Fool for food

When I was growing up, my parents made bad food the most exciting thing in my life. We didn’t have pop or chips or fresh baked goods. We didn’t have dessert, cake or pudding or pie. But when we were celebrating we had it all. 

On my birthday I got to choose my favourite type of cake; Mom would bake it in the shape of my current beloved fictional character. There were so many types of cookies at my birthday parties, Oh, the snow balls and fudge squares. I didn’t even have to taste the ones I thought might not be awesome… I was able to pig out on the good stuff. And no one even said anything about it!

At birthday parties when I was a kid, no one said “Bev, you don’t need that” like they said every other day.  I didn’t have to watch my mother weigh out portions or count calories; I didn’t have to listen to my father grunt in disgust because we had to have vegetables again. Birthday parties were swell. 

Every other day we ate what we were told to eat. And we were told to eat every single morsel of food on our plate. Based on Mom’s serving size, not our individual appetite. And, as both of my parents had grown up in their own version of poverty, we had food in abundance. Not chips and candy, but a lot of processed, carbohydrate rich, comfort food. 

We were living in a newly established town that was isolated and in the harsh Labrador north. It was too cold for livestock, the climate didn’t allow for growing vegetables or fruit. Food came from the grocery store and was frozen or canned or boxed. We didn’t even have a restaurant in our town so we had to go to the next town and that was very rare.

When I started earning a weekly allowance, I would make a beeline down to the corner store with my BFF and we’d buy gum and chocolate and chips and candy and lolipops and ice cream and ohmygoditwassomuchfun! The power of money and the ability to buy/eat whatever I wanted was heady and exciting for me. I started taking money when I ran out of my own. I picked the pockets of my parents and anyone who came to visit them. And I spent every penny of it on junk food. 

That didn’t last very long, to be honest. I always felt guilty for taking something that wasn’t mine and, more than fear of being caught and punished, I didn’t want anyone to know that I was terrible person who would do such a thing. It was about that time, too, that I learned how to make my own money through babysitting. And I loved babysitting because I could make the kids go to bed and have complete control over what I watched and what I ate. 

My family was not active by any means. Mom was always doing something, puttering, getting things done when she came home from work or a meeting from the many committees/groups she was involved in. Dad spent the most of his time lying on the couch - at the time we thought he was cranky but we now know he was suffering from some pretty intense depression/anxiety issues. 

I wanted to be athletic. I wanted to be a gymnast and a ballerina, I wanted to run and swim and skate and play basketball. I had an energy that I didn’t know 

I think I taught myself to celebrate again. And I liked it so I kept celebrating. Celebrating is better, it’s more fun, it’s happy and buttercups and rainbows and best friends and girl movies and boys with big penises.