is yours? In what ways did we let our peers define us during those formative, wonderfully awful years?
One of the reasons that I am starting this blog is because I believe that most of us end up carrying around baggage that we picked up as kids, most likely between fifth grade and eighth grade. What is yours? In what ways did we let our peers define us during those formative, wonderfully awful years?
I went on to have a very successful high school career. I made friends! I escorted the homecoming queen! (a happy little nugget that I still carry around with me and try to interject into conversations and job interviews whenever I can.) I went to college, I got my PhD. Eventually I became a dad - to the four best kids ever. - rhe greatest thing that can happen to any man. I had (until quite recently) a successful and satisfying career. And yet somewhere, deep inside me, I think I am still standing on that scale, watching the nurse slide the bar weight clear up to the end. What's up with that? Whenever that pudgy little boy surfaces, I typically try to beat him back into my subconscious by conjuring up the counter memory of Linda, the Marilyn Monroe of Wilmington Area High School, asking me to escort her to homecoming, and usually that works, for awhile, until the next moment of self doubt occurs.
Does that kind of thing happen to the rest of the world? Or is it only me? There's a song that fascinates called "The Kid Inside" from the musical Is There Life After High School? Check it out. I think I am ready to get rid of this baggage and I am going to drag you along on this journey. For one thing, there are far worse things in life than being a little overweight. For example, never knowing the rapturous, exquisite pleasure of consuming an entire batch of warm, slightly underbaked chocolate chip cookies. Here....have one Lance!
