Big, Mean, and Fat

Fat. Once upon a time, that word was like getting hit with a bat. The old “sticks and stones” saying never applied. I’d rather be struck by someone than being called fat by them. Being ‘fat’ growing up was simply because of what I ate and how much I ate. I, at least, had something going for me: I was the tallest kid in my class up until high school. Six-foot-three my freshmen year, everyone wanted (and expected) me to play sports. All these coaches said that I’d make a fantastic linebacker and that they could use me on the Viking’s football team.

I was ignorant and lazy like a lot of people that age. I didn’t want to do extracurricular activities. I just wanted to get through school and get out. After a few years of sour relationships, I finally had to cut loose from the dating scene. I remember my girlfriend at the time telling me that “you’re lucky I’m a chubby chaser”. For whatever reason, my pre-pubescent brain took that as I compliment. “Yeah,” I thought, “I am thankful.”

So many people that are very close friends of mine today didn’t ever call me names, but they did always say one thing that still makes me laugh, “you have a resting bitch-face”. So many people in school said that I was one scary-looking mother. They didn’t realize that I was the type of kid that cried at the end of Toy Story 3. They just thought that I’d kill a man if they gave me the wrong look.

This whole thing about my RBF (resting bitch-face) began to wear away as I finally started to realize what I was. I was a queer man that enjoyed acting, theater, and all forms of art. I had finally found a place where I was comfortable: surrounded by weirdos like me. We all loved singing, laughing, and making memories together. In my senior year I came across a boy that was incredibly troubled. His family forced him into playing football and were the type of people to believe that “the arts are for queers”. I took him aside a few times and spoke to him. It took me all but a few moments to realize that he was just like me: someone misunderstood and made out to be something he wasn’t purely because of his appearance.

I cannot tell you the joy I felt after walking off stage and meeting with the audience after playing Sebastian in Cinderella and Judge Danforth in the Crucible. The last thing I would want to remember is seeing the boy that was so much like me depressed and completely distraught because his family was so vicarious.

“Do what you love,” I told him, “don’t do things that other people would love for you to do.” I’m not the greatest advice-giver, but I had hoped that helped him. I’m now twenty. I still see his Snapchats of the amazing time that he’s having in high school now that he can fit in with the right crowd. If I had to describe how I feel for this boy now, it’d just be proud. We all need a place to fit in. I spent most of my young adult life feeling like I didn’t have a place and that I was doomed to be that quiet kid that says nothing to anyone. We’re all flowers in a way. We need our time in the sun so that we can explore our blooming colors. The most important thing we have to do is make space for those that just can’t figure out their puzzles alone.