“Welcome back,” I say.
“Thanks a bunch. I think it’s time to get on with my life and find somebody new, but I can’t picture myself out there on the meat market being as heavy as I am. I feel terrible at this weight. I can hardly love myself, never mind ask anyone else to love me.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “So you want to lose weight for cosmetic reasons. That’s a terrible reason to lose weight.”
“Call it vanity if you must. But that’s one reason I want to lose weight. I thought we were in the same boat?”
He got me there. I scramble to say something. “Yeah, but I’ve been wrong.”
“As a matter of fact, it’s not the only reason I’m doing it. I feel so uncomfortable in this body,” he says. “I feel sluggish and cramped. When I get out of the car, I have to struggle to lift myself. I can feel my flesh getting squeezed by the seatbelt— “
“Get a seatbelt extender,” I interrupt.
“Gabby, that doesn’t solve the problem of the way I feel. I’m trapped in this body and I want out.”
I shake my head. Even a seemingly level-headed and intelligent guy like Ron has internalized society’s fat hatred. “Unbelievable…”
“Sounds like you’re still very much opposed to weight loss. It’s hard to imagine you’ll have much success at Weight Watchers with an attitude like that.”
Now he’s going to lecture me about my attitude? Cute. “I thought you said you were a big fan of my show,” I say.
“I am. I listen whenever I can.”
“How can you say that? My show rejects dieting. It leaves no room for Weight Watchers. What is it about my show that you like so much?”
Ron kneads my palm in his hand. His slight touch is making me tender inside. I’m thirty-six years old and yet I feel like a teenager again. “You really want to know? I’ll answer your question if you promise to hear me out. Don’t bite my head off.”
“I promise,” I reply.
“The Gabby Medeiros I hear on the radio is a warrior,” he explains. “I feel like I know her, I’ve listened to her for so long. I didn’t know until I met you in person that you’re a lot more vulnerable than you seem on the air. When you’re behind the microphone, you seem almost invincible. You’re so sure of yourself and your cause.”
“Invincible?” I ask. The word tickles my fancy.
“Yes,” he replies. “Invincible Gabby Medeiros. It’s very rare to hear a fat person speak with such confidence because most of us don’t have any left.”
“True.”
“But you do,” he continues.
Little does he know that it’s easier to speak with confidence when you’re a disembodied voice on the airwaves. “Uh huh. I try to speak with the courage of my convictions.”
“I can tell. It comes through loud and clear. Like I said, you’re a warrior. Every warrior is fighting for something. I’d say that you’re fighting for something very important— dignity.”
I raise one eyebrow. I like where this speech is going. His compliments leave me flushed red. This Ron sure is a smooth operator. “Dignity?”
“Yes. You’ve seen how fat people are treated and you know it isn’t right. You speak up for a lot of heavy people who can’t or won’t speak up for themselves. You act as a nagging conscience for the rest of society. You remind slim people that we don’t exist to be the butt of their jokes. Some people have probably reevaluated the way they treat fat people as a result of your show. You make them think.”
“You really mean that?” I ask.
“Definitely. Sometimes people call in and berate fat people but you never let them get the best of you. You remind them of our humanity when no one else will.”
I could cry but I won’t. No one has ever paid me such high compliments with such sincerity. To think that I sometimes wondered if I was getting through to anyone out there in Radioland. Ron is proof that my message was received. I’m touched.
“Thank you, Ron,” I say softly. “But you sound a little like the Susie Orbachs of this world.”
“Susie Orbach? I don’t know who that is.”
“Susie Orbach wrote a book in the seventies called Fat is a Feminist Issue. Everybody in the feminist community read it. It was very condescending. She basically said she feels sorry for fat chicks because we overeat as a result of oppression. But she still thinks fatties should lose weight. That’s where you stand on this issue. You talk a lot about dignity, but you still think fat people should change their bodies.”
