Weighing the History: Childhood

We were spending the night at my Grandmother's, something we did once a month or so as children. I always slept in my mom's old bedroom, complete with a artist's portrait of her at eighteen. This night my Grandma dug through the closet to show me my mom's wedding dress, crisp white with a lace overlay of daisies and a high neck, a size one. I thought, "I will never be that small." I was nine years old.

I was right. Size one was not in my future. I'm thin at a size 5 and currently a size 8, though that will surely change. And I do not remember a time when I did not weigh myself once a week, ever.


I was her daughter, the daughter of the basketball coach who could still out run, out jump, and out shoot any of her players. She was constantly in motion. I inherited her coloring and facial features, but got the stocky build of my father on a short frame. I wanted to be built like her, slim and leggy. I was the opposite. As one Aunt said I was a "sturdy girl." It is only now, as an adult, that I can see my resemblance to her.

I couldn't look like her, so I decided to move as much as she did. I was never the basketball player my mom was, but she gave me a life long love of movement, of running, of knowing a walk can diminish most problems. For that I am thankful.

Soon to come -- adolescence