Part 4 of restaging the never-aging.
Is it the food that I love or the self that I hate?
For me it was not an uncontrollable love of food that made me fat. Truthfully, it was the only time in my life when I hated food. But at 21 I was fat and the fatter I got the more I ate. Eating was a divergence from the helplessness, the longing I felt after three-years of watching my father fade away and die. Food filled the emptiness of living as if my life was controlled by an ancient human survival mechanism that originated when hunting and gathering was the essence of life and a full stomach meant success. As if satisfying that primal urge was connected to an emotional peace as the cancer that ate my father devoured his small family’s world.
My father loved meat. He loved sweets. Years of saturated fat, high calorie and low fibre food turned his colon into a toxic, stagnant wasteland that was the perfect breeding ground for cancer cells. His love of food killed him at 51.
How sad we are when we reflect on those reasons that forced us to defect from all sound reason.
I was fat, and I blamed my father. Family reasons, genetic or social, provide the excuse for much of the obesity that plagues modern culture. Fat mothers waddle off to gorge at junk food parlors with a chubby child in each hand. When those children become part of a staggering scourge of obese adults should they blame Mom’s emotional refuge? Such reasoning suggests: “My food addiction is beyond my control.” Of course it is, if you’ve convinced yourself you cannot control it.
We can design our meals or let our meals design us.
I did not go to my father’s funeral. Forty-five pounds of fat had distorted my mind along with my body. I didn’t care about him or myself. Today that useless, mood-defining fat is long gone and I do care about those dark years of my youth when I provided the only financial support for my parents. Those years were a major factor in defining my life and have much to do with my lifestyle choices today. Choices that I began to make soon after Dad died. And, there is the essence for writing this article, the first three related blogs and those to come: The diet we choose is a major factor in our physical, emotional, sexual and spiritual health. Nutrition can provide the eternal strength to help survive, often overwhelming, depressive events and help us move forward. Or food can imprison us in an external shell of dark emotions trapped inside worthless flesh.
“We are what we eat,” is a kicked-around phrase that has more depth today than it did in my childhood when junk food was an ice-cream cone cherished on Saturday afternoon, if we were lucky. Those citizens now in their eighties and nineties, that are living long and well, were born prior to World War Two when treats where baked in Grandma’s oven. Their childhood nutrition was natural and their immune systems developed enough strength for a long lifetime. Junk food products are a creation of modern times that have evolved into massive corporations with such enormous social influence that Calling the Fat Man Fat is Considered Politically Incorrect. Without a very dramatic shift in dietary attitudes today’s children will be the first generation in history to have a shorter lifespan than their parents.
Longevity has never been our concern. Our only child’s accidental death at 16 distorted all our tomorrows, but we still desire to live each day to our fullest potential. To do this at 71 and 67 requires much more care on how we cherish our appetites for food and for sex than it did when we courted each other 49-years ago. Food and sex are our shared rewards and not a masturbatory-like, quick fix.
Go slowly into hunger; let it build as if making love while cherishing the eternal moment. Prolong the sensations and turn appetite into an expression of artistic creation.
Passions explode on movie screens with a ferocity that unwittingly states all men, and against all odds, all women are prematurely orgasmic. Ripping off shirts, hiking up skirts, standing up inserts: such drama in such a short time. Directors pressed for time before they film the 25-minute car chase treat sex like a spontaneous ejaculation. So sad, but if movie audiences can be convinced that highly salted, fat saturated, chemical infused, exploded corn seeds taste good enough to eat, they’ll believe anything. The correlation between fast food and fast sex is so obvious it turns adult intellect into child’s play.
Continued next week