Soapbox: Fat Children

I was a fat kid.

Recently, I peeped old photos of me when I was about six or seven and I noticed that I was real husky. However, upon further inspection, I saw that I was not a sloppy fat kid, but a solid fat kid. I was in a situation where mom coulda (and don't think she didn't try) withheld a Ho-Ho or two. In fact, the whole family remembers (and resents) the low sodium diet she had enforced that fateful summer back in the 80's.

I was just one of those children who ate a parent out of house and home, but apparently worked some of the stuff off. Lil' Debbie's could not stay in the cabinet without my having consumed every last cake; much to my sister's dismay. However, I was also a child that played a lot outside. I rode my bike in the tiny thatch of driveway allowed me like a hamster in a wheel. I loved jumping rope (for real, not fake). And I nearly tumbled my parent's livingroom to the basement with my "dancing" (ask mom about the Lassie statue).

Fast forward to the new millenia, I was walking around the store the other day and was just freaking horrified by the site of this little girl. She couldn't have been more than 8 years old, but she looked bloated and round like when Violet in the 70's classic Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory turned into a blueberry. Her lil' belly was poking out the bottom of her stretched out pink shirt, her face was tired and haggard, and her feet - ugh - she was killing a pair of ballet slippers. I wasn't sure where her ankle ended and her thigh began. Dear God, she had a thankle!!! She's too young to carry all that. It made me so scared for her. Then I saw her brother and was equally scared. WHY!?!?!?

What has happened to the food we are giving our children? Something is wrong out there. Seriously! I peeped old school class photos of friends and myself and was hard pressed to find that same lil girl and her brother in the photos of my classmates. In the last couple of years, fat kids have started to look gross. It ain't baby fat no mo', it's grown folk fat strapped on a lil' body. As I try to work on myself and rebuild my own ruins, I can't help thinking, how do I make sure this doesn't happen to my Ockie Diddles?

People, I actually have nightmares about this stuff. My husband and I are both children of fat. Big Man used to be called Fat Pat as a child. I held the honored distinction of Miss Piggy through elementary and junior high. Sure, I'm getting control of myself, now, but I'm a recovering fat kid, who is struggling to make sure her son doesn't fall victim to the same addiction. It is not encouraging to see the younger generation surpass our fat numbers.

Beat me in intelligence. Show me up on the basketball or football field. Learn the newest gadget. But, for God sakes, don't beat our fat stats.

I was actually tempted to ask the kids' mom about it. But fear of a sound thrashing and a "how dare you point that out" kept my mouth shut. But mothers out there with this problem, what do you do? How do you deal with this? Do your children come home crying from being teased? Do you argue with the children about what they're eating? Do you know what their school gives them access to? Do you feed their habits at home? How do you fight this battle without feeling like a horrible person? Do you blame yourself? I got questions and I'm scared of the answers.

Nowadays, life is not like 1985. My mom would come back from work, cook us dinner, let us play outside (cause Nintendo was not in the house yet), and get us ready for bed by 8:30pm. Now, a "normal" house looks like mom buying some KFC, hours of XBOX or Wii, and bedtime is like whenever. I know this, because there are some days I live like this. Where the eph did we go wrong? How do we get on track again?

I remember when my mom saw that my weight had gotten out of control. She had placed the entire family on a diet, not just me. She made it a family problem. She worked her hardest to get my weight down considerably, because she had felt responsible for putting me there and didn't want me to suffer for it. But she also let me know that I had a fair share of the blame as well. She stopped buying snacks or actually took to hiding them from me. Folks, my mom went as far as locking the freezer door so I could not get ice cream without her permission. Was I mad? Yeah, I was. Do I appreciate her efforts? Yes I do. Now.s

Sometimes, I wish parents would take the Ulda route with their fat kids. Lock up your fridge. Educate your children about fruits and veggies. Don't make them out to be bad things. I commended a woman on the train who was feeding her 8 month old peas like potato chips. I try to do that with Diddles and cucumbers. Some days I win, some days I loose, but I at least try. I almost disgusted when I see a hefty lad or lass mowing on a chocolate Hostess cake like it's a scene out the Cantina in Stars Wars. (I don't have to say which character their playing. You can guess.)

All I guess I'm saying is don't feel bad about taking away horrible snacks. Doritos are not a part of the food pyramid. There is a big difference between Fruit Juice and Fruit Drink (see Dave Chappelle). Scare your children. It's embarrassing to admit, but I have heard rumors that family members have told they're children, "Don't eat too much or you'll be fat like Cristy..." Yoswers! Now, I don't know if that is clearly a deterrent, but I do know that several close family members, who may or may not have received said advice, are not as "voluptuous" as myself.

If you are offended by what I am saying, good. Maybe it'll get you to think. Our future is gonna be riding a motorized scooter to school because they're too fat to walk a block. Save our kids! I'm begging you. Please. Pray for me, y'all.

Runnin'... Runnin'! And I'm not tired yet!

I was running late for the train this morning. After a restless and sleepless night, I had kept hitting the snooze like it was a buzzing fly. Bolting out of bed, I tried to hurry through the "beauty" routine. By the time I had left the house it was 7:10am and I needed to get money at the ATM and get coffee to make change to park. Mind you, my train was at 7:22am and it takes a minute to get there. That's when I decided to go to the next station, hoping to out run the train.

Lord knows, I was sweating worse than an alcoholic in a bar at happy hour. After fighting through a weird flow of traffic, I finally arrived at the station. As I parked my car, I was dreading having to scurry. Prior to working out, I had never been able to run fast enough to make the train. In fact, there had been a couple of times where I had plumb given up before even making the effort. It was rough. It was sad. It was heartbreaking.

Today, however, I had no time to dwell on the past. I had to get on that train. Grabbing my bag and my coffee, I quickly locked my door and proceeded to book it down the row of cars. My steps were even as was my breathing. Nothing felt tight or hampered. All I kept thinking was make this train, make this train. I dumped my dollars into the slot and proceeded to run across the street to the set of stairs that so often foiled me. Rounding the corner and up the ramp, I made it onto the train with seconds to spare.

That's when I took stock of a few things.

Each step I had taken was a run. I didn't drag behind. The breathing I was doing was neither a huff or a puff, it was even. My chest didn't heave nor did my heartbeat slam into my breastbone as it had done many times before. To sum it up, people, I wasn't dying like I had before. It was daunting not to feel that way. It was a scary relief knowing that I could actually run and not feel like I was going to drop. Wow.

It is moments like these that I am so thankful for getting off my ass to rebuild myself. They seem insignificant to so many in the world, but it is big for me. Pray for me, y'all.