by Diane Lang
Lunch today was so good. Turkey and dressing and mashed potatoes, and it’s not even Christmas. And we had rolls. Soft and warm, they must be the one thing that all cafeteria people learn how to make. Our cooks are actually pretty good for a school cafeteria. Last year, our food was awful, but I would eat it anyway because I would be so hungry. The rolls would be hard and dry, like eating a piece of cardboard (not that I know what that tastes like but I can imagine). Everything would be brown—the rolls, the fried chicken, the corn, the lettuce, even chocolate milk.
You probably wonder if my mom still makes lunch for me. She does but I save it for the ride home. My bus driver doesn’t say anything to me about it; he’s probably glad I’m not throwing things or cutting up. We have one kid that used to cuss at cars. One day, he yelled at the wrong car. The man driving it was an off–duty policeman and he called his buddies and they stopped the bus. This kid Jeremy was so scared. They made him get off the bus and tell them his phone number. The police called his mom and told her what Jeremy had done. I think he got in big trouble. He doesn’t yell out the window anymore.
Wednesday, 12–13
On the bus this morning someone threw a paper wad at me and hit the back of my head. I didn’t turn around because that just makes things worse. I looked at the driver in the mirror above his head— he glanced at me over his glasses and went back to driving. Then I got hit again. I still didn’t move and someone, I think it was this kid named Ricky, said, “He’s got so much cushion, he can’t even feel it.” I felt my neck turn red and I couldn’t help it, but I spun around and yelled, “Yes, I can. Every time. All year I’ve felt it.” They were shocked. When I faced front again, our bus driver was smiling. The guys in the back were quiet for one second and then they went back to being obnoxious. For the rest of that ride, at least, they left me alone.
Friday, 12–15
Allen’s coming over tonight to hang out and have some cake and stuff. My mom’s an awesome cook and makes the best chocolate cake. I invited Spencer over, but he was busy with soccer again. Paul’s still grounded for taking the car out. I feel sorry for him. Even before the murder, his parents picked on him all the time for nothing. Half the time his mom is so out of it, she yells at him for what she imagines he said, and his dad just looks for stuff to yell at him about. And then they get all mad because Paul can’t take it anymore and goes nuts and starts screaming back at them. It makes it worse that Paul’s the only kid. Now that his father is out of work, he has nothing else to do but sit around and wait for Paul to mess up. Well, I hope his dad is happy now, because Paul finally did something really bad (stealing the car, hello!) for them to get all bent out of shape about.
Paul told me that when he was a little kid, he would try to get lost at the mall so that another family would find him and adopt him. But that just backfired on him because his dad would whip him for fooling around and not keeping up. My dad calls stuff like that a catch–22. That’s an air force term that means there’s no way you can win, but you keep trying anyway.
Saturday, 12–16
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It stinks that Paul is grounded. Other than Allen, I don’t have anyone to hang around with.
When I was little, it was easy to make friends. My parents would take my sister and me up to Lake Cowan in the summer, and after Mom spread the beach towels, I would run to the lake and jump in. My sister did the same thing. We both looked around for kids our own age, and in minutes we would both find someone to play with. My sister is two years older than me, so I wouldn’t see her for the rest of the day. That was fine with me, because I found my own group of kids. We would play all day, and the new kids I met didn’t care if I was chubby.
Mom always had a hard time getting me to come in for lunch. She enticed me with the promise of ice cream and candy, so I’d leave my buddies for the promise of sweets. It always worked.
