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.
Galt’s Gulch? I can live without that, but I need my own ‘Akston’s diner’
Words on paper don’t give governments the right to rob us
Egypt trying to prove democracy means tyranny of the majority
Ignorant economic reporting doesn’t help an equally ignorant public
Girl to mom after parents fight: ‘Mom, is this what love will be?’
FRIDAY FUNNIES
What happens if a vampire bites your neck? Vampire mythology tells us the victim can become a vampire, too.
The so-called ‘social contract’ just means ‘the rest of us own you’
Death of classmate from past feels like a reminder to change my life
Why do people who say they love each other cause mutual harm?