When I was my Fattest
Between 1998 and 2000, my wife (now ex-wife) and I lived in my grandmother’s home. During those two years, I became my fattest ever. We’d been married for two years and had just moved back to Miami after living in Puerto Rico.
“Hmmm, you know it’s interesting that you started to gain weight after being married for two years.”
Mr. Skeptical sits in front of me as I write. My computer has a second screen facing him, so he can see everything I write except when I write things in italics, like this. His face blossoms with curiosity and sarcasm after making his remark. So, I must strike back. “What are you getting at? That I got fat because I was married?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “It seems plausible, no?”
“I’m about to reveal here and now why I was my fattest at that time. And it wasn’t because I was married.”
“I wonder what the statistics would be after people get married. How many of them get fat? I’d predict the first year, not so many, but as the second year rolls around and all the years after, I’d guess most would gain weight.”
“Maybe, but we aren’t going to discuss that here today. I gained weight because of my grandmother.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Blame it on your dead grandmother.”
I’m not going to fire back. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that and move on. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and count backward from 10. I fall into a trance-like state.
Let’s get started.
Subconscious Fat at 30,000 ft
My grandmother, who lived to be 104 years old, passed away in 2022. She was a great-grandma, and I was lucky to have had her for so long. She was a traditional stay-at-home wife who always cooked. My grandfather worked 12 hours or more 7 days a week at his South Beach restaurant, Puerto Sagua.
Growing up, I lived in my grandmother’s home and watched her cook and serve my grandfather and uncle.
My grandfather and uncle were quiet men and never said thank you to my grandmother when she served them. Unfortunately, I also developed the ugly habit of modeling the older men around me. Yet, this was happening at a completely subconscious level. I’ve always said thank you if I ate at a friend’s house or was served by a waiter at a restaurant, but I didn’t do it when my grandmother served and cooked for me.
“So why don’t you admit you were a jerk?”
I look daggers at him. “I know it wasn’t a nice thing to do.”
“But own it. Say it: ‘I was a jerk.’ It’ll be therapeutic for you.”
“I wasn’t being nice. Can you shut up and let me get on with my newsletter here?”
He puts his hands up in offense. “Chill out. I’m just giving you free therapeutic advice here. That’s all.”
Asshole!
When I was around seventeen, my mom moved out of my grandmother’s house and into her home with my sister. I stayed at my grandmother’s.”
“Why?”
That simple word can be irritating, especially when Mr. Skeptical asks. “For one thing, I grew up there with my grandmother always around. I was used to the neighborhood and had friends there. She cooked good food and served it to me.”
“Yeah, this explains a lot about you.”
“Hey, I’m human. Nobody likes uprooting their life, okay.”
Anyway, at the age of seventeen, I ate like a horse. I was playing high school football and had plenty of energy to burn the extra calories. My grandmother cooked typical Cuban food: a large piece of protein-meat, chicken, or fish-along with even more rice, beans, and fried plantains.
I gobbled up the calories and then burned them off playing football.
Mr.Skeptical looks at me, shaking his head. A disgusted look on his face. “You were so spoiled.”
Subconscious Fat at 10,000 feet
The way my grandmother fed me as a teenager wasn’t a problem. But later, it became an issue when I returned to her home with my wife. I was no longer a high school jock; I was a 29-year-old married man. Consequently, I started to gain weight.
“You reap what you sow.”
I give him the dirtiest look imaginable. But I decide not to acknowledge his existence.
I never became obese. I gained a few extra pounds in my midsection. I had a belly. I was used to working out, so I continued to do so, but the number of calories I consumed while eating at my grandmother’s was huge.
Then, my wife got pregnant, and we had our first child. I had a good excuse to gain weight: I had a child (insert pouty face emoji here), and since I was a great father, my child was my number one priority. Gaining weight and living up to the dad-bod persona was convenient.
“So, we’re going from blaming dead grandma to blaming newborn baby, nice!”
“Hey, I’m not saying blaming my newborn was a good idea. However, I was able to, or I thought I was able to write it off as a father.”
“How many diapers did you change?”
“I changed some, but it was a different era back then.”
“A different era? The 90s were a different era?”
“In a way, yes. My wife was okay with changing diapers, and I helped her with many other things.”
“Really, like what?”
“It doesn’t matter. We are here talking about my grandmother and how my relationship with her made me gain weight.”
“Seriously, just admit you’re a selfish jerk, and it’ll be better.”
My fists clench. I respond slowly and deliberately, forcing myself not to scream and throw something at him. “On another day, we can talk about selfishness, but not today.”
I could’ve thought I should continue working out and eating well to set a good example for my newborn, but that would have been inconvenient because I was gaining weight. So, I’ll admit I hid under the umbrella of being a sacrificial father and not caring for my body because of the newborn.
