I think there are two reasons. One, I don’t talk like that. About anybody’s body, including my own. And two, it’s not like fat people are a rare sighting.

And it’s because fat people are everywhere that I just frankly don’t believe kids who comment on the body size of strangers are just noticing a difference. Unless they live somewhere where they’re insulated from what is normal in the united states, they see fat people all the time everywhere they go.

trying to teach kids not to call people fat to their faces but that it’s okay to make those comments at other times (directed at oneself, at folks on tv, out of earshot) is difficult for kids, confusing. When the rules aren’t clear, that’s when they make “mistakes” and embarrass their parents.

Kids will be curious about anything they see that’s really unusual. I couldn’t keep my kid from staring at a man with no legs we saw on the sidewalk last week. But I wanted to post this because I know way too many people who chalk their children’s rude comments up to kid’s just noticing differences when it’s often nothing of the kind. Especially when it’s something they see every day and if they aren’t seeing fat people every day, I’m not sure where they live. Seeing a fat person and seeing a man with missing limbs are completely different experiences.

So would I. And I’m a size 18.

Tal, you might want to look here before you decide that “midsized” women don’t suffer discrimination from the medical profession, just for starters.

As a size 18, BMI 34.9, I cannot get private health insurance. I’m lucky to be able to go to doctors and actually get treated for what I came in for at all instead of being given a diet sheet; many of my friends have not been so fortunate, even those who aren’t even as fat as I am. I can’t get most jobs other than total scrubwork. Most women don’t want to be friends with me unless they are looking for a diet buddy. If I was single, at least 99% of men would refuse to date me. If I was looking for a roommate, at least 99% of people would turn me down just because of the size of my ass, without even talking to me.

My family still thinks I’m a stroke waiting to happen even though they KNOW there are medical reasons for my being this weight and that I didn’t get here hoovering Big Macs. Most people are flabbergasted when I tell them I have no interest in trying to “slim down.” Thin people won’t invite me to their dinner parties because they think I’ll snarf all the food and eye everyone else’s leftovers with greed in my eyes. I still have to listen to them go on and on about “obesity epidemic” this and this and that and that without having ONE clue in the world that they might be hurting my feelings. Hurting my feelings? How? Don’t I want to be thin? What’s the matter with me? They just want to helphelphelp!

I still can’t fit in the rides at most amusement parks. I still have to worry that people will resent me for sitting next to them on a public transportation vehicle. I still worry that I will slop into the next seat on an airplane and have to pay for the second seat. I still can’t take any kind of dance or exercise class, other than a specifically “plus sized” one, without worrying that everyone will be staring at the fat freak.

I cannot emigrate to most other countries or qualify to adopt a child because of my weight. If I travel abroad, I have to worry about being snickered at as a “fat American” and not having public accommodations that will fit me. If I have children of my own, I face a million scare stories about dying during the pregnancy or my baby being born dead because of my fat, and am warned not to gain any weight because my fat is already a potential death sentence for us both.

Will I acknowledge that someone who weighs 100 or 150 pounds-plus more than I do has a tougher row to hoe than I have? Of course, I’d be a fool not to. But NO problems as a result of “only” being a size 18? Yeah, don’t I wish.

“Mommy! Her hair is purrrrrrplllllle!”

It’s the main thing I miss.

Kids WILL say anything and everything that pops in their heads. Back when I was still teaching, and started covering my grays (stopped doing that now and am kind of enjoying my extreme highlights), I was using a gorgeous shade of Hydrience Hibiscus, a deeeeeep red.

Mrs. C, why is your hair purple?

Ah well. I felt glamorous for a day.

I guess I’m not fat enough to have small children comment on it (or I don’t hang around enough small children), but my young cousin once pointed out that I am covered in zits.

Somewhat OT – but kids will point out anything.

I was overdue for a waxing appointment once and a 6-year-old let me know the hair on my face was unattractive — in front of about 20 other 6-year-olds — in as blunt and straightforward a way as possible.

So now when men say I’m vain because I’m a compulsive tweezer/waxer/manicurer I just laugh in their faces.

Mortifying.

Add in an amount of body hair that’s deemed unacceptable for women and a non-functioning reproductive system, which can often include hemorraging for days instead of having normal periods, and welcome to the world of most women with PCOS.

It does suck. Hardcore.

If all I had to worry about was finding cute clothes and fending off the occasional catcall, I would fall on my knees and cry for joy. Not to invalidate the negative experiences for those who do only have those problems but… gah. I really am jealous.

I sometimes look back on my 19-year-old, size-18 self, and want to give her a thorough lecture about the “OMG I’m fat and should DIE” shit. Not that I could’ve ever known any better, of course. I was reacting to my culture as much as anyone else.

But damn… I wish I had known then exactly how privileged I really was, so I could’ve gotten myself out of the house and really enjoyed life a lot more when I had the chance. It makes me thoroughly angry to see how our culture has beaten down so many perfectly healthy and vigorous girls and young women and made them believe that they’re subhuman, and thus robbed them of life experiences they have a right to.

(Which, of course, is the point of sexism anyway–keep them worried about the intangibles and they’ll never leave the farmhouse. But that’s another rant.)

Speaking up, because I suspect it’s my comment you’re referring to.

If you reread the comment, you’ll see that I’m referencing specific people–not midsizers as a group. Because I HAVE experienced some midsize friends who seem to think that their experiences are the only ones that matter. And their ignorance of the privileges they do have annoys the hell out of me.

Additionally, onto the above topic about beauty and acceptance…

My personal perspective is that ANY value judgements with regard to our physical selves are ultimately damaging. There is no such thing as a morally good body. There’s no such thing as a good body at all. Just as there’s no such thing as a bad body.

The only things we should ever be judged upon are our conscious and informed actions. That’s it. Those are the only things that ever merit a value rating at all.

I don’t need to find my body “good” or “beautiful” in order to accept and love myself as a person. I don’t quite understand why anyone should trade one value judgment on their body for another, when the underlying problem is that we place any value on something so incontrovertible in the first place.

I have little to no control over my physical appearance and existence. So why should those things ever be included in the equation of deciding my value and worth as a person?

We are all of us worthy of love, respect and rights whether our bodies resemble that of Anna Kournikova or more like Stephen Hawking. Who, by the way, should be all the evidence anyone needs that the judgment of a person shouldn’t ever rest on what their body looks like or is capable of.