I was a skinny kid with an overweight older sister; because my parents had been overweight as children (though as adults they were always on target, weightwise) they were hyper-vigilant about my sister’s weight issues, which really began as a baby as far as I can see in baby pictures; she was a pudgy baby and a pudgier toddler.
Now, this was the 1970s and there was a lot of conflicting advice around regarding how to lose weight healthily. Actually the “healthily” part was optional. Losing weight at any cost was key. So saccharine, “pep pills,” fasting, were all considered viable options even for children.
My parents, with the best of intentions, treated food the way some parents treat alcohol: they hid it, locked it away, made it something that was “bad” and “forbidden.” Ironically, the liquor cabinet was never locked, and vodka, gin and so on were kept in the fridge and on open shelves. Heck, you know those miniature liquor bottles you’d get on airplanes? Our father would bring 'em home and my sister and I used to play with them, pretending our stuffed animals and dolls were giving them to each other as Christmas presents. (I can only imagine what visitors thought if they walked into my room and saw dozens of little liquor bottles on my shelves!)
Meanwhile, our parents’ favorite snacks (Yankee Doodles, Ring Dings, and Cadbury/Chunky bars) were hidden from us. (Not very well, of course; we always found 'em!) Even fruit was watched assiduously; I remember my father getting upset with my poor sister for eating too many grapes. Grapes!
Long-term result? Neither my sister nor I drank alcohol, or were ever even tempted to as teens. Food, however, became our method of defiance; that’s what we snuck around and hid from our parents the way other teens were sneaking cigarettes, pot or booze. My sister would hide whatever bowls and plates she ate from behind chairs, afraid that our parents would notice what she’d been eating. I learned to do the same when I inevitably started gaining weight as a teen.
As adults we both struggle with food issues, as if we can never have enough of what our parents “deprived us” of (not saying that junk food was a necessity or anything, but it sure felt like forbidden fruit). In fact I’ve noticed a distinct difference in the way I treat food now. If I have a gallon of ice cream in my freezer or a large bag of chips in the cupboard, I eat small portions of whatever as a treat and then put the stuff away for next time. If I go through a period where food is “banned” or restricted completely, that’s when I end up binging or eating too much. To my mind, and I think this is due to the way we were raised, food is something sinful that you mustn’t partake in, and if you do, you’re sinning and so you might as well go whole hog (if you’ll pardon the expression) because soon you’ll have to do without it altogether.
When my cupboard/fridge is full, I feel content to just eat whenever hungry rather than going through the all-or-nothing restrict/binge pattern.
As far as exercising went… it was never something to be considered “fun.” I hated going on bike rides with my father. I never rode fast enough for him, and he made it clear that he was making us go on these rides because my sister needed to exercise to lose weight. Being active wasn’t something enjoyable, it was a necessity, almost a punishment.
The thing is, my parents meant no harm. I’m probably making them sound like martinets, but they weren’t. They were loving, gentle people, and were generally supportive of us in most ways. It was just… I dunno, maybe it was how they were brought up around food themselves. They were 1st generation Americans, raised by poor Jewish parents who’d fled the Pogroms in Russia, and I guess food was a luxury and a treat to them. Perhaps they didn’t trust the bounty of choices that were available in suburban America. I remember my grandmother, when she lived with us, always kept boxes of crackers and little pots of jam in her clothes dresser, beneath her slips and bras. It was like she was hoarding it just in case of emergency.
Anyway. I don’t like criticizing my parents for my own weight issues, because they are my own, and I’m not blaming them for me not being slim. But some of the issues I have with food can indeed be traced back to my youth. It’s a difficult tightrope to walk: not having junk food in the house is one thing, but actively hiding food from your child is probably setting him/her up for an unhealthy relationship with it later in life.
And I knew he was suffering from end-of-night-getting-tired-can’t-focusness.
