A Father-Daughter Diet Success Story
In my family, I was the chubby child between a skinny brother and sister who nicknamed me "the Blimp." "Sturdy" was my dad's name for my physique, which was round and squat and showed no signs of shedding baby fat once I grew, as the pediatrician had promised. At school, I was the shortest and second-plumpest person in the fourth grade, a fact made painfully clear by our group class picture.
The day it came in its semi-sheer wax envelope, tucked among my grinning mug shots, I took it home and showed my dad as he sipped his martini.
"Hmm," he said, peering hard through his glasses in the lamplight. "What do you think?"
I sagged under the weight of his attention. In a low voice I admitted, "I look fat."
He frowned. He was the parent I most resembled, moody and mercurial, sarcastic and judgmental. My sweet-natured mom was my comforter. But at times like this, when I wanted more than reassurance, my dad, the ex-Marine, could be brilliant.
"What we need," he enunciated carefully, "is a battle plan." He laid his newspaper aside. "Are you with me?" He understood. He had weight problems, too, loved food the way I did - bread and potatoes, honey-roasted nuts, things others in our family could eat with abandon.
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That night, as the house filled with the smell of pot roast, dinner waited while he talked about willpower: "our single greatest human tool, the one that separates winners from the rest of the pack." If you had willpower, he told me, you could do anything. How? "Close your eyes, picture the goal, count to 20."
For the next few months, I had soup for lunch instead of sandwiches, and an apple instead of crackers for a snack. After dinner, my dad and I skipped dessert and drank coffee sweetened with half a spoonful of ice cream from his grandmother's doll-size china cups.
Sometimes, in the late afternoons, while Mom prepared supper, we'd sit in the living room - he with his martini, me with my tomato juice - and review the trials of the day. He'd mention donuts brought to work for someone's birthday; I'd describe the cupcakes served in our cafeteria. Usually, we'd both resisted.
We couldn't let each other down - or ourselves, my father emphasized. An important distinction, as I soon learned. At a friend's house, if I sneaked a stack of Oreos, I might or might not tell my dad. But I knew.
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Over time, I slipped less. Gradually, without my really feeling deprived, I began to slim down. When school ended for the year, "the Blimp" was gone, along with 15 pounds, a lot for someone four and a half feet tall.
My dad, who had himself lost two notches on his belt, was proud of me, of course. We took ourselves out for orange sherbet. We discussed the campaign. Swore never to go back, to hold the line. For the most part, we have. And I've applied his lessons in willpower throughout my life, focusing on a picture of myself he taught me to see: strong, self-evaluating, patient. Able to wait that extra moment, till I remember: Who I am. What I really want. The plan.
-By Susan Heeger, the coauthor of From Seed to Skillet
Has your family successfully lost weight together? Share your stories in the comments.
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