There I said it! FAT was always a bad word to me. For years, I couldn’t or wouldn’t ever call anyone FAT! Calling them other F words was fine but never ever FAT! You see, I grew up with a food addicted morbidly obese mother and had heard my Dad (more on him later), my grandmother and many strangers call her FAT.. She was not only FAT but she suffers from lymphadema in her legs causing them to blow up like two heavy balloons. I recall sitting in our spray painted Datsun at a red light and having a car full of teenagers pull up next to us, roll down their window and yell “you fat pig”. Another time we were shopping in a drugstore and a toddler stumbled by us and mumbled “you big fat so”.
I’m not sure how old I was when I started to notice the stares, comments and sneers but each time I witnessed them my heart was broken. I thought if only they knew her,it’s not her fault. Somehow it seemed to hurt me more than it hurt her. She would simply go home to her big blue chair where she spent her days and nights and eat the pain away. Somehow it became my pain. Since I was her child and came from her, doesn’t it mean that I am the same?