By Staff
I'm fat. &#8221So, what else is new?“; you ask. I'm fat. I'm not chubby, pleasantly plump or big-boned. I'm not abled or disabled; I'm not challenged. I'm fat.
While I've lost 40 pounds, I'm still fat. I always have been -hopefully I'll be less fat in the months to come.
I understand fatness. It's a combination of the genes inherited from my parents (the number of fat cells given to me at conception) and the way in which I was nurtured by my environment (how my fat cells were filled).
I used to feel embarrassed that I was &#8221different.“; It seemed that all my friends in public school were &#8221normal.“; I was the only kid with extended girth.
Now I appreciate differences and feel more at ease. I no longer have to run laps or jump hurdles (the phys-ed coach always hated to see me run that gauntlet - I knocked down every hurdle!).
Now, with a few decades added to my experience, I appreciate differences and feel more at ease with who I am.
I don't feel so much different from &#8221normal“; people. I can actually say the word &#8221fat.“;
Some people just can't leave well enough alone - they have to tinker with terms so differences aren't labeled offensively.
Out of this need, political correctness emerged. In many instances this labeling actually had the reverse effect and called undue attention to differences.
Using the word &#8221challenged“; after a disability does little to make me feel better. It's much easier (and more honest) to simply say I'm fat, rather than using euphemisms to embellish my state of affairs or describe the size of my waistline.
In keeping with the spirit of politically correct terminology, I'm not a &#8221porch sitter,“; I'm a &#8221porch user.“; When I nod off into a sweet nap on the porch, I am &#8221wakefully challenged.“; If I over indulge in eating something fattening, I am &#8221will-power depleted.“; When engrossed in reading a novel and I don't hear my wife calling to me, I am &#8221focus redirected.“;
I must pause here to acknowledge that many non-politically correct terms are offensive, for instance racial slurs and sexist remarks.
We have made good progress in overcoming some very hurtful language.
I guess I do comply with some of this political correctness. I'm comfortable calling the person who brings my mail a &#8221postal worker“; - “;mailman“; is rather redundant.
I have difficulty, though, remembering that the person who brings my food and drink in a restaurant is a &#8221server“;-a safe, non-specific gender term.
The term &#8221firefighter“; seems hostile and should probably be renamed &#8221fire encounter person.“;
I really have problems with what we call members of the clergy - “;clergy person“; just doesn't cut it for me. That term is cold and impersonal. The priest at our church is a male and we call him &#8221father.“;
Some priests in our denomination are female and we still refer to them as &#8221priest“; and (thankfully) not &#8221priestess!“; We do, however, call them &#8221mother.“;
And while we're on the topic of religion, I will not refer to God as &#8221mother, father, genderless creator.“;
I also abhor changing the texts of hymns and scripture to smooth over ruffled PC (politically correct) feathers.
I don't want my children to call me &#8221parent person“; or my grandchildren to refer to me as &#8221parent person of my parent person.“;
So, as I sit on my porch reading a novel, nodding off into a pleasant dream, I am content to be &#8221fat,“; &#8221Dad,“; &#8221Papa“; and, most of all, &#8221Honey.“;
And I still refer to God as &#8221Father“; in my prayers.
I guess it's not so bad being fat.
It may not be politically correct, but it's simple and direct.