on matters of size...
My friend Annie and I were having lunch and we fell into a discussion of people of size. She told me she had gone to the fair with a friend of hers who is a young man of substance, and while he was standing in the midway, thinking about his elephant ear, someone walked past him, said, "You don't need to eat that," and kept on walking away. Gone before he could register what had been said, much less formulate a stunning retort.
And that person was probably right: he did not need to eat that elephant ear. Given what they are made of,the question becomes: Who does need to eat an elephant ear? And to what benefit? Are elephant ears inherently better for thin people than for fat ones? Do we suppose that that one particular elephant ear will somehow alter the course of this man's life in some way that all of the elephant ear's before it, or all of the elephant ears to follow, might not? And last but not least, what qualifies any of us for the mission of telling other people what they should or should not eat?
I have probably spent most of my life listening to other people tell me that as a middle-class white person, I have no idea what it is like to be discriminated against. I have never experienced the look that tells me I am not welcome, I have never been treated rudely on a bus, I have never been reminded to keep my place, I have never been laughed at, ridiculed, threatened, snubbed, no waited on, or received well-meaning service I would just as soon have done without. I have never had to choose which streets I will walk down and which streets I will avoid. I have never experienced that lack of social status that can debilitate the soul.
My feelings were not hurt when I was twelve years old and the shoe salesmen measured my feet and said he had no women's shoes large enough for me, but perhaps I could wear the boxes.
I have never been called crude names, like "fatso" or "lardbucket" or "fatass." My nickname on the school bus was never "Bismarck," as in the famous battleship. No one ever assumed I was totally inept in sports except those that involved hitting things because--and everyone knows-- the more weight you can put behind it, the farther you can kick or bat or just bully the ball.
I have never picked up a magazine with the photograph of a naked woman of substance on the cover, to readm in the following issue, 30 letters to the editor addressing sizim, including one that said, "She should be ashamed of herself. She should go on a diet immediately and demonstrate some self- control. She is going to develop diabetes, arthritis, hypertension, and stroke, she will die at an early age and she will take down the entire American health system with her." And that would, of course, be the only letter I remember. I would not need some other calm voice to say, "You don't know that--and you don't know that the same fate would not befall a thin woman."
No one has ever assumed I am lazy, undisciplined, prone to self pity, and emotionally unstable purely based on my size. No one has ever told me all I need is a little self-discipline and I too could be thin, pretty-- a knock-out, probably, because I have a "pretty face" -- probably very popular because I have a "good personality." My mother never told me boys would never pay any attention to me because I'm fat.
I have never assumed an admirer would never pay any attention to me because I'm fat. I have never mishandleda sexual situaton because I have been trained to think myself as asexual. Unattractive. Repugnant.
Total strangers have never walked up to me in the streets and started to tell me about weight loss programs their second cousin in Tulsa tried with incredible results, nor would hey ever do so with the manner and demeanor of someone doing me a nearly unparalleled favor. I have never walked across a parking lot to have a herd of young men break into song about loving women with big butts. When I walk down the street or ride my bicycle, no one has ever hung out the car window to yell crude insults. When I walk into houses of friends I have never been directed to "safe" chairs as if I just woke up this morning this size and am incapable of gauging for myself what will or will not hold me.
I have never internalized any of this nonexistent presumption of who I am or what I feel. I would never discriminate against another woman of substance. I would never look at a heavy person and think. "self-pitying, undisciplined ub if lard." I would never admit that while I admire beautiful bodies, I rarely give the inhabitants the same attention and respect I would a soul mate because I do not expect they would ever become a soul mate. I would never tell you that I was probably 30 years old before I realized you can can be too small or too thin, or that the condition causes real emotional pain.
I havenever skipped a high school reunion until I "lose a few pounds." I have never hesitated to reconnect with an old friend. I will appear anywhere in a bathing suit. If my pants split, I assume-- and I assume everyone assumes-- it was caused by poor materials.
I have always understood why attractive women are offended when men whistle at them.
I have never felt self-conscious standing next to my make friend who is 5'10 and weighs 145lbs.
