Growing up "Chubby"

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I was a cute kid.  Precocious.  I got along well with grown-ups, but not with other kids.  I was picked on, left out, bullied.  I never thought of myself as being cute.  The only adjective I would have used to describe myself was "fat".  My mother would say "you're not fat, just a little chubby."  You weren't around, Mom, when the other kids were teasing me.  "Fat" is what people saw when they looked at me.  "Fat" is what I saw when I looked in the mirror.
They say now that childhood obesity is a rising problem.  They're starting all kinds of school programs: tailored lunches, after-school clubs, TV commercials aimed at getting kids to get up and exercise, to try to halt, or at least slow this epidemic.  What would it have been like for me if those programs had been around back then?  Probably not much different.
People were always asking me "Why don't you go on a diet?"  I was always on a diet of one kind or another.  The only thing I knew better than my Sunday bible verses was what kind of foods I could or couldn't eat.  I knew all about carbohydrates, proteins, fats.  At the age of 7, I could tell you that corn and potatoes were starches, not vegetables, how to read a product label for calorie information (don't forget to check the serving size), how much white chicken I could put on a sandwich, how much milk is in a cup.
Losing weight was all I thought about for most of my life, but it never seemed to happen.  There would be long periods of weight loss followed by short periods where I would gain it all back.  More than anything else, I wanted to be skinny.  I wanted to be like the other kids.  I wanted to eat like a normal person, not having to count every calorie.  I wanted to be able to run and jump and play without all those laughing, ridiculing voices following me everywhere as I jiggled and bounced comically.
Most of all, I didn't like being set apart from everyone else.  I was four.  My family had just moved to a new town: Thoreau, New Mexico, and my parents needed a preschool for me.  It wasn't a big town, but I remember driving around looking at different possibilities, being asked if I was a boy or a girl (not as weird a question as you might think.  In Navajo culture, boys are routinely raised with long hair, and a lot of girls back then had short hair.).  I know they later regretted their decision to leave me at the local catholic school, but at the time it was just a new place, with lots of new kids I didn't know.  It was a feeling I would later get used to: being the new kid, not knowing anyone.  I was on a diet.
Snacktime.  I hated celery, but there I was, at a table all by myself, with a bowl of it while the other kids all ate Rice Crispies, laughing and talking.  I don't remember eating, just staring.  I envied them their sense of belonging more than the food they were eating.  I wanted to be a part of the group.  Afterwards, during cleanup, I scraped dried Rice Crispies off the dirty carpet and shoved them in my mouth.  The teacher came over and grabbed my hand, dragged me to the garbage, made me spit it out.  I was humiliated.
Sundays at church, there would sometimes be potlucks.  It was the only time I could eat whatever I wanted.  I gorged myself until I couldn't eat anymore, then I would belch and go back for more anyway.  I was such a cute kid at 3, I always wanted "lots".  I would sneak snacks whenever I could, but church was the only time I ever got to have sweets, my parents didn't keep them in the house.
I just wanted to be normal, like the other kids.  I didn't want to stand out.  Later, I did my best to leave others alone.  I lived my life by the mantra: "leave them alone and they'll leave you alone."  The Golden Rule: "do unto others as you would have them do unto you," meant that I should ignore people, just as I wanted to be ignored.  I stopped trying to fit in and just assumed that I never would.  I read the book of Job, and then the book of Matthew where he says "The last will be first and the first will be last."  I listened to my pastor talk about about trials and tribulations and how they are meant to strengthen us, and strengthen our faith and increase our reliance on Him.  Obviously, God was preparing me.  I was suffering now so that I could accomplish some great work for Him later.  He had a plan for me.
To be continued...