Sure, we can start there.
I had a fairly normal... oh? Ah yes, a recorder. Sorry for getting ahead of you.
... is that a reel-to-reel recorder? Where did you even find one of those? Haven't you heard of advancing with the times? Next you'll tell my you use an old type writer instead of a laptop.
Oh, of course you do. Your editor must hate you as much as mine does.
Alright, you're ready? Anyway, as I was saying, I had a fairly normal childhood. I was the youngest of four children, and my parents only biological child. My folks had a terrible time conceiving, and had given up on having children of their own. They adopted my siblings when they were 9, 6, and 5, and Mom became pregnant with me almost before the ink dried on the forms.
Despite what some people might think, we never had any major problems because of our origins. We had the usual sibling spats, but nothing unusual. Though my brother was quite fond of saying, "They clearly love me more, since they chose me." Don't be too harsh on his teasing; he was always the first to come to my defense while we were kids.
The only major fights we had we over the bathroom. Four kids and two adults in a house with only one bathroom was a recipe for disaster. Dad eventually had to enforce a strict schedule to keep everyone going through the bathroom at a decent pace, and when he and Uncle John redid the basement and put in an addition, they added two more bathrooms just to accommodate everyone.
Now, I should point out at this time that the women on both sides of my family err towards the larger end of the spectrum, and I was no exception to that rule. I was fairly chubby as a kid, thinning out during my growth spurts. I was pretty fast in spite of my size. I even won the 100 yard dash in Track and Field day in Grade 4.
Of course, even as a kid, I loved nothing more then a sweet snack and a good book. My Mom always said I drew all the time until I discovered the written word, and then I never looked back. I read everything I could lay my hands on, and my allowance always found its way into the register at the local used book store. I especially loved mysteries, and the works of Agatha Christie, Gilbert Chesterton, and Conan Doyle were double stacked in my bookcases.
And in terms of sweets, my house was never lacking in that. Mom was always baking, and there was typically no counter space in our kitchen because of all the pastries. Even though all us kids enjoyed the selection, none of my siblings could hope to match me. I doubt many kids could say they ate an entire jar of cookies as an after school snack, then had a double helping of supper.
Perhaps Mom should have limited our intake a little more then she did, but Dad hated sweet foods, so I imagine she let herself cut loose far more then she should of.
My problems really started around Grade 6. I was a shy, bookish kid, so I only had a couple of really close friends. That was also just after my last major growth spurt, so all the excess calories I was consuming only had one place to go: out. I quickly went from chubby to fat, and I was ballooning pretty quickly. Other kids were outgrowing clothes via height; I'd wake up one day, unable to button my pants.
My classmates were rather brutal about it, teasing me mercilessly. Of course, the outcome of that was to make me more introverted, spending more time at home reading, and naturally eating even more, making the problem worse.
It was around the time I needed two chairs in the dining room that I outgrew the desks at school. Despite the efforts of my brother and sisters, the bullying was at an all-time high, and my mother decided there was only one thing to be done.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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