I Can't Say the "F" Word

Are there some words you can't bring yourself to say? I have several that I try to avoid just because it makes me squeamish to say them. You know the ones, they don't exactly roll off your tongue. I bet you think you know the one that is the subject of this blog. Well, guess what? You're wrong. I've said the 4-letter word you're thinking of on occasion, albeit rare occasions. Then what is the "F" word that turns me inside out and upside down? F-A-T. That's the one.


My mother had rules about words you could and couldn't say. It was pretty a interesting list. Words like shut-up, stupid, piss (yuck), boobs, ass, hate and, of course, fat, are the ones I remember most. She struggled most of her married life with her weight. Her 5'2", 110 lb form changed drastically after 8 pregnancies, raising a family through the depression, World War II and the turbulent 50's and 60's. Katie, as she was known to her friends, was an amazing cook, homemaker, baker, and gardener. She was also incredibly beautiful, whether she weighed 110 or 220. Her rule was that, if you saw a person of generous proportions, you could describe them as chubby, pleasingly plump, generously figured, rounded, but you never, never, never called them fat. They can say what they want about the 50's and 60's, but it was a kinder, gentler time to grow up in than what our children are subjected to today. People had manners and it meant something if you said a kind word and spared someone's feelings by keeping your opinions to yourself.


The first time I ever felt self conscious about my figure was my senior year in high school. First of all you have to know that I went to a private Catholic school where we wore uniforms. When you're 5'2", gently rounded, and you have to wear a blue/grey plaid vest with matching box pleated skirt every day, there's no way you're going to look good. The only girls who did look somewhat attractive in that garb were the cheerleaders that were, each and everyone, no bigger than the proverbial minute. Anyway, our yearbook had a prophecy page, where the soon to be graduates had the opportunity to predict the future of their fellow classmates. At an assembly, our class officers did a reading so that all could enjoy how clever some of our "friends" were. There was a prediction about me that made everyone laugh out loud. Can you imagine sitting in an assembly while someone reads "Shari Morrow will be a star on Broadway singing I'm a Little Teapot, Short and Stout". I stayed put, wearing the happy face I was known for and never let on the hurt and embarrassment I felt at that moment. All the happiness and joy I'd experienced in high school went away in that heart-beat. Had they been laughing at me for 4 years? I'd never been unkind to anyone in my life, was naive enough to think that others were the just the same as I. I grew up a little bit that day.


Shortly after, graduation, I shed the weight and kept it off. I threw myself into my avocation of performing in musical theater and singing at local clubs. I took dance class 3-4 times a weeks and for 7 years went from one gig to another, never pausing in between, all the while working a full time job as a legal assistant. I figured I'd beaten the "F" gene. It merely couldn't find me because I didn't stand still long enough for any unused calories to have time to land on my hips or thighs. Then, like my Mom, I got married and started to have children. I gained a great deal of weight while pregnant for Tara who was my first child, but my 2nd pregnancy. I was so scared of having another miscarriage, I stopped all activity and enjoyed being pregnant. I had the best intentions to get the weight off, however, I found myself pregnant for my son, Troy, shortly after Tara was born. Still, I always had it at the top of my list to get my dancer's body back. I kept my belly dancing costume front and center in my closet with my performance gowns, knowing it would be just a matter of time before I was back into them. Kept track of all the auditions scheduled in the area, knowing that I wasn't in the right shape to try out for that show or that part yet but, soon, I'd be able to get back on the boards. I could still sing for my supper. I had an associates in broadcast journalism and even if I didn't have the body for TV, I had the voice for radio and commercials. Size didn't matter there.


I can honestly say that it never occurred to me that I was one of the "f*&" people. I was heavy, more than pleasingly plump, certainly full figured and one of the BBW (Big Beautiful Women). The first time I was ever described in the term that shall remain unsaid, ironically, from the sweet lips of my little man, Troy. He was in the 1st grade and came home from school one day, very sad. He climbed into my lap and said "I love you, Mommy, even though you're bad." Bad, I said, why would he think his Mommy was bad. Without pausing to take a breath he said "because in school today we learned all the things that are bad for you and fat is bad for us and you're fat so you must be bad, but I love you no matter what." I knew a mother's heartbreak for the first time in my life.


I'm still a BBW. I've lost 50 lbs over the past 2 years. Not exactly burning up the weight loss charts but I've learned a lot about myself and the things I do that aren't good for me. I will continue on the weight loss journey, certainly, for the rest of my life. I have a new friend who is a few months younger than I. We have a lot in common, including our commitment to be as healthy as we can be, which includes losing weight. Ironically this friend is approximately the weight I would like to be when I reach my goal. So, the other day, she posted on a weight loss competition board we both are part of, that she "was a fat grandma". I don't know why, but her comments about herself made me very sad. I am bigger than she is but I refuse to label myself the way she did. I am a daughter, wife, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt and friend who will turn 60 very soon. I'm silver haired, short, round, practically perfect (according to my kids), successful, happy, talented, funny, unique, romantic, in love with my husband and with the life I live. What I will never, ever, ever be is F-A-T.