Yesterday at the grocery store, I came across a child, who was about 8-years-old. She was lying on the floor flailing her arms and legs yelling I want a chocolate bar. I could have predicted the outcome. The child continued to scream until mom put a chocolate bar in the cart. The crying ceased instantly.
As they passed, I took note of the contents of the grocery cart – Coco Puffs cereal, soda, 3 bulk bags of potato chips, chocolate covered granola bars, macaroni & cheese, hot dogsyou get the drift. Try as I might I couldnt help but feel scared for that childs future.
You see, a long time ago I was that obese little girl. I was unhappy with my body, but I dulled the pain by eating chips, chocolate bars, hotdogs. I threw tantrums because I knew my mother didnt have the patience and would just give me what I wanted.
By the age of 12 I was 4-foot, 11-inches and 135-pounds. My doctor put me on a restrictive diet. However, I would steal money from my parents to buy candy. It didnt make sense to me. I was allowed to eat those foods before. Why were punishing me? I hated myself more.
In the early 80s, being a fat child was rare. However in...
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