When did it change? When did kids start caring about how fat I was? It wasn’t until middle school, maybe 6th grade, that I noticed I was different from most kids my age. That’s when the fat jokes started. Then Tommy Underwood pushed me down one day after school. I was waiting for the bus when he ran into me on purpose. I had a heavy backpack on and I lost my balance and fell over. “Humpty Dumpty had a big fall!” he hollered. “Four–eyed lard butt!” The other kids who saw me fall laughed, and Susan London said, “His heinie’s so fat, he has to sit at a special desk.” That wasn’t exactly true. In some classes, I sat at a table with a regular chair instead of one with an attached desk, but there were some skinny kids who sat at the tables too. They were usually the slow kids or the ones with “emotional problems” or EPs, as some people called them. (Not me, though. I’m not THAT mean.) By the time the bus showed up, all the kids were whispering and laughing. I wanted to tell on them but knew that would only make things worse. So, I quickly got on the bus and sat in the first seat and acted like I was really into studying my math book. The kids didn’t say much to me on the bus, ‘cause they didn’t want to make Mrs. Westby, our bus driver, mad.
My face got all scratched up from the fall, and my mom asked me about it when I got home. I lied and said that I fell during PE. I felt bad about lying to her, but she would get too upset if she knew how bad things were for me. She set out a plate of her homemade cinnamon buns and a glass of chocolate milk. The reason I remember that day is not because I was knocked down at the bus stop, but because my mom only let me have three buns. “Might spoil your dinner,” she said when I reached for a fourth bun. I thought she was being mean, because she knew no matter how many buns I ate, I would always eat my dinner.
Sunday, 12–17
I told my mom I didn’t want any more of her cinnamon buns. She uses butter in them, and that’s really bad for you. I’ve been reading about obesity online, and found several sites that talk about weight loss. I printed out some of the pages and gave them to my mom. She was really surprised, and then she got all sad. As she read the pages, she looked up at me and her eyes started watering. She said she would help me lose the weight. She even said she was thinking about signing up for Weight Watchers. She’s overweight too, but it never seems to bother her that much. But I guess if you’re heavy, it always bothers you. I tried to picture my mother skinny, like she was in her wedding pictures. She always jokes about how children equal weight.
My mom said the first thing we need to do is get rid of all the junk food in the house. We went through the pantry and took all the chips and cookies and candy out and put them in a paper bag. “We’ll give them to the church,” she said.
I told her I thought we should throw them away. “Would you give a carton of cigarettes to the church? It’s the same thing.” She laughed and then crammed them in the garbage.
Monday, 12–18
Great news! Paul is coming to our school right after Christmas break. But it’s bad news too, because Paul’s parents lost their house. They couldn’t make the mortgage payments, and now Paul and his parents have to move in with his uncle who lives in our school district. He said his parents are worse than ever and complain because they have to live in his uncle’s basement, but they don’t have any choice. Paul said the basement isn’t even finished, except the floor is painted, and it’s eerie sleeping there at night. His mother hung blankets up to separate the space into “rooms”; their kitchen is an old refrigerator and a microwave. His uncle gets all ticked off if they go upstairs too much. He’s single and has girlfriends over all the time. My mom said I could invite Paul over anytime. Paul sounded weird when I talked to him, not the usual “my parents are screw–ups” weird, but like he was out there, not really listening, but not wanting to hang up. Paul is smart and a good student like me. You’ll like him, if he gets in your class.
Tuesday, 12–19
Mom says if I really want to lose weight, I have to exercise. She wants me to walk with her in the mornings but there is no way. Instead, I’m going to run with Dad. We have to get up at 5:00, because he has to le
ave for work by 6:30 to avoid getting caught in traffic. Dad is in better shape than I am but he’s had his share of cinnamon buns too. I asked for a Total Gym for Christmas. Dad said they’re expensive, so maybe it could be a family gift. My sister thinks that’s a waste of money, and we should do a family trip instead. She said it would take a lot more than the Total Gym for me to look normal, and I’m such a loser I wouldn’t use it anyway. My mom heard her, and they got into another fight. My sister was born skinny and doesn’t know how it feels to be fat. She stuffs her face with nachos and dip as soon as she gets home from school. At least she did, until Mom threw out the dip and chips. She also eats pizza all the time. But she never gains weight—my Nana says my sister’s so skinny she must have swallowed a tapeworm. Nana Josie is from the old school and believes in wives’ tales and superstitions. My mother told me that Nana used to cover all the mirrors in the house after a relative died. Nana also believes the devil takes another wife whenever it rains while the sun is still shining. Nana has always been fat, but now she is so big she can hardly walk. I love Nana, but I don’t want to end up like her.
