photo: http://priscillabracks.com/
My memory is insane, truly. I can recall the most minute and obscure details from 15 years ago... maybe even more. Lately, I've been thinking a lot about this certain memory- from the summer of '89; way back when I was a wee little three years old.
During the preliminary years of my life my parents would always tote me to the ever exotic destination that is Galveston, Texas. I spent a lot of time there during the summer months of my youth. I still remember sitting under what, at the time, seemed to be enormous umbrella- sippin' on Capri Sun, sportin' 'water shoes' and munching on Ziploc bags of green grapes. Usually when we would go to Galveston I would always bring along some new toys, seeing as how my birthday is in July. Many a Barbie has lost the silky feel of its synthetic hair in the briny ocean water of Galveston Bay, only to end up naked and headless at the bottom of my closet weeks later.
When I turned three I got a really cool Barbie beach setup. It contained an oblong piece of plastic sand with fake little palm trees on each end and in between there hung a pink mini hammock with orangey yellow wavy stripes. Not only was it ideal for any Barbie looking to relax, but the hammock could be removed and then converted into an fanny pack- clearly a product of the 80's. I had seen this demonstrated on the television several times via commercial. I would watch as these two little blonde haired, blue eyed, bikini clad seven year olds fastened the fanny pack around there trim little waists. I couldn't wait to do the same.
One afternoon, in our La Quinta Inn ocean view motel room, mom, dad, and myself suited/sunblocked up, preparing for a day at the beach. Dad was wearing his maroon polyester trunks and packing up the cooler with fruit rollups and juice boxes. I ran to get my Barbie hammock so that my mom could help me convert it into a fanny pack. I couldn't wait. This fanny pack was going to look pretty great with my 'body glove' one piece and 'dancing penguins in tuxedoes' beach towel.
I was looking at the beach when I felt the fanny pack pull tight against my tummy and then come loose. I turned to look at my mom who had the unfortunate task of informing me that the fanny pack was too small.
WHAT? Too small?? You mean I am too big. Suddenly, my mind was racing and I was replaying the Barbie commercial in my head. Those two girls- they had been having so much fun. The fanny pack fit them. Why not me? Quickly, comparisons were made and I realized that I looked completely different from those girls... those two little girls who probably had skinny girl names like "Katie" and "Amber." No blonde hair, blue eyes, or bikinis for me. My stomach was poochie and there's was not. What bitches. I then decided that these two girls knew that I wasn't able to wear the fanny pack and decided to appear to be having an extra super duper good time in order to rub it in my round little face.
Then, before I knew it, the tears were streaming forth. This moment in my life history marked the first moment that I ever uttered (or on this occasion screamed) the words that have since then echoed in my mind from that day on at the age of three: "I'm fat.(!!!)"
I threw a fit because I was so upset. I still remember shutting my eyes and screaming “I’m fat” before throwing myself facedown on the bed. This is a flashbulb memory for me because I feel like I can trace back all of my issues with my weight to this moment in time. This is where it all started. From that day forward I became a fat girl and it was something to work around anytime I went to Sears with my mom to shop for a new matching short set or bathing suit. I know that it seems absurd to think that, developmentally speaking, a three year old is capable of thinking or feeling this way but I am here to tell you that it is, in fact, very possible. This story makes me laugh but it’s also depressing- to think that I live in the kind of society that can prompt a three year old to think that she’s fat. I’d like to be able to say that things have changed since that day. I’d like to say that when it comes to feeling good about myself that I’m still not as fragile and easily discouraged as a three year old girl who can’t wear her Barbie fanny pack to the beach- but I just can’t. It’s in my nature to compare my body to others’ and to allow all of my attributes to take a back seat to the fact that I am ‘pushing maximum density.’ I am doing myself a disservice. I wish there was a remedy for this but I don’t know how to kill off an innate characteristic. Meh, it’s something to work on and I have to say- I think I have made progress in this area because 49% of the time I am able to look in the mirror and not grimace at what I see starring back. That number will continue to increase as I continue to work toward recognizing the good parts of myself.
But to be completely honest, there is still a little part of me that would give anything to wear that Barbie fanny pack on the beach way back in the summer of ’89.
