I still remember the first time my father called me “fat.”
I was 9 years old. He and I were standing in the driveway of our home in Meridian, Miss. In just a couple of months, we would move yet again — to Anniston, Ala., this time.
He poked his finger into my little chest as we stood there. I don’t remember his exact words, but I remember being very confused at his anger. Nobody had ever said a word about my weight before. I seemed to be about the same proportions as all my friends, although I was slightly taller and was built bigger than they were. But my father angrily told me I had to start running — so I wouldn’t be fat.
I felt very ashamed of myself.
Not only did this mean I must look terribly ugly to everybody, but I had obviously disappointed my father. More than anything else, I wanted his approval — and I couldn’t ever seem to do enough. Or be enough.
Existential crisis makes me ask: Can I ever trust you to love me?
Words on paper don’t give governments the right to rob us
Maybe we’re doomed to replay past until we finally get it right
We’re often oblivious to what matters in life until it’s too late
Faith is our only assurance that rebirth will come again in spring
Genuine love is always extreme — and it rarely makes any sense
What happens if a vampire bites your neck? Vampire mythology tells us the victim can become a vampire, too.
UK-based philosopher: Tax money paid to state is actually ‘charity’
Feds to trucking co.: You can’t fire the drunk, but you’re liable for him
‘Post-racial’ America? We’re nowhere close to that — and may never be