I am not angry about any of this.
From the essay FATSO by CHERYL PECK in her book Revenges of the Paste Eatters-Memoirs of a Misfit.
And that person was probably right: he did not need to eat that elephant ear. Given what they are made of,the question becomes: Who does need to eat an elephant ear? And to what benefit? Are elephant ears inherently better for thin people than for fat ones? Do we suppose that that one particular elephant ear will somehow alter the course of this man's life in some way that all of the elephant ear's before it, or all of the elephant ears to follow, might not? And last but not least, what qualifies any of us for the mission of telling other people what they should or should not eat?
I have probably spent most of my life listening to other people tell me that as a middle-class white person, I have no idea what it is like to be discriminated against. I have never experienced the look that tells me I am not welcome, I have never been treated rudely on a bus, I have never been reminded to keep my place, I have never been laughed at, ridiculed, threatened, snubbed, no waited on, or received well-meaning service I would just as soon have done without. I have never had to choose which streets I will walk down and which streets I will avoid. I have never experienced that lack of social status that can debilitate the soul.
My feelings were not hurt when I was twelve years old and the shoe salesmen measured my feet and said he had no women's shoes large enough for me, but perhaps I could wear the boxes.
I have never been called crude names, like "fatso" or "lardbucket" or "fatass." My nickname on the school bus was never "Bismarck," as in the famous battleship. No one ever assumed I was totally inept in sports except those that involved hitting things because--and everyone knows-- the more weight you can put behind it, the farther you can kick or bat or just bully the ball.
I have never picked up a magazine with the photograph of a naked woman of substance on the cover, to readm in the following issue, 30 letters to the editor addressing sizim, including one that said, "She should be ashamed of herself. She should go on a diet immediately and demonstrate some self- control. She is going to develop diabetes, arthritis, hypertension, and stroke, she will die at an early age and she will take down the entire American health system with her." And that would, of course, be the only letter I remember. I would not need some other calm voice to say, "You don't know that--and you don't know that the same fate would not befall a thin woman."
No one has ever assumed I am lazy, undisciplined, prone to self pity, and emotionally unstable purely based on my size. No one has ever told me all I need is a little self-discipline and I too could be thin, pretty-- a knock-out, probably, because I have a "pretty face" -- probably very popular because I have a "good personality." My mother never told me boys would never pay any attention to me because I'm fat.
I have never assumed an admirer would never pay any attention to me because I'm fat. I have never mishandleda sexual situaton because I have been trained to think myself as asexual. Unattractive. Repugnant.
Total strangers have never walked up to me in the streets and started to tell me about weight loss programs their second cousin in Tulsa tried with incredible results, nor would hey ever do so with the manner and demeanor of someone doing me a nearly unparalleled favor. I have never walked across a parking lot to have a herd of young men break into song about loving women with big butts. When I walk down the street or ride my bicycle, no one has ever hung out the car window to yell crude insults. When I walk into houses of friends I have never been directed to "safe" chairs as if I just woke up this morning this size and am incapable of gauging for myself what will or will not hold me.
I have never internalized any of this nonexistent presumption of who I am or what I feel. I would never discriminate against another woman of substance. I would never look at a heavy person and think. "self-pitying, undisciplined ub if lard." I would never admit that while I admire beautiful bodies, I rarely give the inhabitants the same attention and respect I would a soul mate because I do not expect they would ever become a soul mate. I would never tell you that I was probably 30 years old before I realized you can can be too small or too thin, or that the condition causes real emotional pain.
I havenever skipped a high school reunion until I "lose a few pounds." I have never hesitated to reconnect with an old friend. I will appear anywhere in a bathing suit. If my pants split, I assume-- and I assume everyone assumes-- it was caused by poor materials.
I have always understood why attractive women are offended when men whistle at them.
I have never felt self-conscious standing next to my make friend who is 5'10 and weighs 145lbs.
I am not angry about any of this.
From the essay FATSO by CHERYL PECK in her book Revenges of the Paste Eatters-Memoirs of a Misfit.