Metal Meredith

Yesterday, my father posted a blog entry about two flights he has recently taken. The gist, should you not want to go read, is that both times he ended up next to a person of considerable girth or an “exaggerated human” as he puts it.

As I posted a few days ago, I am headed to Atlanta shortly. Against my better judgment, I have decided to fly. I don’t like to fly. I get motion sickness which feature a lovely trio of nausea, dizziness and headaches that lasts until I am able to stand on solid ground again. I am uncomfortable on flights and have been both as a child and as a “Amazon Goddess”. I have been dreading this flight since before I booked it, as I do every one I take. Up until yesterday, I had myself convinced that I was going to be fine, I was sure that I would be seated next to an open seat, the flight wasn’t full so I had less to worry about, etc. But sadly, after reading this post yesterday, all of my fears would rise to the top again, not unlike bile in my throat.

People, I am fat. By all accounts I am morbidly obese. I do not make excuses for my weight. I am fat because I eat too much and do not exercise enough. I am not on a diet but I do not eat ice cream for every meal.

When I read my father’s account of his plane rides, I sympathized with these “deer sized” people that he wrote about. I know that when they booked their flights, when they drove to the airport, walked to the gate and boarded the plane, they were as worried to sit next to my father as he was when he saw them approaching. I know that they read his face, trying to ignore the ‘oh shit’ look that people think they are covering up. And by making small talk about being “packed on this one”, this woman was speaking code for “Look, we both know I am fat but there is little I can do about it in this present moment. Please just be a decent human yourself and accept my veiled apology for intruding on your space. I don’t want to be here, either.”

I lived a life where both of my parents slimmed down when I was in my early teens. After that point, it was not unusual to hear “Looks like that guy had one too many trips to the buffet!” and “We better hurry up before the food is all gone!” when seeing a large person in a restaurant. I worked for a woman who had a snide thing to say about every person that came into her store who was overweight. I quit her store in 1990 and have yet to go back to visit her. I know what the comments will be when I leave, no matter how nice it would be to catch up. This name calling has followed me all of my life, even if it has rarely been pointed at me.

While I don’t think that fat people deserve your pity or any special treatment for something that they are totally responsible for, I disagree with the hurt that comes from these easy judgments. While my flaws are on the outside, easy to see and easy to size up, does it make it any worse than the ones that others can hide?

My Grandfather died last Friday. It is hard to wrap my head around at times. It seems normal, expected and not at all sad. Then I really think and get that feeling when my throat seems to fill up with emotion and it causes all the tears in my eyes to spring forward. Grandparents are like the best chocolate around, given to you as a kid. Then, one day when you are used to it being readily available and you have forgot how special it is, it goes away.

I am sad for my own loss, but I am devastated for my children. I liked my grandpa a lot. I wanted him to teach my kids to fish like he taught me. I wanted him to fill a huge dish to the rim with coins and then allow them to dig in (with one hand only!) and let them keep their loot. I wanted them to be able to be called “Gypsy” and have those funny faces and ridiculous stories told to them over and over until they can repeat them all by themselves.

My Grandpop was goofy, sometimes large and intimidating but all the time lovable and caring. I think he loved his family more than anyone in the world was capable. In the last two years, I was able to see him more than I had my whole life. He moved closer, along with my Grandmother, and we were able to see him as much as we were wanted to. It was such a blessing to have him near, one that I am not sure I understood until now.

I have so many stories that I am unable to properly sort them in my head. My father wrote a wonderful post about him in his own blog. I loved it so much that I read (or should I say, choked and sobbed my way through) parts of it at his funeral. I swear I really did think I was fine, that I saw it coming and knew it would happen as soon as it did. But I wasn’t expecting all of the “But wait...” moments that followed where I wished I had, wanted to say, and forgot to tell. Suffice it to say that I have now learned this the hard way.

As heard in my car, yesterday, after going to the store and buying a 12-pack Phil’s favorite sugar cookies. We shared one on the way home.

Vivienne: Mom, why can’t we eat all of the cookies?

Me: We just don’t eat all the cookies. It just isn’t done.

Vivienne: Is it because you are the Boss of the World?

Me: Um, no. Well, I am just the Boss of the Cookies.

Vivienne: Is that your job, like Daddy works on the computer?

Me: Yep, I am the Boss of Cookies and I keep little kids alive and healthy and the house from falling apart.

Vivienne: Wow. I am just the Boss of Me. Can I have another cookie?

We dyed eggs this morning after checking in on our Easter loot. I think we have created a new tradition by having the Easter bunny bring us dyeing kits for the eggs in our baskets. That way, we don’t have 2 dozen eggs sitting around for a long time AND we have something to do that makes this day special for us.

Nothing too exciting here. Vivienne is on day 6 of her recovery and she is doing ok. Not 100%, I would say 75, maybe. We are having a quiet Easter with just us 4. Henry is walking up a storm and making us laugh all the time with his need to carry things as he walks around the house. He is also very fond of Vivienne’s kazoo.

All in all, I hope everyone enjoys this day the way that makes them happiest.