...I think you should make a funfetti cake with pink frosting for dinner. :)

I know what you mean about the scars from childhood, though...mine was my fat dad telling me that I had too much ice cream in my dish, even though my dish was way less full and adorned than his. That, and the "you'd be really pretty if you lost 50 pounds." I'm sure he was trying to save me from his own fat insecurities, but it only made it worse. Maybe because I'm stubborn. "Oh yeah? You wanna see fat? I'll show you fat, motherfucker."

I just had a grandma flashback- She was usually very lovely, but when I tried on the bright red flannel robe she made and tied the belt under my 10-year-old belly, she said: "You look like a fat little chinaman!"

I kid you not.

My grandmother did the exact opposite. God lover, that woman (the same woman who kept my mother on diets throughout her life) made sure I got to eat whatever I wanted and then some when I would spend my quarterly two weeks with her. Sandwiches filled with butter and jelly (on wonder bread, of course), cobblers made from perfectly good and innocent fresh fruit, deep fried fish, and a nightly double scoop ice cream cone right before bed. Needless to say, it drove my mom batshit crazy and pretty much cemented my food=comfort neurosis.

Lovely post Weetbix thank you, I'm loving your "vault" entries...I see a memoir in the making...

When I was 15, I volunteered to help teach a Vacation Bible School class of third-graders (this was before I lost religion). One day, a couple of the girls in the class told me I was pretty. Considering that my classmates at school treated me like the circus fat lady (I was 5'7" and about 180-ish pounds at the time ... I'd cut off a few toes to magically get back to that size now), I was touched beyond measure. When I recounted the story to my parents later, my Dad had to crack, "What is it, Vacation Bible School for the blind?" I think he was just trying to be sarcastic and funny, but that shit hurt.

And if it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, Weetabix ... not long before I graduated from college, my Dad was diagnosed with diabetes. For my graduation party, my fiancé's mother made a sugar-free cake because of Dad.

Just a naked cake? That's just wrong! You should at least get Cool Whip! And berries! What's an angelfood cake without some berries?

Good story.

Weetabix, your writing just kills me, completely knocks me back onto my heels. So, so good.

I hope you have the exactly-right birthday cake every year now.

Great story, dear. I was right there with you at your grandmother's house. If you ever make it up to the Twin Cities, I'll try and make you a pink funfetti cake. Our standby is Mrs. Cooper's Chocolate Cake and that one, preferably made by my mother, is still the birthday gold standard.

This story really made me feel for you. While we didn't do this at my family functions, the few times we got together when I was small would inevitably end up with my cousins and aunt making nasty jabs at me due to my weight. My aunt even went so far as to poke my little belly and call me "Rolls" from then on. Embarrassing, and that's what started my whole obsession with weight and wanting to be 'thin'. It is really sad what your family can do to you with words.

I too love your writing, though it hurts to read some of the painful things your family put you through--probably without even realizing they were doing anything hurtful--when you were just an innocent kid. The fact that this type of treatment is pretty much par for the course for fat kids makes it even worse in some ways. Anyway, your writing is beautiful and as someone else mentioned, I hope to read your memoir someday.

Beautifully written! My family (my grandmother especially) was (and still is) that way. I constantly got (and still get as an adult) the comments like, "You'd be so beautiful if you just lost [insert number they felt appropriate at the time] pounds." When I developed an eating disorder in college and lost a ton of weight, they refused to acknowledge it, instead expressing their joy that I had finally slimmed down. Now that I've gained it back, it's back to the old behaviors. I agree it's so much more painful than other people making comments because these are the people who are supposed to be in your corner no matter what. Thanks for sharing, and I look forward to reading more from you!

I believe my brother coined the term "plumpish" to describe me when he was about 8 and I was 16. Now, 15 years later, he's the plumpish one and finding out it's not so fun. I do feel for him (since I know what it's like) but, at the same time, a little evil part of me grins.

Oh god, the stories I could tell of being made fun of by my own family...

For one, I have always have broad shoulders, and I've always been tall. (I topped out at 5'10" though, thank God.) I had this asshole of a uncle who, whenever he saw me during my high school years, asked me why I was at home and not at football practice or trying out for the NFL.

Christmas 2004, right before I started losing weight, my mom and I were sitting next to each other at the table. My mom, with her own eating disorder, is now very petite. Almost too thin. And she's shorter than me, and I'm built like my dad so even if I were thin, I'd still look ginormous next to her. Anyway, my uncle looked at her, looked at me, and said to my mom, "God, why is Amy so much bigger than you, Linda?"

