Fat

Fat

It is often spoken of like it is the worst possible fate for a human.  Worse than cancer. 

Fat

The tone with which people even say the word makes you think it is shameful and disgusting.

I suppose it is.

Fat

People have been known to say, to me, “I don’t want to get fat!”  And they use that tone.

Do you know that fat people are harder on themselves than anyone else could ever be?

Yes, I’m fat.

I don’t have a thyroid condition.  I have no other possible medical excuse.

I’m fat.

Because I have had a life full of bad habits.

Because I love sugar.

Because I have a sedentary job.

Because I have crappy genetics.

Because after baby number three, I just didn’t have it in me to fight it anymore.

Because, dammit, I like to eat.  And even as temporary as it is, eating makes me happy. It gives me pleasure.

But you know what? It turns out happiness is just as temporary.  

And so I will eat.  And enjoy it.  And be miserable.  And hate myself.  But I will still eat. 

On the radio this morning the announcers were asking for our earliest memory. I got to thinking about when I was three or four years old and went to Joanne’s house with my brother.  He was all of five or six and was going to play with Joanne’s brother,  so I tagged along. 

When he was ready to go, I opted to stay behind and play with Joanne. 

Keep in mind, if I’m four at this point, it is just barely.  I may have still been three.

When it was time for me to go, Joanne’s mom asked if I know my way home and of course I said yes.

I may have mentioned that I was incredibly young, but you should know that I was also new to the area and that it was at least a ten block walk from their door to mine.

Ten blocks means nothing, however, when you go the wrong direction right from the get-go.

So, no.  NO!  I’m three and 10 blocks from home.  NO I DON’T KNOW MY WAY HOME!

To this day, it amazes me that anyone could look at a preschooler and think that they are okay to venture out in the world all alone.  

I remember wandering, crying, down busy 50^th street, having no idea where I was. 

I remember a car pulling over and a nice lady asking if I was lost. 

I remember sitting on her lap in the front seat while they drove away.

And they took me to Woolco.

Woolco. 

Yes. Woolco.

While this wonderful family was bringing me to the local department store, (my American friends could compare this to a Walmart) my mom, dad and two brothers are riding bikes around the neighbourhood looking for me.  My mom is yelling at my brother, who at five years old, was to be responsible for me.  They decided ‘that’s it!  We’re checking Woolco and then we’re going to the police station!’

Yep.  Woolco.  I’m not kidding.

They walked in and there I was, sitting at customer service, eating licorice.