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.
Smart people will flee big cities before death, disease take over
Genuine love is always extreme — and it rarely makes any sense
As world descends into madness, back away and guard your heart
What is your measure of success? For me, meaning keeps changing
FRIDAY FUNNIES
If you start at love, it’s easier to get to hate than to indifference
What happens if a vampire bites your neck? Vampire mythology tells us the victim can become a vampire, too.
Throwaway culture can leave us looking for something that lasts
Few things scare humans like the prospect of living, dying alone
We’re all a little crazy; I worry about those who don’t know it