The Fat Boy Files

I have always been fat.  And I mean huge! Disgusting and gross. No, not literally.  What I mean to say is that in my mind’s eye I have always seen myself this way. Of course as I peruse through old photographs I’m astounded at how thin I used to be.  How can that possibly be?  Deep in the recesses of my cob webbed memory banks there resides a chunky little kid who longed to be thin and fit like his friends. This kid who looks amazingly like Chunk from The Goonies, doesn’t even remotely resemble the kid I see in the pictures. I realize now that self-image  begins at an early age and can continue to haunt you throughout adulthood.  I firmly believe that I ultimately became what I have always believed I was:  fat. What a word, “fat”.  It is both a noun and an adjective.  It both describes my physical condition, but also states quite plainly what I have too much of. Yes, I am fat and I AM fat.  And that’s exactly how I feel at times. That’s all I am. A walking, talking gelatinous glob of fat.  That when I go to the store, people don’t see a guy who absolutely loves being a Dad, who lives to sing, who lives to find humor in everything, who gets choked up watching  sappy commercials.  They see fat.  That the first thing they think is what Gabriel Iglesias says in his comic routine, “Damn!” Now I see other overweight people everyday and I don’t give it a second thought.  Just like those people at the store, I’m thinking about things like kids schedules, mortgage payments, the price of gas.  But it’s that fat kid inside whispering in my ear that I’m not like everyone else.  That everyone else notices and are judging me every second. I now realize that if I’m ever going to lose weight permanently and in a healthy manner, I’m going to have to kill the fat kid in my subconscious That’s been there since my cousins playfully called me fat when I was six, and I foolishly believed it. I hate that kid.