Why do we make fun of overweight people? Why is size a joke? What’s funny about excess weight? Why are we cruel? Why do we hate?
For all I may dislike about our governor, Chris Christie, I don’t care what he weighs. Why is he fat-shamed? Why did he have to go on David Letterman and self-deprecatingly eat donuts? Self hate-ingly might be a better phrase.
Why do plus size models Ashley Graham and Tess Holliday get reams of hate mail? What’s to hate about a bigger body? Bigger than what, I have to ask?
There’s a dispatcher at work, sweetest and most helpful guy in the world. The other guys call him Fatboy. Why? I call him one of my only friends at work.
Of course, I’m sensitive about this issue. I was the fat kid – teased and tortured and scorned. (One day, I suppose I will forget that I was the only girl in all of 8th grade who wasn’t invited to Michele Grosseibl’s birthday party. But it’s only been 40 years, so I guess it might be a while.)
But actually, let’s go back to the deepness of that pain. I have forgotten and forgiven truly excruciating situations. Drug dealers who stole my every last cent, boyfriends who cheated, friends who dumped me, employers who fired me… Against all of these, i hold NO grudge. I understand. I pray for them. I see my part.
But the eighth grade girls who laughed at me, made fun of my fat and left me out of everything…
I bought the drugs, picked bad men, wasn’t the best friend or the most stellar employee, so I can understand all the consequences there. But as a chubby kid, I hadn’t done anything wrong. (sidebar, I think it is finally time to get over Michele Grosseibl and friends!)
Again I ask, why do we hate the fat kid?