“You can tell who the fatties will be by how long they linger over their Cheetos,” said Edna to no one in particular. I paused; my hand holding a Cheeto en route to my mouth hovered in mid air.
“But, they’re only 3 years old,” I protested.
Edna huffed and the other nursery workers played Play-Doh in silence. This is ridiculous, I thought, looking at the last three children sitting with me at the table. Anna, was a quiet cherub of a girl, who often spent the nursery time in a chair looking at a book or cautiously watching the raucous play of the others. Admittedly, this worried me. Any three year-old who whiled away an hour holding her little chin in her chubby hands contemplating the world before her with a composed gravity, that at 23 I still hadn’t been able to contain, sent off serial killer warnings in my head. But Anna was gentle. If a doll was carelessly tossed aside or shoved in the plastic Fisher-Price oven, Anna would leave her chair, pick up the doll, and sit it next to her chair. Anna could be a “fattie” in the future, I guess. Sam was licking Cheeto residue off his napkin and then frantically pointing to the pieces of napkin on his tongue lisping, “Helwp! Hewlp!”
“You’re on your own buddy,” I told him. He frowned and wiped his tongue with his shirt and repeated the process. Sam’s prospects for a future of obesity were slim, considering that if he made a habit out of eating paper, his colon would clean him out.
Sidney and I were dueling with Cheetos, a game that Edna glowered at with a passive-aggressive disapproval that only a true Midwesterner can muster. This rage is different from the huffing and puffing of a slighted Southerner, the verbal impaling of a Yankee or the condescending “What-Evur” head flip and eye-roll combination from the West Coast. This is a kind of subtle unspoken anger that fills the room and freezes everything in its grasp, without a glare, without a huff or a puff, without a word ever being spoken. It’s just all of a sudden there, and it’s a Berlin wall of importance that no great communicator can ever bring down. I was used to it. So I continued to duel Sidney, a vibrant little blonde, who had the ability to bounce off of and around any natural or man-made material. Sidney was no “fattie.” The other thirteen had run off to throw blocks at one another and knock over towers clearly not built to code. To me they were all the same, tiny little bundles of sass who frequently demanded to know why I didn’t have any kids with pluck and brashness that outdid both my mother and my mother-in-law. (“What, don’t you know how to make ‘em?” my mother demanded one Christmas.)
Article comments
1 - elvira Black
Lyz:
Killer post! Superb! You hit all the weight/guilt/judgment/self-esteem issues absolutely dead on. (Even if I do hate you for being a (gulp) size 4 )--lol...
2 - Lyz
Thanks, for the nice comment! Don't worry, give me a year and I'll be up to "normal" because I'm still drinking real coke. I'll get mine, just you wait.
3 - swingingpuss
Insightful post Lyz, having been skinny and then 'fat' because of two pregnancies I know exactly what you are talking about.
But I have come to terms with my body. Its all about eating right, excercising and enjoying life. If that means I will remain overweight or what they call plump so be it.
Till the time my health chart remains green I'm gonna go and enjoy an occassional midnight ice cream or a cream soda.
And, hey if you want to loose weight go ahead don't let anyone talk you out of it.
Its just that by losing weight you are messing with their perception of you and thereby moving them away from their comfort zones.
Its all about being happy at the end of the day.
Oh! and I'm against all kinds of junk foods for kids and I hardly have any at home.
4 - Mary K. Williams
Swingingpuss says:
"Its just that by losing weight you are messing with their perception of you and thereby moving them away from their comfort zones"
Exactly! I love this. And Lyz, this was a good post.
I know I need to eat healthier, and make the exercise routine more -- routine
For me it's such a freaky paradox. I know losing weight will be easier on my joints, and at times I feel my body betraying me, part of being 40something I guess. Yet with my 7+ years in martial arts training - I have more confidence in the things my body can do, than I ever did when I weighed less. Reflexes, balance and power are qualities I can depend on now.
I also suppose being more rounded blackbelt could be a role model for other women
5 - Lyz
It really is about fear of being fat or being skinny. Our weight defines who we are and losing pounds or gaining pounds is equivalent to losing ourselves. It both makes sense and is sad all at the same time.
6 - Victor Plenty
You've tackled a bitter divide with sweet-and-sour writing. We'd all be better off if more of the people who obsess over this issue would obsess with your compassion and insight.
7 - Lyz
Victor, thank you!
8 - TheRedDuke
I recommend Mireille Guiliano's *French Women Don't Get Fat*. I don't consider McDonald's to be "real" food. In fact, I see greater similarities between our American diet and that of battery chickens. Our concern shouldn't be with our weight but with the quality and taste of our food. And refusing to consume for consumption's sake.
9 - Lyz
I agree! Food should be enjoyed not abhorred. That would be a start at fixing America's problem. We view food as an inconvienence, the awful thing that makes us fat or as a comfort mechanism, never as something to be enjoyed.
10 - Scott Butki
Great job. Very nice writing.
11 - Lyz
Thank you very much.
12 - KYS
Awesome post! Two of your many excellent points really rang true to me:
I can relate completely to the competition that arises on those cardio machines in the gym. If it's slow and I'm alone I don't run as hard or fast. Put one woman in the room with me and the game is ON (especially if she's skinnier than I am!).
I also know the feeling of obsessing about other women's bodies- how far those clavicles protrude is some measure of beauty. ODD!
Thanks for this post!
13 - Lyz
No, thank you :)
I too am uber competitive. There is more tension in our house when we play scrabble than there was during the entire cold war.