The Power of a Word..

I’m on a diet.
I know I’m not supposed to use that word, “diet”….I’m supposed to call it a “lifestyle” or “program”, but you can tell that to my belly when it’s growling at me tonight before bedtime. I swear it’s saying, “grrrrr damned diet grrrrr”.

I’ve been on diets my whole life. I remember the first time my weight was brought to my attention. I can recall the exact moment as though it was yesterday. Where I was, who I was with….and who let the cat out of the bag.
It was John B…..I’ll just say “B” because there are people from my home town who read this blog, (I have come to realize from emails responding to past blogs) and even though they will undoubtedly figure it out, I’ll spare him for the time being.

I was attending Reverend George A. Brown Memorial School, and I was in the 5th grade. It was Sister Grace Angela’s homeroom, 7:45am, and I was wearing my navy and gray pleated (all the way around…front to back) uniform jumper skirt. You had to wear the one-piece jumper until 7th and 8th grade, and then you could wear the separate pleated all the way around skirt, with a white button down and Navy sweater. Then, if you were lucky, you could beg your way into the public high school, if not, it was off to Pope John with you for more of the same.
The aforementioned pleated all the way around skirt is important to the story because of the very construction of said skirt. See, any woman who wears skirts will tell you that pleats of any kind are a fashion challenge no matter who wears them. But when you start putting tiny pleats across the front, around the hips, and over the derriere…well, it could make even Kate Moss look girthy.
And when you’re a girl from Italian heritage, and perhaps even slightly over indulged at the dinner table by your relatives, because when compared to the rest of your family, you’re considered skinny, and you’re forced to put on a skirt with 117 pleats, there’s risk involved. Or in my case, it may look like you stepped into the center of a gingham plaid golf umbrella.

So, there I was, in my standard-issue Catholic school uniform (the before picture) standing next to Katie Johnson (the after) and John B made a comment about my enormous butt.
What’s interesting about this story, (to me at least, you may have fallen asleep on your keyboard by now) is that I don’t actually remember the comment verbatim. What I DO remember is the sudden awareness that I was different for the very first time. Up until that moment…the second he made that comment, I had no clue that I was big, small, or unusual in any way. I was shocked at the announcement. Not to mention that I LOVED him…he was my big secret crush. I thought I was perfect until I was told otherwise. And I was never the same after that.
It pretty much breaks down like this: Before John B….and after John B.
I knew from that day forward that I was overweight….even when I wasn’t.
I’ve often wondered if he’d never said that, if no one had (because unfortunately over the years, he wouldn’t be the last.) would I have ever known? And how would my life be different without that knowledge about myself?
Would it have just been something I would have outgrown? Or would it still have been this stigma and constant opponent I find myself up against?
Interesting question.

He became my friend in the following years, and I think if he knew now that he had such an impact on me, he’d die a thousand deaths. We were just kids.
But I’ll never forget it.
Especially while I total my points.