Irked

I am so easily wounded. It's one of my worst faults, you know. Or at least that's what I've always been told -- I'm too sensitive. But now, with thirty-four years of hyper-sensitivity under my belt, I've realized something: it's a gift, really. It's just the underbelly of empathy and compassion. So sure, go ahead and call me sensitive. It's no longer a source of shame; it's just something about me.

But I digress. My point was going to be that I was wounded yesterday . . . by a post on a blog I've only recently started reading (and which will, at least for the time being, remain anonymous) but with which I have otherwise been impressed. I was wounded by the words of a person I don't know, a person who has never met me, a person who was simply stating his (unfortunately, very popular) opinion.

The blogger, who appears to be educated and intelligent, said, "It is one thing for parents to be overweight, but children. This just irks me. It is just wrong. Why are so many children overweight."

I read that, and then the rest of my day was crappy, until finally, during my evening walk, I thought and thought about what he had said, what I believe, and why the words of this total stranger hurt me so much.

First of all, the part of his post that bothered me the most was the word "irk." It doesn't concern him, or worry him, or even trouble him. It "irks" him. In other words, it annoys him that there are chubby kids. It disgusts him that fat children exist.

I'm particularly sensitive to reactions of disgust. My father was disgusted by my body. I would say my fat definitely irked him. He wasn't worried about my health. He wasn't concerned about my emotional well-being. He was irked by my appearance. He was disgusted by my shape. He was offended by the space I took up. And that is why I was the only eight-year-old who counted her calories, the only kid in my class to skip trick-or-treating. Everything he did to make me smaller over the course of my childhood worked temporarily, only to send my weight rebounding to more than the pre-diet weight. I am sure I continue to irk and disgust my father to this day, and I would bet money he is not the only one who is "irked" by my size.

But I've learned patience over the years. More than being the fat kid, being the kid with with the stutter taught me that those worth having around will get over their initial recoiling at the sound of my voice, or the sight of my wide derriere. They'll figure me out, if I just give them enough time. And when I was a kid, they did. Really, I find it amazing that I wasn't made fun of more when I was little. Sure, it happened sometimes, especially when I met new people, but the vast majority of the people who initially rejected or made fun of me at least came to keep a respectful distance if they didn't end up being downright friendly. I'm not sure why that is. Was it something about my personality? Was it the inherent goodness of people? Was it dumb luck? I don't know. I just know that I, the fat stuttering kid, made it through childhood relatively un-bullied.

To this day, when faced with people who are disgusted by me, I use the same patience I learned as a kid. Perhaps to an extreme, I will give people the time to figure me out, refraining from intervening on my own behalf when I learn that others have gotten a false impression of me. What? She thinks I'm stupid? Ah, I'll let her figure it out. What? He thinks I'm fearful? Ah, I'll let him figure it out. What? She thinks I know nothing about nutrition? Ah, I'll let her figure it out. What? He thinks I never exercise? Ah, I'll let him figure it out.

But that patience, I'm finding, does not transfer to my own children. If someone is "irked" by my child's weighing more than the chart in the doctor's office allows, I have very little patience for that.

When my daughter was born three weeks early, she already weighed over eight pounds. From her first visit to the pediatrician's office, my daughter's weight was off the charts. If I hadn't already experienced my son's pediatric visits, I would never have known how differently my daughter was being treated. Once my daughter was weighed at each visit, the nurses became curt, their faces judgmental. They didn't smile at my daughter or talk to her or offer to show her the fish in the aquarium. The focus of each visit was her weight . . . so that I would have to remind and remind them of any other concerns. It wasn't until my daughter's most recent check-up, when her weight was finally within "normal" limits, did the doctor remember to check the three hemangiomas on my daughter's torso without having to be reminded numerous times. They also talked to her, smiled at her. They were, apparently, no longer "irked."

What did I do to make my daughter so much more acceptable? What did she do? Nothing. I just fed her the same way I've always fed her, the same way I've always fed my son, and she just grew the same way she had been. But isn't it funny that suddenly, when her body naturally happens to weigh within these somewhat arbitrary parameters set by the medical establishment, my daughter is worth everybody's time.

I don't know why kids are getting fatter these days. Maybe it's for the same reason they're getting taller. Maybe it is, as so many claim, because of "junk food." Is fat really the cause of health problems, or is it a condition that is caused by the same things that cause many health problems, a condition that often exists alongside health problems? Either way, let's focus on encouraging healthy habits for all kids, not just the fat ones. And let's take some time to examine our attitudes toward fat people . . . because prejudice is certainly no healthier than fat.