Let me take you back, beyond what most of us remember as the wonder years, the prime of our lives. The time when our imaginations could take us out of a state of being, to a place where we soared above everyone’s expectations. As kids it wasn’t just a place of happiness but a lifetime of perfectible contentment. It was our beloved childhood. Where as children we could do no harm, and saw no wrong in anything or anyone. Everyday was a picture of painted perfection. Only the strokes of perfection on my canvas began to change about fifth grade.
The younger years of our lives should be imagined as magical fairytales. You could say that pertained to me for most of it at least. I grew up in a small town were everyone knew everyone. You were pretty much a legacy and already known if you had an older sibling. For most kids that was the case, as for me, it was slightly different. I was blessed with a wonderful older sister and when I say blessed I mean honored to have her part of my family. She was walking perfection. A model of which no nine year old squatty, awkward, and the least to say, fat child, could ever fill the shoes of. Growing up in this far fetched original small town, the fact that I was too fat to fit in those shoes was always noticeable. Sadly to say, I was reminded on a regular basis of these not only noticeable, but gossiped about “unfortunate circumstances”.
It all started about the fifth grade for me as I started to blossom into quite a plump young girl. I was bigger than all my friends and even my older sister. Not only did I have the weight weighing in on my side but I was fortunate enough to also be abnormally tall with feet that… I wasn’t sure whose body they belonged to. This stage of life (I call it now) lasted about four long drawn out years and I am still recovering from all the scares. I was privileged with the most amazing family and friends throughout these so called fairytale like years of my life. I grew as a person and learned more about myself in these four years than many people do in a lifetime.
The issue of importance that I am stressing is one many people are still trying to deal with, myself included. Every time I look back to that overweight little girl I see who I really am. As growing individuals our past are so important. Its what makes us who we are today. Though many people try to forget the hardships and the pain I want to remind them that its almost worth bearing. It builds character and the true person within. God blessed us with who we are so live life and take every experience as a lesson. I grew out of that childish weight but in the process of becoming me I learned not to resent those years of my life but to hold on and cherish every minute. I was the red in a sea of blue but I grew to appreciate blatantly sticking out, and found love for the individual I am. Life is not the novel we plan to read but merely a short story. It only last for a short while, so embrace the journey, cherish were you came from, and love who you are becoming.