'Fat'
Don Coldsmith
Monday, November 20, 2006
THANKSGIVING is approaching. With the temptation to over-eat and an excuse for our gluttony, it seems almost reasonable to gorge ourselves.
Can anyone today really believe that there was an America a few decades ago in which people would actually pay money to look at the “Fat Lady” at the circus? It’s free, now. All we have to do is to walk into the mall, anywhere.
People who grew up prior to World War II have a difficult time understanding the disrespect which is attached to food. A “food fight” at school or in any other location is regarded as a harmless juvenile exercise, silly, but of no consequence. It was not always so. During the Depression of the 1930s, along with crop failure, dust storms and grasshopper plagues, there wasn’t much to eat. To waste anything edible was considered a sin. Children were admonished to “Clean your plate! Children in Europe are starving.” I doubt that many children understood the connection. Children in Europe were still starving and still are in some parts of the world. But in our part of the world, food is cheap by monetary standards.
This, however, has led to a potentially a dangerous situation in regard to health standards in this country. It doesn’t take a trained eye to see that in the mall, about two thirds of the population are carrying enough blubber to cause a medical threat to their health.
Professionally, for a period of more than 30 years as a physician, I was faced with the task of trying to explain to such people that most of their problems were self-inflicted. Their bones ached, but they seemed not to notice that the bone structure in an average size person of either sex is simply not designed to support an eighth of a ton of blubber.
I heard all of the excuses and denials: “My mother was large.” “It runs in the family,” and so forth, as if this were a curse that cannot be avoided. Eventually, it occurred to me that this mind-set is almost identical with that of the alcoholics whom I also treated.
Anyone with experience in that area is familiar with the routine. “I just can’t help that I was born with this affliction.” It’s considered by the victim to be an unfortunate, inherited disease, until, with the help of AA or other support, they are able to acknowledge the responsibility and ask for help when needed. They must have the determination to take action on the level of a personal handicap.
Back to obesity — and sloppy-fat. Some have had marvelous success with various surgical procedures. I see that with mixed emotion. It’s terribly expensive, somewhat dangerous, and not always totally successful. Yet, for many, it works. Somewhat like swatting a mosquito with a rocket launcher, but if it works successfully, who am I to criticize? Maybe that’s the way to go, for that person. And if they can afford it, they are in fact, facing the situation, which is the important factor in the first place: The realization of whose responsibility is involved.
In South Africa and several other parts of the world, children are still starving. At a few times in my life, I’ve been pretty hungry for a few days. I’ve eaten some things that many people, here and now, make a wry face it they’re even mentioned. (Crawdads — Simply fresh-water shrimp. Delicious!)
This came about as I’d be researching for a historical novel. I would run across a reference to frontier families or native peoples’ grocery list. If I found a chance, I’d try it, to make my descriptive writing more accurate.
Woodchuck isn’t bad; a young muskrat is about like rabbit or squirrel, which in the 30s were staple groceries for most farm families. Baked raccoon is tasty. Some of my high-school classmates have stated that were we grew up, a “seven-course meal” consisted of a six-pack and a possum. Possum is pretty soft and greasy, but kept a lot of families alive in the 30s.
Compared to the diets of starving children in Africa and parts of Europe and Asia today, we should be embarrassed by our fat society.
See you down the road.
Author and columnist Don Coldsmith lives in Emporia.