My mom, of course, is thrilled that she is so much smaller than me. She's been one of the worst. Having been chubby as a child and teenager and having her weight yo-yo all of her life, she reflected all of these body images disorders on me. She used to tell me things like, "Don't eat that, you're already fat enough." She told me that boys will never want to be more than my friend as long as I'm fat. When I tell her now that people compliment often, saying I'm pretty/gorgeous/whatever, she scoffs. Apparently, I'm still too fat to be pretty.

Once in 8th grade, I went on a diet and went from 175 to 151 pounds on my then 5'8" frame. I was doing my measurements and was so thrilled that my waist/abdomen measured at 33" that I ran in the living room to tell my mom. My dad overheard me saying that, scoffed, and said, "Which half?"

My grandmother was always funny about food. She would let me have whatever I wanted for the longest time. In high school and after college, when I'd want something sweet after dinner, she'd say, "I don't really think you need that. Haven't you had enough?" Then when I started losing weight and stopped eating seconds at dinner and whatnot, she'd say, "Are you sure you've had enough?"

My brothers have all called me everything from "fat" to "Free Willy" to "fat whale" to whatever other names are popular for calling fat people. My dad and oldest younger brother (I'm the oldest child, but he's the oldest boy of my three younger brothers) thought that if they made fun of me when I was heavier, it'd make me think, "Wow. They're right! I AM a lardass! I should really do something about that!" When I'd lose weight, they ignored me. Never complimented me. Whenever the weight came back on, it was back to insulting me.

And my dad and brothers are not skinny. No one in my family really is, aside from my mom, but she just starves herself because she thinks that will help her find men (she and my dad are divorced now, she's been married once, and now she's with a married guy...rawr).

So yeah, I know how you feel. I don't have children yet, but when I do, I hope that all that has happened to me leads me to be more positive about my body and theirs than what I have experienced growing up.

Gods, that's sad. I went through the same shit with people saying "Are you sure you want that," and "You'll lose weight when you want a boyfriend." I'm looking to conceive soon and I solemnly swear I will not screw up my kids like this, no matter how fat or thin they are.

God, that's heartbreaking. I wish I could retroactively adopt you into my family, where everybody got a beautiful cake from our favorite bakery on their birthday.

My family was never too bad; a little of the giant portions served combined with "have you thought about a diet," but it was never really pressure from them that made me develop an eating disorder and get really fat. Mom always said I looked like my Spanish relatives, who were beautiful - never fat. Dad was fat himself, but he walked a mile to work every day and was semi-vegetarian, so it was okay to be round and still be healthy. Now my parents are pushing me to lose weight, but it's because we have a family history of diabetes and Dad just got put on a diet by his doctor.

I can totally relate to the commenters above. My family nickname was Rotunda. I also got all the lectures about never finding love or being successful - sometimes still do (and I'm in my mid 30s). I actually had an elementary school teacher tell my parents I would never amount to anything in life if I remained a chubby kid - I would love to get back to that school now and throw my life in her face. She'd probably throw up or deny she ever said anything.

The big time family f-up kicker was when I was diagnosed with diabetes and family members told me I gave it to myself because "there was absolutely no family history of diabetes". That was helpful. Is it bad that I secretly laughed for a moment when my father was diagnosed a year later? I'm so going to hell.

I'm sorry others have had to go through the same things I have, but I'll tell you all - the common experiences give me comfort. It's nice to know that I'm not the only one who has faced these familial challenges and overcome them. I'm a smart, successful, happy person despite the past - though I suppose the thousands of miles of separation help as well.

Wait, you left out all of the comments that family members and friends made with the caveat of "I'm only saying this to you because I love you." It is the equivalent of saying the nastiest thing about someone and then qualifying it with "Bless her heart" as if that made everything acceptable.

Excellent post.

My heart breaks for you Weet. And you know why.

I guess there's a kind of sick comfort in realising you're not alone.

I can totally relate to what (the other) Susan wrote above, about how, when she lost weight no-one ever commented on it, but when she regained, it was another story.

My mother made all kind of hurtful remarks about my weight when I was a child, teen, and young woman. But now that I've lost 90 pounds and dropped five dress sizes, she has never made one comment about it. Not one. I know it really pisses her off.

She was always "lucky" because she could eat whatever she wanted and never gain weight.

And now she has diabetes. If you're going to hell, Meridian, I guess we can share a seat.

Actually, my mother did make one comment about my weight loss. One day she said, "What's that iittle bump on your forehead?" I had no idea what she was talking about and had to ask my husband. There's a tiny bump on my skull the size of a small zit; no-one could see it before because of all the fat.

Ninety freaking pounds and all she comments on is a teensy-weensy zit-sized bump.

Thanks Mum!