Bountiful

“You will sit here until you finish every morsel of this cake, young man,” Diane told her son, sternly. Under the table she held her husband’s hand, trembling. He squeezed it back.

They were doing the right thing. Being thin was no longer just a faux pas, it was dangerous. Peter and Diane had been up late discussing it for weeks and they were in agreement, though every time it came down to this, one eventually wavered.

Little Bruce sat in his chair meekly, staring at the big slice of chocolate cake.

“I’ll never be able to finish this,” he said.

Diane used all of her energy to hold on to her sternness.

“All of the cake, young man,” she repeated.

Little Bruce liked the occasional dessert, but he was more of a Rice Krispie Treat guy. Even the thought of eating the cake had his stomach in knots.

As the night waned away, Diane started to tidy up around the house to distract herself. Peter went into the garage to work on his latest ship-in-a- bottle. And Little Bruce sat. By then, he knew better than to complain.

Diane pulled her husband aside in the hallway when they both instinctively showed up there to check on their son.

“We can’t just leave him there all night,” Diana said tearfully.

“He has to learn,” Peter said firmly, his eyes on the floor. “Look at him. You know what will happen.”

“Maybe we can home school him,” Diane said, losing her nerve.

"And when he’s 18 and still looks like this?" Peter paced around the room frenetically. "We are running out of time to prepare him for the world."

Diane leaned against the wall where a framed photo of her adolescence stared back at her with a somewhat ashamed and somber expression. Things would have been different for her now. Back in her youth, she wished she had been built with her son's pronounced jawline and skinny legs. Her flabby adolescent figure had made her junior high days a nightmare. She would alternate binging low-fat cookies and trying fad diets, but no matter what, her size 14 body would never budge.

When the Body Positivity Movement began in 2029, Diane and her 6 foot 5, husky husband found social acceptance and popularity to a degree they had never experienced.

When Diane gained almost twice the advisable amount while carrying Little Bruce, she knew he would be a large baby. But unlike the way she'd been bullied for her size, he would never have to worry. Her friends made a whole joke of it for her baby shower, gifting her with drawers full of onesies made for chunky babies. No one even bothered to get anything meant for a baby under 6 months old.

And when Little Bruce came along, nearly three months early, no one was all that worried about how tiny he was; so tiny he could wear clothes right off a baby doll. But he would catch up. And he did; he was healthy. But according to the newer standards of physical beauty, he was an embarrassment.

"This is fixable," Diane's friends would tell her. They made suggestion after suggestion; extra butter in the mashed potatoes, plenty of sugary gatorade, but skips the sports. But as lavishly as Diane and Peter fed their little boy, he remained quite small.

The world had shifted to appreciate those with fuller figures, and fat-shaming was a thing of the past. And yet, somehow, the fact that fat-bodies don't always equal overeating was still largely portrayed in the media and even in the medical community.

Little Bruce wasn't a binge-eater, but he had a healthy appetite for a small boy. But those second servings never showed up on his tiny frame.

"What's wrong with me," Little Bruce said quietly, feeling his parent's gaze. Diane and Peter emerged from the hallway and took a seat at the table.

"Nothing at all," Diane said.

"We love you just as you are, son" Peter said, taking off his glasses.

"Then why do you keep punishing me?" Little Bruce asked, swirling his fork around in his untouched cake slice.

Diane and Peter looked at one another, guiltily.

"I know what people think of me," Little Bruce said, looking down. "But I like myself. It's okay to be different, isn't it?"

Diane reached over and took the fork out of her son's hand. She shoveled a large bite of chocolate cake into her mouth. Then another. Peter finally put his large palm over hers to slow her down.

"Maybe they'll accept me anyways," Little Bruce said.

Everyone remained silent for a long time. Finally, Diane spoke.

"Maybe they will," Diane said. "But if you don't change, things will always be harder for you. It didn't used to be like this. It used to be...well, the opposite. People who looked like your dad and me, we were judged. We remember what it was like and we just don't want that for you."

"Why is everything always so extreme," Little Bruce commented. "People used to be mean to people who were thicker and now they're mean to people who are thinner. Why does it matter what we look like at all?"

Diane put her arm around her son. Little Bruce patted his mother's arm and finally lifted it off.

"I should get some sleep," he said. "Tomorrow's a big day."

"First day of third grade," Peter said, high fiving his son.

Little Bruce beamed at the thought. He was an enthusiastic learner who received excellent marks, but he had already forgotten (or blocked out) most of the times he'd been sent home after being bullied in the first and second grade.

Diane held back tears."They're going to love you, sweetheart," she said.