Five minutes in weight-watchers

I was fat when I was younger and my mother’s solution was to take me to weight-watchers. The average weight-watchers participant was a 35 to 45 year-old women; I was a ten-year-old boy. Yes, I was a tad bit out of place.. I will never know what prompted my mother go to the extreme of dragging me to a weight watchers facility, nor do I know why I actually went. Regardless, it was a Saturday morning in 1995 and I found myself in the basement of a small brick building in New Jersey surrounded by overweight, 40 year old woman. I think it would be an understatement to say that I was devastated.

I believe that there is a line between being over bearing and an extreme, unnatural reaction over your child’s weight problem, and I was standing in it. Yes, I was awkwardly waiting in line to be weighed in. I stood there between the morbidly obese woman in the blue moomoo and the slightly over-weight lady who probably would have been fine with a weekly 3 mile walk and cutting out dessert, and I thought “why the fuck am I here”? It was then when I ran out of the weight-watchers building as fast has my chubby legs could take me. That was probably the most exercise I got in years (thanks weigh-watchers!). I was in the middle of some unknown town in Jersey, so I only made my getaway as far as the parking lot where I had to wait for my mom to casually follow me out of the building and unlock the car door. The car ride home was less awkward then the time a girl hugged me and felt my massive erection, but it was still no trip to Disneyland.

That night at dinner my mother and I recapped the days event to my father. My father just shook his head.

I ended up losing all my weight a year later at summer camp thanks to a growth spurt and playing a lot of sports like a normal fucking child...