Ron pulls me closer to him. No doubt, the rest of the people on the porch are grossed out by the sight of two fat people sharing an intimate moment. I don’t give a hoot what they think. “I didn’t say that,” he retorts.
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I don’t believe that fat people need to lose weight. I believe that I need to lose weight. I can’t speak for other people; I can only speak for myself. I’m losing weight for my own sake. What other people do is their business. I’m doing this because I feel like sludge most of the time. I don’t want to feel that way anymore. I need a change.”
“Oh.”
“But that doesn’t have anything to do with dignity,” he continues. “I think everyone deserves a modicum of respect just for being human. Weight doesn’t matter. I don’t think that if a person gets too fat, they’re automatically undeserving of dignity. Not at all. Fat people who want to lose weight and fat people who don’t both deserve to be treated with humanity.”
He’s starting to make sense to me. “I suppose, but…”
“So if weight loss is not for you, then fine. I won’t think the lesser of you.”
I lean my head on his shoulder. “Point taken.”
“So where do you go from here?” Ron asks.
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, are you going to stick with this Weight Watchers thing or not?”
“I paid the money already…” I trail off. “I should get my money’s worth, right?”
“That’s up to you. If you think the program’s a sham, then what’s the point of sticking with it? Just to get your money’s worth?”
I stare out over the river. “Yeah. I’ve studied Weight Watchers a lot and I’ve come to the conclusion that their business model is just awful. They give false hope to women who are desperate to lose weight. Profits are all they care about, not people. I did the program a long time ago before I was into fat acceptance. I lost some weight and put it right back on again. Their statistics for long term success are pretty much in the basement.”
“Sounds like you’ve got your mind made up,” Ron comments. “No sense in continuing with the program, even if you have paid for it already. Maybe you can still get your money back.”
“Doubt it, but…” The meeting leader springs to mind—the attractive looking Judith with the earrings and bracelets. She lost weight and kept it off. A statistical anomaly, I’m sure. Results not typical. “That’s something I’ll have to think about.”
* * *
Reporters are all over this town like white on rice. I live in South Hadley, Massachusetts, a quiet town known mostly for its women’s college, Mount Holyoke. Other than that, we aren’t known for much of anything.
All of that changed in January of this year when a local high school girl hanged herself at home after school. Ever since then we’ve been known as the little Massachusetts town with the vicious pack of “mean girls” who drove one student to kill herself.
The student endured a lot of abuse. Apparently, she made the mistake of having a short-lived relationship with a popular football player. Or maybe it was more than one, I’m not sure. It’s not important how many there were.
Her relationship really ticked off a group of girls in the school who liked to keep the popular guys to themselves. They never let her forget that she had crossed a line. They name-called her and harassed her on a daily basis. She never got a moment’s rest. A person can only take so much before she snaps, which is exactly wh
at she did on January 14, 2010. After a student hurled a canned energy drink at her from the window of a moving vehicle, she walked home quietly and hanged herself in the stairwell of her home.
Then came the news media. South Hadley was bathed in the national spotlight. News vans with satellite dishes on their roofs could be seen all over town. CBS News was here. Dr. Phil (a pox be upon him) did an episode on South Hadley High School and its all-star squad of teen bullies. One day in February I walked into the grocery store to discover the girl’s picture on the cover of People.
I remember standing there at the register, mesmerized by the young face on the magazine. To the right was a tabloid paper hawking paparazzi photos of celebrities and their cellulite. To the left was a women’s magazine with all new, never before seen tips to “unlock your body’s secret fat burning power.”
In the girl’s face, I saw a person I could relate to. No, she wasn’t fat, and that’s not why she was bullied. But there was a commonality between us that I could feel. Funny thing was, I never met the girl with whom I felt this bond although she lived only a few minutes drive from my house. I wish I had had the chance to know her better.
I thought about killing myself when I was a teenager. I had long, drawn out fantasies about my own funeral, about the kids at school shedding tears over my casket. They’ll miss me when I’m gone. This wasn’t just a passing thought but a topic I mulled over and over, never letting it wander from my mind’s attention.
