I'm Not Fat! I'm Big Boned!

I was a fat kid.

In almost all of my memory growing up, I've always been of the rotund persuasion. In fact, the only time I was not fat was from infancy up until the first grade. (I know this to be true because I've got pictures to prove it.) I don't even remember getting fat. One day, I just was, and I remained that way for quite a long time. But I wasn't one of those kids who looked like sumo wrestlers; I wasn't obese. Chubby would've been the best way to describe me back then. And, you know what? I don't even remember being "chubby" bothering me much.

There is a Filipino phrase that roughly translates to "It looks like that kid got left behind in the kitchen." I heard people say that to my parents a lot when I was a child, and it would usually be followed by bellows of laughter. I remember one or both of my parents would either shirk it off or respond by saying, "Malusog lang siya." (which, with obvious irony, literally translates to "He's just healthy.") Again, this didn't bother me much. After all, what kid would mind being the center of attention? Relatives would come up to me, pinch my cheeks, and call me adorable. (Yeah, I was also a cute fat kid.) And, people seemed to always want to feed me. Does one truly expect a growing boy to turn down a donut? I think not.

Being a fat kid didn't seem to hinder me much as a child. I still got to play games like all the other kids, although I would get winded more quickly than the others. One time, my chubbiness may also have saved my life, when a group of friends and I were playing tag and I was "run over" by a slow-moving van. I didn't really get "run over" per se; I was just "slightly bumped" by the van at a blind corner, which I carelessly rounded while chasing after my playmates. I clearly remember feeling the impact of the van and being thrown backward, rolling to a stop against a nearby wall. Everyone who witnessed the incident--including a much-older cousin, who was asked to watch over us kids--panicked, and immediately ran to my aid. My mother, who had apparently seen the whole thing from her kitchen window, ran out of the house in hysterics. I tried to convince everyone who was fussing over me that I was not hurt. "He ran into me!" the bus driver helplessly tried to reason to the crowd that had gathered. It was the very first time that I'd heard my mother use profanity. To this day, I wonder if I would've gotten hurt had I not had the extra padding around my bones at that time.

Although being a little chubby was never an issue for me, it became an increasing concern to my parents, especially as I entered high school. They tried everything to make me less sedentary (I loved to write and draw, and still do), and had even engaged the help of my big brother, who had a more athletic inclination. Big Bro tried to get me to play basketball, saying that it's one of the best ways to lose weight. Even though I hated the game, I didn't completely reject the idea. After all, I got to spend time with Big Bro. Several lessons into it, Big Bro--and the nosy neighbors who would spy on our pick-up games--realized all too soon that basketball would never be my forte. I was a lousy dribbler, slow to make it from one end of the court to the other, and had a one-to-fifty ratio of getting the ball in the basket. I think I even remember him muttering to himself that the plan was never going to work. But he didn't want to let my parents (or me) down, so he did the most logical thing he could do. He joined me in a basketball league.

So, here's chubby old me in this community youth basketball league pretending to be a ballplayer. I remember being excited donning the team uniform, being around the neighborhood kids, and having my Big Bro as the Team Captain. I also remember being ecstatic seeing and hearing my parents cheer me on from the bleachers during my first league game. I can also recall how lousily I played, and heard many shouts from the spectators of "Take him out of the game!" and "He doesn't know how to play!" I muddled through that first game, being benched for about ninety-five percent of the time. (My Big Bro has a big heart but he wasn't stupid.) I walked out in the middle of my second game, when the reality of my ineffectiveness as a ballplayer was too much for me to handle. I don't even think anyone realized I had gone, not even the Team Captain.

In spite of the potentially traumatizing nature of such an ordeal, I have to be thankful to my parents and Big Bro for that little episode in my life story. They were merely looking out for my welfare. And, I wouldn't consider the "play-basketball-to-lose-weight" project a total failure. After all, I did lose two pounds that summer.