My mom joined Weight Watchers and said she’s learning a lot about nutrition. She has to follow some sort of point system that she says is pretty easy to remember. There’s a program for kids, but you have to get special permission from your doctor and go to meetings. I’d rather die than go to meetings, so I’m doing a modified version of my mom’s plan. Mostly, I’m cutting out junk food and eating more fresh fruits and vegetables. Absolutely no soda, not even diet drinks, and desserts only on the weekend, and then only one portion. No donuts or fried foods at all. Mom insists, though, that I drink milk with all my meals. My stomach growls all the time now. Mom said that will go away once it starts shrinking.
Wednesday, 12–20
Sable’s one of the best writers in our class. She writes poetry all the time and shares her poems in teen circle at church. They’re really weird but make you think. She writes about how crazy and mixed–up the world is. Sable has a thing about pollution. She thinks the air is really bad and doesn’t like to go outside because she might get lung cancer. I think that’s one of the reasons she wears long–sleeved shirts all the time—even when it’s really hot out. Paul thinks she’s bulimic because she smells like puke sometimes. I’ve never noticed anything.
Sable tries to talk to me sometimes after class, but I’m always in a hurry to get to PE. I don’t get it—my parents say high school should be the best years of my life because of making friends and going to all the games and dances and stuff, but how do kids get to know one another at school when they’re so busy rushing from one class to another? We don’t even have time to use the toilet, we’re so rushed. Lunch is no better. We have to scarf down our food in order to finish before the bell rings. Rushing only makes kids eat more, because there’s no time for the hunger signals to turn off. After years of eating like this, scarfing becomes a way of life. No wonder some of us have weight problems. My parents get mad when I eat like that at home, but I still do it. My mom says high school kills good table manners.
Thursday, 12–21
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It’s been pandemonium so far this week in science class. That’s because Mr. M is having us dissect frogs. I mean, we should be singing Christmas carols or making funnel cakes or something, not cutting up frogs. Mr. M’s doing what he calls pithing, where he takes a scalpel and cuts one of the frog’s nerves, which leaves it brain dead. Then he attaches a battery to the dead frog and cuts it open so we can see the heart beating. No one’s paying attention like they should because they’re too excited about the break and presents and stuff.
The girls especially are acting clueless, and dropping things and messing up the frogs. Some of them screamed when Mr. M cut one open. He about had a coronary. He made us put everything away, and then he yelled at us for not listening. Whitney yelled back at him and said the whole thing was way too gross for her, and she was going to tell her parents to talk to the principal about it.
That’s when Mr. M really lost it. He said, “Gross? You don’t know beans about gross. Did it ever cross your mind that when you take a walk in the park or swim in the ocean, you’re surrounded by feces? And semen? And pee? That a forest is one big toilet? Or an outdoor hotel for one night stands? That when you smell the insides of flowers, you’re smelling their sexual parts? Where do you think the millions of creatures that inhabit the forests and oceans poop? In a Port–a–Potty? Do you think possums screw each other at the Super 8? And you think cutting up a little numbed frog is gross? Give me a freaking break!”
The entire class really quieted down after that. No one said a word, not even Whitney. I think everyone was shocked that Mr. M talked about sex in front of us. I think even Mr. M himself was a little shocked, because he didn’t say much after that. Just something like “Shut up and read your books.” Then he mumbled about showing us a movie on Friday. I hope he doesn’t get fired over it, because he’s really a good teacher. Then again, he probably won’t. No kid is going to rat out a teacher who talks about sex.
