LITMIR.BIZ

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(direct quote). “I would never, not appreciate your scrumptious meals!” I’d retaliate, deadpanning. In my defense, Mom wasn’t a cook.

      So we ordered in every night from different places. I would usually pick at whatever I got in the computer room while doing homework. After soccer, this athlete had little time for chitchat while refueling—I had a processing problem, for God’s sake! I needed to study! That excuse let me eat—or not eat—as peacefully and privately as I liked. My dad and mom would usually do something separately when he got home from work. As much as they didn’t act like it, in other ways—in the romance department, for instance—they were the cute 1950s adorable lovey-dovey couple that actually enjoyed each other’s private company. And it wasn’t even vomit-inducing for my snarky preteen self; I loved witnessing their solid foundation.

      But there was one thing my mom and I always did together—late-night snacking before bed. We usually chatted about our day as we nibbled, munched, and nibbled some more. So later that last day of school, my mom and I were munching on cereal straight from the box for dessert. This evening I had Cinnamon Toast Crunch and she had Honey Nut Os. I was starving, since I’d skipped breakfast, thrown out my brown-bag lunch, and only picked at dinner, trying to start my diet pre-camp. It’s hard to sleep on an empty stomach, so I usually gave in to the hunger pangs during evening snacks. Plus, the comfort of hanging out with my mom, my best friend, sealed the deal.

      “I am so full, I need to stop. I am getting so fat,” I said, loosening the waistband on my sweatpants, trying to relieve the pressure of my expanding tummy.

      “Dan, no you aren’t. You always lose weight at camp anyway,” my mom said, putting a Honey Nut O into her mouth.

      “Well, I need to!” I exclaimed, popping a piece of Cinnamon Toast Crunch into my mouth. “You see, I can’t help myself,” I added. “Ugh.”

      My mom chucked a Honey Nut O at my head.

      “What are you doing?” I laughed and threw a handful of Cinnamon Toast Crunch in her direction. It hit her right in the face, leaving a cinnamon and sugar mark on her cheek. “Bull’s-eye!” I screamed, hands waving in the air declaring my victory. We laughed so hard that my stomach hurt, or it could have been from eating too much, but either way, I knew one thing in that moment—I was going to miss her. I was going to miss this.

      “I am going to miss you so much,” I said, making a pouty face while sitting back in my chair.

      “I am going to miss you too, but camp will be so much fun.” My mom had loved sleepaway camp in her youth. She went until she was the oldest age allowed and was even a counselor for some summers afterward. I wasn’t sure camp was my thing like it was for her. Even though Mom was my best friend, we had very different personalities. Everything always seemed to come much easier to her than me in the friends and fun category of life. She had the face of a model and a flawless body. A personal trainer and spin instructor, my mom was a walking billboard for the classes she taught. She was perfect, and I was…well, I couldn’t even compare. I just needed to go to camp to lose weight, to get everything back in order. I was out of control. Look at me over here, stuffing my face with Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

      “Yeah…” I trailed off.

      “I am going to miss walking in on the two of you this way,” my dad interrupted our powwow, entering the kitchen from his office, taking a work break by pouring himself a big glass of milk.

      That night, my dad’s wild curly hair was tight against his head with a thick coat of gel—dark black with slight salt on the edges. He likes the gray because he thinks he looks distinguished, and he does. My dad is a tough businessman and an extremely hard worker, with a huge personality and a confidence that is both awe-inspiring and intimidating. Yet he is a family man and has a big, generous, sensitive heart that even manages to break at every Disney movie, including Aladdin and The Lion King. I mean, gut-wrenching sobs, inducing thick tears down his cheeks, which no one would suspect based on a first impression.

      “I was just saying that. It was like you read my mind,” I finally spoke, coming out of a trance—eyes focused straight ahead at nothing in particular.

      “Mark, why don’t you come sit with us for a bit?” My mom said, pulling out the seat next to her and patting it, gesturing him to come.

      “Okay, Linda, but I only have five minutes. I have a big meeting in the morning I need to prepare for.”

      “We are going up to bed in less than that anyway.”

      As my dad sat down, finishing his glass of milk, and their chatting continued, I put my hands on my stomach, sizing it up. This was the last time I’d binge on cereal. Tomorrow at camp would be the start of my diet, no slips ever again. Tonight was the last night of late-night eating and talking with my mom. This really was the last time. I pinky-swore—and a pinky swear means business. I’d never break that pact. Yeah right!

      And I was right about that, at least for that summer. I became more engulfed in my eating patterns and rituals than ever before. A lot of it had to do with my vow, but also with the fact that I hated my new camp. Elizabeth had switched camps to one that was coed and supposedly more down to earth, with kids from all over the country, not just the Tri-State Area. Of course, I’d followed her. Also, in the old camp, more and more girls in my age group were becoming more materialistic. It was a fancy camp, and what clothing brands you wore and how boys responded to them at socials mattered more than people’s personalities. Material things never mattered to me. Look, I grew up in an environment where I became acutely aware of nice things and even brands (guess I am a byproduct of where I came from in some ways), but I never base anyone’s value on having those items. I also never needed or wanted those things; they were just always around me, so I became attuned to them. So even though I befriended a nice group of girls, I still found myself feeling more and more homesick for Mom and Dad. I thought trying something new, maybe a new environment, would be the cure. I was wrong.

      Unfortunately, the new camp wasn’t any better for me. My homesickness was at a magnitude of 9.5 on the Richter scale (meaning whoa high like the Great Chilean earthquake of 1960) and dieting became my only reprieve. I’d stopped eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when I became aware that peanut butter was fattening. So it was jelly only, on whole-wheat bread. Maybe that was the giveaway. One of my counselors noticed my food peculiarities and reported me to the head of the camp. Thereafter, my counselor was instructed to watch over me to make sure I ate every fattening morsel on my plate. It was humiliating, because my bunkmates knew why I was being monitored. At the time, our bunk was split into two groups—the new campers and the old campers (think West Side Story’s rivalry between the Jets and Sharks)—and the old campers would whisper and snicker to each other about my eating problem.

      Each bite I took was a mouthful of shame and worthlessness. To help keep my weight up, my mom sent protein bars to the infirmary, where I was sent after each breakfast to be forced to eat one and then get weighed. Again, at dinner, I was forced to eat my entire meal, followed by a second trip to the infirmary for my second protein bar.

      When visiting day arrived, I only had one thing on my mind: my escape.

      “Please take me home, I hate it here,” I begged, eyes swollen from crying.

      What was the point of being at camp if: (a) The camp was all “hippy dippy” and “kumbaya” with no focus on sports, and (b) I couldn’t lose weight anymore; in fact, with the amount they were making me eat, I was bound to gain weight. I repeat, gain weight. And, in my distorted mind, I didn’t have a pound to spare. Yes, as Queen Bee (Beyoncé) would say, ring the alarms! I needed to get out of this hellhole like yesterday. I needed to go home.

      “But Dan, you love camp. I think you just miss us, and we miss you too, but this is where you will have more fun,” my mom said, as she wiped the tears off my face with a tissue she pulled out of her tote.

      “No…” I tried to find the words to explain, voice breaking. It was so much more than just homesickness. They were making me shamefully eat in front of my peers, stand on a scale and see my weight rise, and pointing out my problem for all to gawk at. Until now, my eating

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