she had it coming...

Fat ass, Petunia, wide load, Jabba the Hut, fat pig, whale...the list goes on and on...but I wouldn't want to litter my first post further with every name I have ever been called.  My life as a fat girl is probably like that of any other fat girl: trying to get from point "A" to point "B" without being noticed....and the truth is, it really doesn't take much effort. Not only do people tend to look past, around or through me, I don't look them in the eye anyway...so I probably only have myself to blame. I would say that I notice it more with men, but then again I have had so many embarrassing, degrading, confidence-destroying, and heartbreaking moments in my life that revolved around men or boys that I am a little prejudiced when it comes to the opposite sex. 

The mean girls of the world have had their way with me, too, don't get me wrong...but not as much as one might think. It is my experience that girls and women tend to be harder on the ones who are just a little overweight. I was way outside of that range most of my life...quite the contrary, those mean girls didn't mind having me around. I was absolutely no competition and I was funny....being entertaining can come with perks when it comes to girls. I was okay with that...because I lived to make others laugh...even if it meant making fun of myself. Hell, that was my favorite subject! Still is, if I'm being honest.

I was within normal weight limits until first grade. I spent the summer between kindergarten and first grade with my grandparents and great grandmother (Memaw) while my parents were at work. I would count the hours until my mom or dad would come to pick me up and the only thing my Memaw could think to do was feed me. She was a hillbilly from West Virginia. She built her own house and knew how to use a shotgun...she shot a man once for trying to break into her house. Memaw could do anything....but she did nothing better than cook. She could make buttermilk biscuits and fried chicken in her sleep...and feed them to me, she would. The fat laden assault was occasionally interrupted by my Papa's contribution of any various confections he could get his hands on. I would ask for M&Ms, he would bring me a one pound bag. Feeding me was his pleasure.

I can't say for sure, but this is when I believe my love affair with food began. It filled the void when I was lonely and comforted me when I was down. It was delicious, glorious and satisfying...but it came with a price. I began packing on the weight that summer, and by my first grade picture, it was obvious the damage was done. 

I won't pretend that I didn't have a family history of morbid obesity. My grandmother was five feet tall and about 320 pounds at her highest weight. She had one of the early versions of gastric bypass that failed miserably due to vitamin deficiencies and liver failure. She had to reverse the procedure, and she gained all of the weight back and then some. It didn't hold her back any...she put herself through nursing school and traveled the world on her own after my grandfather died. I always admired her chutzpah. She referred to herself as the "BBB" (big beautiful blonde) and was always the center of attention. She was amazing....she was also my polar opposite.

I was daddy's little girl...My dad was everything to me growing up. He loved me in a way that every little girl should be loved by their dad. We argued like siblings, but he was always my shoulder to cry on. He was hilarious, opinionated, affable, and fat. Really, really fat. His sense of humor was sometimes cutting, but mostly self-deprecating. He had more friends than most people deserve....but he was fat and he let his weight hold him back. I was daddy's girl, and the apple didn't fall far from the tree.

Kindergarten

Second Grade

Grandmother (Gammy, aka the BBB) and Great Grandmother (Memaw)