Friday, 12–22
I’m so glad Christmas break is finally here and finals are over. School’s been really hard lately. Not the school work, but the kids. Most of the time, I do okay, but it’s hard when no one ever asks you to do anything. It’s like I don’t exist as a real kid who’s interested in things, like other people. Most kids treat me like I’m one of those plastic punching dolls, the kind you punch over and over but they keep popping back up. Inside, I’m just like every other kid, but they don’t take time to get to know me, or know that I listen to jazz and Christian rock, or that I like the Cleveland Browns. All they see are my great big blobs of fat. I’m trying to do something about it, but it’s hard. I feel hungry half the night, then in the morning when I stand on the scale my weight’s the same. My dad said our family’s going to get a Total Gym for Christmas, and that way I can build some muscle. Dad says muscle burns calories faster than fat, so that should help.
I’m getting used to all the picking stuff, but that’s not what’s getting me—it’s feeling invisible. I go hours at a time without anyone noticing I exist. That’s worse than the picking. The teachers are just as bad. Except for you. I appreciate your putting us all in groups, rather than have us choose our own groups. I would never be chosen. Maybe Sable would choose me, because we’re in the same youth group. She’s always pretty nice to me in class. She’s not as hot as Whitney, the girl from science, but she’s pretty cute.
You’ll be happy to know we talked about A Separate Peace at youth group last time. I really like the characters Finny and Gene and so does Sable. She thinks the book is about war and how people subconsciously fight wars everyday of their lives. That humans are conditioned to be warmongers, and that the big wars are a result of our every day wars just piling up until they get so big, we’re fighting country against country instead of person against person, or employee against employee, or company against company, etc. I think she has a point, but I think the story is about how some people hurt other people because they don’t feel happy with themselves.
I mean, look at Paul’s dad. He’s really unhappy because he can’t find a job and is married to an alcoholic, so he takes his anger out on Paul, even though Paul is really a good kid. Gene feels inferior to Finny, so he shakes the branch and causes Finny to fall. Then Gene feels all sorry and guilty about it, but the thing is, he can’t take it back, because Finny’s leg is ruined for life. I think the author is trying to say that life is about humans going around hurting one another until they wise up and realize how bad they’ve been. Then they spend their lives feeling guilty about their behavior, and try to make it up by doing really nice things for the people they’ve hurt. I wonder if Paul’s dad’s going to make it up to Paul later on. It’s hard to imagine. I suppose there must be some people who don’t hurt other people, but I doubt it. My dad’s really nice, but sometimes he says things that hurt my mom, and
even my grandmother. I’ve said some nasty things to my sister—but I don’t regret them, at least not yet.
Thursday, 12–28
Dad bought the family a Total Gym for Christmas—it’s awesome. You can work every major muscle in your body. Dad’s spotting me and I can lift around 90 pounds, so far. I’ve made a commitment to lose weight, first by cutting out all junk food and eating more bananas and apples and stuff like that. My mom says it’s all about balanced meals—you don’t have to starve yourself; you just have to get enough from each of the three food groups. You can pretty much eat anything you want as long as you have a balance of carbs and proteins, but limit your fats. She says I have to use common sense, like cutting out banana splits and jumbo–sized french fries. I really try to stay away from donuts and chips, because I know once I start eating them, I go too far. Remember all the donuts I used to eat at youth group? What was I thinking? The thought of all that sugar makes me want to puke.
I’ve committed to running a mile four days a week, and working out on the Total Gym three days a week. This won’t be as hard over Christmas break, but once school starts up, I’ll have to get up at five in order to run and get my workout in. Mornings are so cold but it’s the only time I have to work out because of school, band practice, and homework. Plus, if I wait until after school, I’m usually too tired to get motivated. Dad said mornings are the best time to work out anyway, since it gets your metabolism going for the rest of the day. I’ve already lost three pounds since Mom and I threw out all the high–carb snacks. The scale isn’t groaning as much as it used to. Things are looking up.