I always knew I was chubby. It just was what it was. My mom had to shop in the Husky Girl section of Sears Surplus Outlet. But when I was younger, I didn’t know it was a thing. I never felt different or bad about myself. Not until 3rd grade.

In the neighborhood where I grew up there were only boys to play with for the most part. And most of them were older, my brother’s age, so they were his friends really, and I just tagged along. I was definitely on the shit end of pranks, being left out and crappy boy behavior. That was until my best friend from Kindergarten was able to come over and play. It turned out Amanda moved just around the corner from me so most summer days were spent with her in my hood or hers in mine. Amanda was a small, skinny, brown haired little girl with buck teeth who laughed a lot. As kids we had many fun times and got in lots of trouble too. Back then, kids were let loose in the morning and were told to just come home before dark. That’s what Amanda and I did all summer long. We ran the streets of our little town and often became mischievous.

This particular summer we spent a lot of time with the neighborhood boys. Down the street a developer was building homes on an empty lot and using them as model homes to show perspective buyers what they offered. Us kids figured out how to get into one model home and spent the next couple of months acting like we lived in the place. We’d grab food from our house and took it to the model home and make snacks and lunch for the whole crew. We rode our bikes into the garage and closed the garage doors as if we were coming home from work. Hell, we even went to the bathroom in the toilets – with no running water! (Yes, I do think of those poor developers and their crew each time they came with a hopeful client to show off their new creation. Developer says: …and here is one of two bathrooms…as he looks into the dirtied toilet and hurriedly shuffles the client outta there). During one of these play sessions the youngest of the boys, Chuy, said to Amanda and I when the three of us were alone, “Did you know the other boys call you guys The Special?” Amanda and I looked at each other confused, “The what??” Chuy replied, “The Special…you know, from C&J Burgers?”

C&J Burgers was a little burger joint on the corner at the end of our street. It was the BOMB! They offered all kinds of diner favorites, but what they were known for most was their “Special”. They ALWAYS had a sign painted in the window saying, “The Special! Hamburger & Fries, always together and $2.99 Only!” All the families in the area ate there because the food was good and reasonably priced. This was important since we grew up in a low income area with many immigrants who did not speak English. They could point to the window sign and have a great meal in front of them within 10 minutes.

Well, as Amanda stood there, still confused about the reference, I became totally aware of what Chuy was saying. When he started laughing I asked him, just to confirm my thoughts, about the nickname. “Do they call us the ‘Special’ because I am the hamburger and she is the fry?” “Yes!” he explained then added, “and because you are always together!” I was devastated. In one moment I went from pretending to make canned beans for lunch to being called a hamburger. My stomach dropped, my body flushed and I knew I was going to begin to cry so I ran out. As I ran away I yelled to them, “I forgot! My mom told me to be home today!” Tears ran down my face as I darted (as quick as a fat kid can) the half mile home. As I reached my driveway, my brother and another older boy, Juan, saw me. “Are you crying again!?!”, my brother barked and Juan started to laugh. Another kick to the gut. I ran straight to my room and onto my bed. My haven. My safe place. Home & bed. To this day, this proves to be true. Sometimes there is no place I’d rather be than at home in bed.

I believe this incident was the beginning of my ‘overly anxious self deprecation never good enough’ thought process. I didn’t want to be the hamburger. I wanted to be the fry. But I wasn’t built to be a fry. From then on I learned that nothing could make me feel better…except food.

Picture: Denise, 3rd grade, Falcons Football cheerleader