"Her Butt is Fat!"

"Her butt is fat!"  So said the cherubic 5 year old child standing next to her mother.  She was pointing at me, or rather, my large rear end, her eyes wide as she looked to her mother for approval.  Of course, the mother was mortified and attempted to shush her young child, avoiding my eyes.  "But, mommy, her butt is fat!"

I laughed... genuinely amused by this frank admission from the girl.  I smiled at her mother, stealing her eyes away from the suddenly very interesting floor.  "She's young," I said, matter of fact and friendly.  I did not need to add the obvious.  The child was correct in her observation.  

I knew it.  She knew it.  Her mother knew it.  Frankly, everyone within hearing distance knew that the little girl was not lying.  Had it not been such a frank exclamation of astonishment, devoid of judgement, I would probably have been mortified.  However, the child exuded a startled innocence matched only by her own mother's startled shame.

Frankly, I am well aware of what my body looks like.  I know that I walk with a limp because one leg is shorter than the other.  I know that my upper body does not match my lower body.  I have a very large bottom paired with a much smaller torso.  Somehow, as the years have passed (and while I was avoiding the mirror) my proportions became pear shaped, rather than the more even proportions of my youth.

I do not pretend to be smaller than I am.  My girth is unavoidable.  However, the soul of me feels small and perfectly proportioned.  I often catch myself picturing a nimble leap from my chair, a swift pace across my living room, and a fast jog across my yard to retrieve my missing book from the car.  I find myself thinking that a bike ride would be great, and before lumbering to my feet, I see myself grabbing my bike from the shed, jumping aboard the comfy seat, and pedaling with athletic grace through my neighborhood.

None of this actually happens, of course.  As soon as I start to stand from any prolonged length of sitting or lying down, my knees tighten up and my legs turn to lead.  Taking a step becomes a huge process of will over mechanics.  I hold onto my end table, my dresser, even a door jamb, or whatever else is a steady surface that can support my weight.  I steadily pull on the object to begin a forward momentum.  Once I get my legs to take a few steps, it becomes easier, and the limp becomes less pronounced.  Easier, though never easy.

Walking is definitely a skill that is taken for granted by the majority of folks that never have to give it a second thought.  I have always prided myself on my ability to empathize with others; to be compassionate, sensitive, and kind, regardless of a person's abilities.  So it came as a surprise to find that when I was younger and able to walk long distances without worry, I had no clue about the true lives led by the differently-abled people I encountered along the way.  Those folks bearing canes to guide their way or maneuvering wheelchairs or walkers or electric scooters were simply beyond my understanding at that time.  How could I realize the inconvenience of a body that would not do my bidding?  I had never been subjected to a painful debilitation that exhausted me both physically and mentally.  And, being young, I did not understand that inside the bodies of these extraordinary human beings were the spirits of people who could see freedom from the prison of a body that did not work as well as it once had; with a single thought, they might picture their own gracefully pointed toe stepping off the curb without worry or care for whether it might hurt; because within the resiliency of our minds and spirits, we are forever able to see beyond our limitations.

So, this young child, who had no idea that she might cause me discomfort or shame or anxiety, because she saw the size of my butt and couldn't fathom a reason to not exclaim the news to her mother, this child is precious to me.  She has an innocence that will soon be lost in a world that demands that we be polite; for by virtue of being polite and proper, we are not allowed to discuss certain subjects and, therefore, appear to lose the ability to truly see beyond the obvious.

I want honest conversations to happen with regard to obesity that go beyond the obvious.  There is so much to talk about; so much education we can learn from, within these conversations.  So much shame that can be laid to rest; so much anxiety that can slide from our shoulders; so much relief, that can lead to even more conversations.

"Yes, sweetie, the lady's butt is fat... I wonder why?  Do you suppose that is why she is walking with a cane?

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 *****Posted by Holly Bennett at 1:47 AM 2 comments:  
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