[dropcap]I [/dropcap]was a chubby child. But I wasn’t always that way. When I was eight, I was as lean as goat leg. Nothing but skin, muscle, and a little bit of gas from time to time. Mother said I was so skinny, I had to stand up twice just to make a shadow.
But everything changed when I hit eleven. Overnight, I shot up eight whole inches. And I grew rounder too. My pants got tight, my cheeks became rosy, and my appetite was out of control.
I ate twice the amount my classmates did. I couldn’t help it, I was always famished. Instead of one sandwich for lunch, Mother had to pack me two. Sometimes three.
Along with a baggie of Doritos.
Finally, my mother took me to the doctor to see if something was wrong with me.
“No, there’s nothing wrong with him,” the physician said. “He’s a growing boy. I was the same way when I was his age.” He patted my belly. “A little butterball. He just needs to eat healthier.”
When my mother pressed the doctor for advice, he suggested I give up mashed potatoes, swear off barbecue, and read my Bible. I’m almost certain my mother paid him to say the last part.
When I asked the doctor if I could still eat Twinkies, he just chuckled and said, “Maybe after you’re married, son.” Then, he wrote me a prescription for spinach salads and rice cakes. To finish up our consult, the doctor asked me which flavor of sucker I wanted.
Butterscotch, strawberry, watermelon, green apple, lemon, and cherry.