Sunday, September 02, 2012
Have you ever experienced "food pushers". There are drug pushers who persuade others to take illegal drugs, and then there are "food pushers" who push people to stuff fattening and often (unhealthy) food in their mouths, and help to encourage them to become overweight until they become obese, and then continue to press until they become morbidly obese, and then out of the blue one day when they are so overweight that it brings tears to their eyes, and the eyes of those closest to them, they will blurt out at you in the most hurtful way, "When are you planning to start a diet?" I could just bash them in the face! The answer is, "I would have but you insisted that I had a piece of chocolate cake. I told you I was on a diet, but you would not accept no for an answer. Oh, and then you said, "As you eat that piece of cake, tell me all about the gym you joined!" These are the types of family members that I have had experience with all of my life. My mother bugs me on a daily basis, "When are you coming to visit me and your father?" I try to push her off, oh maybe in the Spring, Oh, maybe in the summer, Oh, maybe when the weather gets cooler. The truth? Oh, maybe when you stop pushing food! What does my mother love to do when I visit? Does she bring out home videos, or old family albums and reminisce like you are supposed to on a visit? Maybe make me something healthy and diet-conscious to eat since I am on a diet, or if that is too hard, maybe buy me a Lean Cusine meal or a Weight Watchers Smart Ones meal and dessert. Or a cup of fruit salad and a cup of tea for dessert. That might sound like a nice visit. Time to remember fond memories, a healthy meal, and a healthy dessert, cup of tea, nice company, good food, good conversation, a few laughs. That is what a visit is supposed to be like. But, my mother is a certified food pusher, so she will never offer me a "normal family visit". My father says, that my mother does not feel like cooking. She wants to go to the local diner. The local diner that cooks like the "best diner in town". And everyone knows that all diners serve up extra large portions that can literally stuff a cow! And, of course the bread that they put on the table before the meal! I can never resist the bread. And I love the chick peas. I cannot pass up the bread, or the chick peas. Then the meal comes, and I stuff my face. Oh, and them my mama wants dessert. She orders ice cream for everyone, and the waiter says he will bring us something special, and he brings a big, beautiful ice cream tray for us all to share. Very nice. But the only one who is benefiting from all of this is the diner owner, and the waiter, since he gets a big, fat tip from my dad at the end of the meal. And what do the rest of us (including me) get? A five pound weight gain every time we visit. And do you know that everyone is so busy stuffing their faces, that not one bit of conversation takes place during the entire visit! So, tell me other than looking at my face in person, and forcing (or coercing) me to eat, and eat, and eat, and not talk and not do anything else but engage with food, why did you actually need me to spend money on gas, spend money on tolls, to come all the way to visit you, including putting mileage on my car! What did we accomplish by this visit? My mother will say, when I call, "Oh, we had a nice time!" A nice time doing what? Stuffing your face, because that was all that you did! Then she'll say, "We'll have to get together soon, and do it again" Do what? I'm still looking at her! What did we do that we had such a nice time? Did we reminisce about old times? No. Did we converse about recent things? No. Did we say anything at all? Nothing much other than, hello, good bye, and see you soon, No we did not. What did we do other that eat, eat and eat? As the Italians say, manja! All we did was manja! And I am fed up with it! You know what I did? I called my mother and I told her that I felt that these "visits" were not beneficial to me, my weight loss, or my quest for a healthier self or a longer life. I told her that I purchased from QVC a food storage container that I can carry food in that I will prepare at home, that I will bring with me when I visit for the holidays. And I will bring a healthy dessert, whether it is fruit and tea, if I even have to bring that, and if it comes down to it, I will! I told her if she does not feel like cooking she does not have to, and there is no reason why we have to go to a diner and spend money that we don't really have anyway, just to get more and more obese and unhealthy. I told her that this has to stop, and I am putting my foot down, and finding a way to stop it. I told her, I never said I can't visit you because you want to go to the diner. I said I found an alternative way of having a meal together." You would think I made perfect sense. She knows I am on a diet. She knows I got diverticulitis in the middle of the night and had to call an ambulance at 1:30 am. She knows that the doctor told me that he cured me of diverticulitis, but that this was a wake up call. I had to stop overeating. I needed to go on a diet. I could have died from diverticulitis, if it had gotten worse, or if I did not go to the emergency room in time. If I had waited until the morning, my fever would have been so high, I might have died all because of food. She says she loves me. But, I wonder, does she know what love is? Love is putting the welfare of the person you say you love before all else. Their health comes first, their well being comes first, their life comes first - not the fact that my mama wants to eat, eat, eat and no stopping going to the diner! No, a person who does not put the person who they say they love before all else, does not really love them. She loves food. She loves herself, and what what they want which is food. Which is exactly what she proved with her response to me. "So, what do you say, mama? Can I bring over my home cooked diet food?" She said, "Oh, you can order something diet from the menu, can't you?" And I want to take her and rip her face right off of her head! No, mama, you never loved me. And I don't take offense at that, because mama, you don't love anyone or anything but food. Mama, you are a glutton. And that is why you have a myriad of health problems. You are 83 years old, and it is too late for you to change. You will always be this way. I have to accept you as you are, and not force you to change. Because if you would not change for yourself when you where young, and had young children growing up, why would you change now? Mama, good luck with your life. I wish you the best. I only wish that you would wish and (truly want) the same for me.