He was a defensive back, and as such, he was big...very big. He was encouraged to pack on the pounds and he did so eagerly. Dad lived out his glory years in high school. He lettered in football and was one of the stars of the local high school football team. He was extremely active during this time, which served him well. He didn't hit a bump in the road until my grandfather had a massive heart attack, which curtailed his plans to go on to play football in college. Instead he found himself going to a nearby community college and working to help support his family. This is when his voracious appetite, coupled with inactivity, began to wreak havoc on his body. Shortly after he was married, his weight began to skyrocket.
My mother was tall, thin, and stunning. She had an eye for style and a body that was made for it. She was a naturalized citizen from Colombia and worked hard to meld into an area that was extremely segregated. She had many struggles, but she was determined to make a better life for herself. She was popular in school, took etiquette classes, and participated in beauty pageants. She was a high achiever and let nothing stand in her way.
I always knew my mom was pretty. My friends and their parents would tell me so. I was aware that her beauty set her apart from many of the other mothers. She loved me fiercely, but I never felt I could live up to her standards. Mind you, these were ideals that I made up for myself. I have little doubt that the emotional pain I endured as an overweight child was excruciating for her to watch. That said, I often interpreted her encouragement to eat a healthy diet as criticism and her enthusiasm for fitness as nagging. Until I became a mother, I never understood that it was actually out of care and concern for my well-being. I thought she was embarrassed of me, because I would never be as beautiful or as thin as she was. It breaks me up, just thinking about it. This dichotomy contributed to a lot of conflict between my mom and me growing up...and in retrospect, it is heartbreaking to think about.
It seemed a painful juxtaposition. Though I loved my parents equally, the parent that I longed to be like I could not identify with, and the parent I identified with most I was embarrassed to be seen with. It absolutely killed me that I was embarrassed to be seen with my dad. All of my friends adored him, and he was an incredible father...and yet I would cringe when he would pick me up from school. I was afraid the mean kids would see him and talk about how I was fat just like him. I was always so excited when my mom would come to school because I somehow felt it made me more acceptable...as if everyone would see my gorgeous, svelte mother and place me in a new category. But sadly, it never worked...as soon as she left they would just tell me how pretty she was....and again, all of the insecurities would come bubbling to the surface....and nothing made me feel better...except maybe burying my face into a cheeseburger. But that only lasted a minute...three, tops.
Me and my beautiful Mom...I was 8 years old
first communion, age 8
Christy, your fat was my poor. I remember growing up in Vero and I was really insecure about how poor I was. Having never known my Dad, I used to fantasize that my Dad was super rich and, perhaps he would die and leave me a large sum of money in his will. On Sundays, I would look at the real estate section of the Press Journal because I really wanted a house in the Moorings.
ReplyDeleteI used to be embarrassed to be seen in my Mom's 1978 Dodge Aspen, which I was blessed to have when she gave it to me when I turned 16. Driving sure beat riding my 10 speed across the Old Barber Bridge to my room service/busser job at the Holiday Inn Oceanside. Then, of course, I thought it would be cool to act like I had a chip on my shoulder and treat those at school who won the conception lotto with contempt, even though it was not their fault that they were blessed with a wealthy family, just like it wasn't my fault that I was not.
But, I've learned that we all had issues growing up whether it be financial, looks, mental, vanity, or cruelty. And, those adversities have resulted in good for my life. I learned that those who are wealthy don't have to hang around jerks who resent them, so I learned to be nice. And, when I changed my attitude, I realized that it was easier for them to like me and for me to appeciate them. If wealthy people like you, they will teach you how to be wealthy. And, sometimes those who had wealthy parents would have gladly traded positions with me to have the freedoms I had to do whatever they wannted without feeling pressured to be as good as their parents.
I sense a twinge of guilt in your writing with how you felt about your Dad. Don't worry. I'm sure your Dad would have understood if he had known your feelings at the time and thought, "She's just a kid." Just like when I grew up and stopped being a dumb kid, I really appreciated how my Mom always gave me what I needed. And, just like I can go to our high school reunions and appreciate anyone who will talk to me now even if they were mean to me in high school because they were just kids.....and to be perfectly frank, I know I was a little mean back then, too.....
And, as for the ones who are still mean, well, it's a shame that they're still kids who have a little growing up to do. There's always the 30 year; they got time.
Thank you so much for taking the time to comment on my blog, Kyle. It was very moving to read. You are absolutely right, We never know what another's cross is to bear. As an adult, I would have given anything to take your pain away...as a child, I was too consumed with my own problems to notice that you were carrying your own burdens. It looks like your life is in a very good place these days. You definitely are deserving given your hard work and sacrifice. Thank you for your service. You are a hero in my eyes. I hope you can still appreciate Vanilla Ice, given his fall from grace back in the 90's! I hope to see you at the next reunion.
DeleteWow.......This is good stuff. I have no memory of you being embarrassed of your dad picking you or us up from school?? I just remember us laughing (a lot) with him:) You are funny just like him and it's alwasy fun to be around you just as it was to hang out with your dad.
ReplyDeleteScotty...my memories of you have nothing to do with money...I remember you being smart, a little silly and funny.
I have such fond memories of your parent, Christy. I also remember some of your feelings and frustrations from way back. Vero was a hard place to fit in as a kid who was at all different. Reading your blog is brining back a whole lunch of memories.
ReplyDeleteYay I found your blog. You have worked so hard to get where you are today and it is a blessing that you can put everything into words. I am so proud of who you are as a Mom and wife and now an author. Thank you for sharing with us. Stay on your path. I love you bunches.
ReplyDelete.
Kyle said "your fat was my poor." I'll add that it was also my crappy last name. Starting in middle school I was said terribly crude things to, had to endure hyena-like cackling when someone new heard my name. Even one of my own teaches in 7th grade made fun of it to my face. It was demeaning. But was just as bad as the comments was the lack of defense from my friends.
ReplyDeleteDid you ever feel betrayed by friends who didn't stick up for you when you were being tormented? Or did you have friends who were also friends with those made fun of you...making you wonder if you could trust them as friends? Did you ever confront anyone, either then or years later?
Oh, Rachel...I can imagine that was a difficult last name to have. I am sorry you had to deal with that.
DeleteAs for friends, because he was a year older and a boy (a big one at that), I never really expected my friends to stand up for me. I completely understood because he was scary. I'm told he is a middle school teacher now, by the way. Can you imagine?
In any case, I did run into issues when it came to girls. There were times that girls would say nasty things about me and I did feel a sense of disloyalty when some of my close friends were also friends with those girls. That said, I have many memories of friends standing up for me. Thank God for that. Believe me, I have devoted a post that is already partially written about friendships,