I can remember being in grade school, playing with my friends, completely oblivious to being fat. It just wasn’t a big deal at all.
I remember being in 6th grade, being called “Fatso Lorino” for the first time in my life, and it breaking my heart. I didn’t understand what was so different about me – and since the kid who coined that oh-so-kind moniker was fat himself, it was all very confusing.
I remember being starting high school, being with friends, being out and public in theatre and choir, performing all the time, on stage singing and acting my heart out – never really thinking about how much fatter I was than anyone else.
I was certainly a misfit, an outcast. I knew people in my family didn’t approve of my body – but they didn’t like my hair, either, so whatever.
But somewhere along the way, it sunk in anyway. The prejudices eventually got to me. The constant onslaught of subtle clues that I was fat – and therefore, unwanted. Living in a thin-centric society was enough, let alone the barrage of messages from various well-meaning people in my life.
It all sunk in, and I developed body issues. My breasts are too saggy. My hips are too hippy. My stomach too rolly. My back too broad, my upper arms too waggly.
But I didn’t start out that way. There was a time when I didn’t know I wasn’t the “right” shape.
How about that?