When my grandmother cooked, my wife would help set up the table. My grandmother would bring the food over and then pile it on my plate. She’d always serve me a large portion, piling on the rice, beans, meat, and plantains.
After I’d eaten all the food, my grandmother would come by again and scoop up more food and pile it on my plate. She wouldn’t ask. She’d just dump it on, and I never stopped her.
One day, after looking down at my stomach, my wife asked me, “Why have you been eating so much since we’ve been living here? You never eat so much when I cook for you.”
I shrugged my shoulders in response to my wife’s question, but the question lingered in my mind. It was the first step in my realization of my own Subconscious Fat.
Subconscious Fat at Eye-level
As a boy, it was natural for me to model the behavior of the older men I was exposed to. They never said thank you to my grandmother, so I learned to do the same. However, I didn’t feel good about it.
At some point, I had a flashback to when I was fifteen years old, back in the 80s. It was a day my grandmother had a few of her sisters over. They were talking loudly, which irritated me, not allowing me to enjoy TV because I couldn’t hear it well over their yapping. If you’ve heard that Cubans talk loudly, well, it’s true, they do.
I went to my room and did whatever a typical fifteen-year-old does. I could still hear my grandmother and aunts talking down the hall. Finally, after some time, with a few people coming in and out of the house, it was quiet, so I figured I could watch TV again.
As I was walking down the hall, I noticed someone was talking. Since it had been quiet, I slowed down to listen better. I viewed two aunts, listening attentively. My grandmother bragged, “When I cook, my grandson always eats all the food.”
One of the aunts caught sight of me and smiled at me, noticing that I had heard what was said. I coughed and continued to walk into the living room to watch TV, acting as if I hadn’t heard anything. As I watched TV, I smiled, thinking I might brag to friends about how many push-ups I could do; my grandmother brags to her sisters that I always eat all the food she cooks.
Since I never said thank you, at a subconscious level, I was saying thank you by eating all the food. I indeed was grateful for my grandmother’s cooking, and I only knew how to express my gratitude by eating all the food. Even the extra spoonsful of rice and beans she’d bring over to my plate without asking. She’d just plop the leftover food on my plate, and I’d eat it all up because it was my way of not being an ungrateful grandson.
After all, this was her taking care of me and how she expressed her love for me. She was never physically affectionate, rarely touching or hugging me. Instead, all her love for me was shown in the fact that she cooked, and I ate it. Without realizing it, I was caught up in this subconscious emotional and psychological exchange.
I’d like to say that I had a conversation with her, telling her how grateful I was for her cooking and how much I appreciated it. Yet I might be eating a little less because I’ve been gaining weight. But that’s not what happened.
My wife and I soon found a house we could afford, so we moved out. Living in the new home, I started to eat less, so my weight was brought under control.
I never needed that awkward conversation with my grandmother.
Practical Suggestions and Conclusions
Mr. Skeptical adds, “I don’t see what practical suggestions you can give anybody. All we’ve learned so far is that you’re a spoiled and ungrateful grandson. A poor example of a father. What can we learn from you? I suppose we can learn what not to do.”
I roll my eyes at his insults. “Just because I avoided an awkward conversation with my grandmother doesn’t mean I can’t suggest others do differently. She'd have understood if I had told my grandmother I was concerned about my weight.”
If we aren’t satisfied with our weight, we should investigate our past eating history. Who fed us? What did we eat, and what cultures influenced our eating? Is there any Subconscious Fat that is still affecting our eating behavior today?
The famous quote from George Santayana, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”
So, investigate your eating history. There may be some Subconscious Fat there that you aren’t aware of. Many of us grew up being fed by loved ones, hopefully. Cooking expresses love, and we may often feel obligated to eat all the food. But we can communicate our wishes to eat less in a kind and gentle way.
Also, in 2019, a University of Birmingham study found that eating with friends and family makes us eat more than when compared to dining alone. This situation is known as ‘social facilitation.’ Other studies have shown that when eating with others, we eat as much as 48% more food. That’s a lot. That is some good Subconscious Fat to be aware of when eating with others.
“Okay, that’s all great, but I have one last question before we end here?”
I have a bad feeling about what Mr. Skeptical will ask me. He has a smug face—a sly smile with a hint of mischievousness.
“Since your grandmother was so old, I’m assuming she was racist?”
My jaw drops. He’s such a prick. Making fun of my dead grandmother is too much. “You’re an asshole. No, she wasn’t racist. Everyone who’s old isn’t racist. Go fuck yourself.” I get up and walk out because if I stay, I won’t stop myself from punching him in the face.
Fellow readers, I’m so glad you’ve stayed till the end. I love it when I, Mr. Skeptical, can communicate directly with you. That was a shitty question to ask Hermann, but I want to keep this all authentic and real. He’ll be writing in the future about Subconscious Fat in racism and other controversial subjects, so I’m making sure he reveals his Subconscious Fat as well.
Till next time, remember, be aware.