I feel for people who have been over (or are) overweight. I've never been overweight myself, but I have been osterisized for different reasons. I moved around a lot growing up, I was always the "New Girl." When I was little the other kids would make fun of the way I looked or talked, the older I got, the more I grew into my looks, but still people would just ignore me because I was "New." Now that I'm out of school people just seem to be too self absorbed to really pay attention to anybody else.
It makes me feel even worse that, in gerneral, our society puts so much emphasis on the way people look, and how people mistakenly believe that if you're not overwight and moderately attractive, some how all life's problems dissappear, life is wonderful, life and happiness is handed to you on a silver platter, or something. People tell me that I pretty all the time, but it's never helped me in life, maybe because I don't buy into the mentality "Someone thinks I'm attractive, so I don't have to be a smart, or a decent human being." Thats one thing I've noticed, those of us who don't (or didn't) fall into the standard mold of how people are "supposed" to look, even if we eventually come into it, are at least sympathetic to those who still feel like they're missing out (and trust me, you're not).
If you're overwight, have crooked teeth, an overbite, an extra arm, or just feel that there is anything about youself that, if you could just "fix it" then every thing would be alright. Do it for yourself, so you can run a marathon, or close your mouth properly without pain, or buy a shirt with out having to add an extra arm hole. Don't do it because you think that some how it will make humanity "nicer." Even if they're nicer to you, they're still being jerks to someone else.
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My Secret History
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When you take on a new identity, and you've let others believe that this is your one true identity, it's easy to find yourself completely disowning your previous self. Recently my mother and I were going through old pictures of me—all those years of photographs and truths that I've hidden from new people in my life—and, picture by picture, my expressions of disdain and disgust grew louder. Fully acculturated to the thin insider group, it took my mother's tears to shake me out of my judgment. With wet eyes she said gently, "Be careful what you say about that girl. I loved her very much." And although my words could never carry the power of my mother's quiet admonishment, the next time someone leans over to me in the assumption of shared judgment, I can only hope that I will not remain silent.
Northrup lives in Charlottesville, Va.
© 2007
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