But what if they didn’t miss me when I was gone? What if I slashed my wrists and no one cared? What if I was a nobody, even in death? It chilled my blood.
My supportive family helped me through the tough times. I managed to shrug off the daily barrage of insults and slights through most of high school, but there came a time when mother’s love didn’t do much to balm the wounds of the teenage social scene. High school ground me down, diminishing my sense of self-worth with each snicker and hurtful remark. Heck, the suicidal thoughts didn’t really abate until I found fat acceptance at the age of twenty-one.
While they called the South Hadley girl a “slut”, they called me a “fat-ass,” “pig,” “beached whale,” “fat bitch,” and many more. I understand what it’s like to have a bull’s-eye painted on my back.
Fat kids always do. It’s hard to imagine growing up fat without growing up ostracized. I have yet to meet a fat person who was the prom king or queen, the popular kid, the high school hero. Nope, fat kids are always on the bottom of the popularity totem pole.
I’m not saying that only fat kids are bullied. Certainly not. Kids get bullied for being gay or bow-legged, because they speak with an accent or because they wear nerdy glasses. They’re sometimes bullied for being short or tall, or for having pimples. It’s possible that they will be bullied because their parents can only afford to send them to school wearing ratty hand-me-downs.
But fat trumps all of these. Fat kids are the primary targets of bullies regardless of income, race, or sexuality. Being “overweight” increases the risk of being bullied by 63 percent, according to a study by Dr. Julie Lumeng at the Center for Human Growth and Development. The fact that more kids are fat these days doesn’t seem to matter. The stigma hasn’t lessened at all. Fat kids still have to face humiliation and torment.
Fifteen year old Brian Head was a victim of anti-fat bullying at his Georgia high school. He was a fat, awkward kid who had great difficulty with social interaction. He wore thick glasses and tried to keep to himself whenever possible. He enjoyed poetry.
For Brian, school was a nightmare. Fear and dread stalked him through the halls of Etowah High School. His mother recalls him being slapped in the back of the head and shoved into lockers for sport.
On the morning of March 28, 1994, Brian swiped his father’s 9mm pistol and placed it into his book bag before leaving the house. He never came home that day.
Brian was in the classroom when he witnessed a well-known bully slap another student across the face. Brian interceded on the student’s behalf, perhaps wishing that someone would have done the same for him through the worst days of his short life. The bully responded to Brian’s intervention by slapping Brian instead. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Reaching into his book bag, Brian removed the pistol he’d brought to school that morning. He pointed it straight at the bully and pulled the trigger.
Click. Nothing happened. With no round chambered, the gun did not go off and the bully’s life was spared. That’s when Brian turned the gun on himself. This time, the gun did not fail him. “I can’t take it anymore!” he shouted before pulling the trigger. His primal scream was heard by every fat kid who’d ever been picked on.
After his death, one of Brian’s poems was discovered among his belongings. He called it “Lost in the Shadows”. Here’s an excerpt:
Although the light is wide in its spread,
They still cannot see the pain in my face,
The pain that their eyes bring to bear,
When they look upon me,
They see me as an insignificant “thing”
Something to be traded, mangled and mocked.
Brian Head wasn’t the first fat kid to be bullied, and he won’t be the last. He isn’t even the first fat kid to take his life as a result of his torment. Adults do it sometimes too.
I think about Brian Head sometimes. I never knew the kid, though I’ve known dozens like him. I just hope he found refuge from his tormentors, wherever he is.
Chapter Twenty-Five:
The Coffee Date, Take Two
It’s my second meeting and I have to face the scale. It taunts me, harder to climb than Mount Holyoke. I step on and brace myself.
“Congratulations,” says the receptionist. “You’ve lost two pounds.”
Two pounds? That hardly seems significant. For all I know, there could be a glitch in the scale or it could be just water weight.
“Is that a lot?” I ask.
