Stop

Stop.

That's all the text message said.

It came from my daughter, 12 years old.  And I didn't quite understand what she meant.  She was upset that I wouldn't let her bake cookies at 10 o'clock in the evening.  I figured that's why she stormed off to the basement as I made myself a snack.  I could hear her whimpering. 

Stop snacking. Stop going off your diet.

Did not see that one coming.

What followed is much too private to share here verbatim.  I will say that she and I had a back and forth, via text, in which she shared her fears about me, about my health and well being.  And in those 160 characters, those fears were visceral.  The fact that she needed to  physically remove herself from me in order to confront me also spoke volumes.

I was humbled.

Twelve years old.

That was Wednesday.  And the texts are still haunting me.  I've saved them on my phone and have already gone back to them a few times to reflect when I needed guidance; when I needed strength.



I shared the texts with my wife.  She says that all three of the kids feel the same way; that they talk to her about their fears for me.  That they struggle to see me make clearly bad choices.  And that they are profoundly sad when they talk to her.

I tried to respond with reason.  The snack I had that night was 2 string cheese sticks and a slice of bread--all within my protein and carb count for the day.  I tried to respond with a plea for understanding.  I've been this way a long time--I can't turn on a dime.  It's going to take time.  I tried to respond by illuminating my humanness--sometimes I am simply just weak willed.

It doesn't matter.  Each time they see their dad eat off program, they see their dad slowly killing himself.  And their love and care for me goes so deep that they need to go to the basement, cry and send a text message that says Stop.

And I am heartbroken.

Choosing Reflections

I stand before the mirror and I
See my large belly. I
See my flabby neck. I
See the sadness in my eyes. I
See the fat hanging from my
Frame, from my
Thighs.

I see my
Legs unable to run under
The weight and strain.  I see
My back full of aches, unable
To bend without pain. I see
My arms, with hanging skin underneath. I see my shoulders, slumped and broken
By life's burdens.

I see my face full of
Weakness.
Failure.
Shame.

I see all that I hate
About myself.

I stand before the mirror and I

See legs that hold me

Up like steel pillars. I 

See a back, strong

And proud.  I see

Arms with the strength

To work, the gentleness

To hug my daughters and to

Hold my wife when she is sad.

Or scared.

I see my shoulders, steady

And broad, ready to carry

The weight of life's burdens

for me. And for my family.

And I see my belly

As it wobbles and jiggles

And wiggles and bobbles

When I laugh after wrestling my

Son to the floor, both of us doubled

Over in our glee.

I see my face, proud and secure

In knowing my true worth.

And I look into my eyes, and I

See kindness. I 

See forgiveness. I

See intelligence.

I see Myself.

Pink: F**ckin' Perfect

Link to Video @ Pink's site

I'm not a fan of Pink, but I'm not a hater either.  I caught this video on VH1the other morning while getting ready for work.  As the father of two daughters, one son who are sorting themselves out...and as the husband of a woman struggling to find herself...and as a man who has his own demons...this song and the video affect me.

I'll let the link to Pink's video speak for itself.  You may not like it.  That's cool.  The images are rather graphic.  But the message is clear.

Fair warning: The link is to Pink's explicit lyrics, not the safe one made for VH1.