The good news is that we have a Wii now so we can track our health. Rumor is Mr. Fun is too “stout”, The Boy is too heavy, and The Girl is too skinny. Nothing was commented on me so I must be just right, right?
The bad news is that my Wii age is 57.
I went from feeling good and sporty in my new hair cut for the Montreal/RYLA trip to feeling like burning all my clothes and converting to Hinduism so that I can cover my body in extra large saris—which of course then desperately increases my chances of drowning in my house, as we learned last blog post.
Mr. Fun, who hasn’t been doing yoga in the basement or watching his carb intake and even has a bigger BMI index than me didn’t Wii “age” so high. Totally unfair.
Even The Boy, who hasn’t attended a PE class in three years was less old then me, comparably speaking.
So, as I sit here in the airport, I have had to time ponder this conundrum (nice word, eh? The Girl learned it in 8th grade science class from a cool teacher—the kind of teacher that set his desk on fire to catch the kids attention).
This is what I have decided.
I wish there was a magic pill for me. Not so that I would be thin or have a perfect body. I wish there was a magic pill for me to take so that I could finally come to some sort of peace with my body and whatever it really looks like. For years, my husband (and some others) have told me that I have some sort of distorted body image problem. I have read about it. I have studied it. Yeah, I think they are right. I do not have real and clear true concept of what it looks like. It is kind of a pain, no doubt.
I think I know where and when it started.
Ted from 4th grade recess.
If you have never seen me, I have a sharp, long pointy nose. Always have, probably always will (unless of course Mr. Fun becomes a VP of the world and a major amount of discretionary money is laying around for a nose job only AFTER I have given most of it away to the poor and needy—which I read in the Bible today that that they need a voice for them so I actually might be on the right track …).
Kids had always said stuff about my nose since I started school—pretty mean most of it. The worst was “Pinocchio Popper” (my maiden name). It is true, to a little kid it does looks pinocchioish. However, by third grade or so, the novelty had worn off and we had all moved on.
Then, in the fourth grade, we were moved to the Upper Playground, as it was called. The Upper Playground was like going to Heaven from some non-descript place, although the snow burms weren’t as good, high or sturdy for snowcaving like the Lower Playground. It also had a covered bench area for when it snowed or rained. See what I mean by “heavenly?”
Ted was a grade ahead of me so we had never crossed paths before. But with the jump in playground status, he noticed me there. And made sure everyone else did.
He was ruthless. I think sometimes he searched me out on purpose just to make fun of me and my nose.
It wasn’t every day. It wasn’t all recess. It wasn’t like some sort of movie where I was covering my face and hiding behind the portables. But it was enough to consistently remind me that I was imperfect. So imperfect. This went on until he left in the 7th grade to the Jr. High a couple years later.
When we were in high school again together, he would still mention it on and off.
Do I think he had it out for me? No. Do I think he was doing it because he liked me? No. Do I think he was just a stupid insensitive boy? Yep.
The sad piece of collateral damage is that it laid out a path for my self-doubt in my perception of what I deem to be pretty.
Wait. No, not pretty. Just physically acceptable.
This is the strange irony of it all….I am on my way to Montreal for an International conference that I helped design and will help direct. I am the only female in the world on this special committee asked to serve and do this. I will hurry home to direct another leadership academy in Missouri that is used as model program for the entire world for Rotary International. I have been winning awards for various activities throughout my whole life. I was a collegiate athlete. I was an Olympic Torchbearer. I have jumped on the Great Wall of China. I have the greatest pair of green pants to travel in…even with their newly acquired “Chik-Fil-A” grease stains.
I married the nicest man I have ever known. I have some terrific children who are trying to choose the better way and do their best. I have amazing bestie friends, doing some amazing good in the world.
And what am I thinking about here in the cubby space in the Chicago airport?
Man, I feel fat.
In a way, Ted is sitting right next to me. Right here in Chicago. Perhaps Ted has been with me all these years…an uninvited guest in my subconscious, still taunting me and making me feel less than what I could consider myself to be….
I am thinking that Dr. Phil would say that experience I had as a kid was a “defining moment.”
PS/ I Facebooked Ted. He is there…fat.