Growing up, I went to a private Catholic grade school. It was a great school, but they made each kid wear the same uniform. Girls wore skirts while boys wore blue shorts, and everyone either wore a white or blue collared shirt. I dreaded the day that my mom would take my siblings and I clothes shopping. All my friends were at the same store vying for the best pair of shorts. Well, I didn’t have to worry about any competition, I had to shop in the “Husky Section.” Oh how embarrassing that was. I knew I was a little chubby but I resented everything about that store referring to those clothes as “Husky.” Why didn’t they just call them fat kid shorts? They were not fooling anyone, especially me. I knew that they were trying to call me fat, but those were the only shorts that fit, so I had to suck it up and wear them.
My mom seemed to always downplay it by quietly asking the sales clerks where the husky section was.
“pssst, Miss, where is the (my mom looks around to make sure I am not paying attention, and usually I wasn’t because I think a Burger King was across the street, so I was paying attention to that) husky section”
Those italics mean that she said it barely above a whisper, and by about the third year of this, she didn’t have to ask anymore and knew exactly where to go. Of course, I hadn’t lost any weight and only kept getting larger but to this day I have vivid memories of the “Husky Section.” And for that, I blame my weight problem on that store. It is not because I love to eat and hate to work out, but the fact that I was labeled at such an early age and just accepted the fact that I would always be husky.