I'm not sure where my daughter got the idea that strong is an appropriate euphemism for fat, but I'm sure I had something to do with teaching her that calling someone fat is not socially acceptable. Once, for example, when my kids were younger, I took them to Sears. While I was browsing the hardware section, they were playing I-Spy, pointing out various items in the store. "I spy something red," or "I spy something that you could use to mow your lawn," that sort of thing.
I remember watching in dream-like slow motion as the escalator deposited a fantastically large woman directly in front of my children. I saw the scenario playing out in my mind before it happened, but there was nothing I could do to prevent it. I didn't even have time to run away and leave my children to be Sears orphans.
"I spy a big fat lady!" my daughter squealed joyfully. My son, slightly older and more reserved, just giggled to himself.
The woman wobbled past, shooting me a look that seemed to say, "Thanks for bringing two more horrid children into the world and making my life just that much more miserable!" I smiled sheepishly, realizing there was absolutely nothing I could say or do to improve the situation. Sure, I could make a show of scolding them, but for what? Pointing out that someone is fat? That would imply that there's something wrong with being fat, making the situation worse.
The problem is that society hasn't decided what it's going to do about fat people. We haven't decided if being fat is a disability, like not having any legs; whether it's a personal choice to be frowned upon, like smoking; or something that we can talk openly about, but only if the person admits to their condition or is a celebrity, like being gay.I've read enough Parade magazine to know it's supposedly okay for children to point out disabled people and ask questions about them. (And still, I'm always afraid that my children are going to encounter the one legless guy who didn't get the memo). But what do you do with fat people?
Daughter: "Daddy, why is that lady so fat?"For some reason, I don't see the exchange going that smoothly. So now I have to explain to my children that it's okay to ask why someone has no arms, but not okay to ask why someone has eight chins. Can somebody please explain the rule of thumb here, preferably in language a six year old can understand?
Daddy: "That's a good question, honey. Why don't we ask her? I'm sure she'll appreciate your child-like honesty and curiosity."
Daughter: "Hey fat lady, why are you so fat?"
Fat Lady: "What a darling little child! I appreciate your child-like honesty and curiosity. To answer your question, I eat far too much and get very little exercise. Also, I tend to eat processed foods that are high in sugar and saturated fat. If I keep it up, there's a good chance I'll be dead by the time I'm 40. Does that answer your question, sweetie?"
Recently I skimmed through a special "obesity issue" of Time magazine. Article after article detailed how we are eating too much, eating the wrong kinds of stuff and not exercising enough -- and endangering our health in the process. Then, presumably to lighten the mood, there was an article about a fat woman who had learned to accept herself the way she was, and appreciate the fact that skinny is not synonymous with healthy. Huh?
Wouldn't it be great if life really worked that way? A visit to your doctor might go like this:
Doctor: I'm afraid I have bad news. You're morbidly obese. You need to start eating right, get more exercise and stop smoking, or you're going to have a stroke.Now I'm not a doctor, but in the forties Time magazine was putting the Nazis on its cover. The equivalent threat today is evidently ten-year-olds with ice cream cones. To my knowledge, Time never ran an essay about how the Netherlands was "feeling really good" about being overrun by the German war machine.
Patient: Doc, I know I'm a little on the heavy side, but I've learned to accept myself. I feel really good about my body. I may not meet society's definition of beautiful, but I feel beautiful inside.
Doctor: Well, why didn't you say so! Modern medical science is rendered completely obsolete by the fact that you feel good about your condition. Why, just the other day I saw a man so euphoric about having his legs amputated that he literally flew out of the intensive care unit!
Patient: So does this mean I can keep smoking?
Doctor: That depends. Does smoking make you feel cool and help you fit in with your friends?
Patient: Absolutely!
Doctor: Then who am I to tell you to stop?
Patient: Wow, that's fantastic. You're a terrific doctor, you know that? Are you always this upbeat?
Doctor: Not always, but today I am. After all, I just found out I have stage four liver cancer!
Patient: Awesome!
As one of America's premier cultural commentators, I feel some obligation to help society come to terms with fat people. And yet, as a relatively thin person, I'm a little reluctant to do so. Last time I weighed in on the issue (ha!), I got a lot of hate mail. (Granted, my advice consisted mostly of telling fat people to cover up so as to not nauseate me). So I'm stuck with leaving the matter in the hands of people like Camryn Manheim, the fat chick from The Practice, who wrote a book called Wake Up, I'm Fat!I haven't read the book (it's got a fat chick on the cover, for crying out loud!), but presumably it's about how we're supposed to accept Camryn Mahheim's obesity and love her for who she is. And yet, somehow I suspect that she resents being referred to as "the fat chick from The Practice." So we're left to guess what language we are allowed to use to refer to people like Camryn Manheim (the brash, annoying chick from The Practice? The loud, irritating lesbian from The Practice? The chick on The Practice who, when averaged with Lara Flynn Boyle, would make a normal looking woman?)
And I have to continue to try to explain to my children why it's okay to point out some conditions but not others, which can have strange results.
Daughter: "Daddy, why does that man have no legs?"
Daddy: "I don't know, honey. Why don't you ask him?"
Daughter: "Sir, why don't you have any legs?"
Legless Man: "Well, sweetie, I had to have my legs chopped off with a saw."
Daughter: "Why?"
Legless Man: "I had something called diabetes. You see, I used to eat way too much, and then...."
Daddy: "I spy something red!"
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