“It’s about right,” she replies. “Losing two pounds a week is a nice, healthy, pace.”
“Right,” I say. “Nothing too drastic. Not like a crash diet.”
“Exactly,” she replies.
I enter the meeting feeling a little let down. Assuming I continue at a pace of two pounds per week, it will take me five weeks to earn my ten-pound pin; and I will still be fat at 321 pounds. In fact, that’s about how much I weighed when I went to see Dr. Hassell last November. The thought is deeply discouraging. It will take me twenty weeks to lose 40 pounds; and I will still be fat at 291 pounds. It will take me fifty weeks to lose a hundred pounds; and I will still be fat at 231 pounds. All of this assumes I don’t hit any of those plateaus along the way. What if I reach a point and the weight just stops coming off? And how much is all of this going to cost me?
Ron is already there as I knew he would be. He seems pretty dedicated to this Weight Watchers thing. I slide in next to him and lay a hand briefly on his knee. “Hey Ron,” I whisper.
“Hey Gabby,” he says back with a smile. “Good to see you.”
The meeting begins. Judith hands out the pins for ten pounds lost and her stickers for “non-scale victories”. She delivers a twenty minute weight loss sermon. As much as it pains me to say this, I kind of like Judith. She seems like a nice lady. Every Weight Watchers leader is a diet guru of sorts, and all diet gurus are scum, but then again, maybe I can make an exception for her. She’s still scum but she’s nice scum.
Before I know it, the hour long meeting is over. Ron and I leave together, this time in his car. We’re going to give our coffee date another try. We arrive at IHOP and request a table.
“That was the last meeting for me,” I say as we take our seats.
“Oh. So you’ve made up your mind?” he asks.
“I have. I’ve decided that I don’t need any multinational corporation to help me lose weight. I can do it by myself.”
“Gotcha,” Ron nods. “All by yourself, huh?”
“Yes.”<
br />
“Why would you go it alone when we can do it together?”
The question leaves me flat-footed. “I don’t know…I…”
“I have an idea,” he says. “Let’s both drop out of the program and team up.”
I grin broadly. “Really? I would like that very much.”
“Sure. Why the heck not? I’ll keep you on the straight and narrow if you’ll do the same for me. We’re both intelligent enough to know nutrition. We know what’s junk and what isn’t. We can read labels and make healthy decisions. We’ll be responsible for each other. Team work.”
This sounds like the best idea yet. “Okay. Like diet buddies.”
“Not exactly,” Ron retorts. “I’m not going on a diet. I’ve been on diets before. We don’t need a diet. We need to reform our eating habits for good.”
I blush. It sounds so corny. A diet by any other name is still a diet. “Are you telling me that we’re going to keep this up forever?”
“That’s right. It can’t just be a temporary change that we sustain until we lose a certain amount of weight. That’s a diet.”
“So we have to starve ourselves for life?”
“Starve ourselves?” Ron laughs heartily. “Goodness no! If you’re starving, you’re not doing it right.”
A waitress approaches the table with two laminated IHOP menus. I wave the menus off. “We’ll just have coffee. No menus, thank you.”
“No problem,” the waitress replies. I suspect that she’s shocked that we aren’t going to indulge our supposed gluttony. No, bitch, we aren’t interested in your damned banana pancakes. We just want coffee.
I turn back to Ron. “Okay, you’re right. There’s no good reason to starve yourself on a diet.”
“Were you starving this past week?” he asks.
“Not really,” I admit. “I felt full. Not too full, but I had enough to eat.”
“See?”
“But aren’t we ever going to enjoy the foods we really love? How about cheesecake? And burgers?”
“On special occasions,” he replies. “In moderation. Sure, we can have all of those things.”
I let that sink in for a moment. I like the idea of Ron as my diet buddy…er, I mean lifestyle change buddy. I reach my hand across the table and rest it on top of his knuckles. “Let’s do it,” I say.
We Are Fat and We Are Legion Page 20