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.
It’s hard to take a scary chance, but success can be breathtaking
In a culture that worships youth, we’re scared to look in a mirror
How many of these Christmas myths did you assume were from the Bible?
Christmas tree ‘promotion fee’ is just another hidden tax on consumers
Do political labels make things clear or just confuse everyone?
My pride and insecurity make it difficult for me to live in humility
What happens if a vampire bites your neck? Vampire mythology tells us the victim can become a vampire, too.
Watching a friend’s happy family makes me feel pangs of jealousy
FRIDAY FUNNIES
That huge fed debt increase? They’ve already used 60 percent of it