"Fine as frog hair"

essay

Are we ever really comfortable in our own skin? From the time I was a little boy starting kindergarten, I spent a lot of my mental fuel being concerned with how I was viewed by others, primarily, other kids, the heartless, coldblooded little rug rats that seemed to lie in wait to slash a tender heart such as mine with their razor sharp tongues. I was a “chubby” kid, as adults took pity not to use the word “fat”. As an only child, I was easily spoiled with food and attention that was never intended to have the harmful effect it caused in the long run. It was not until several years out of high school that I had an epiphany. Self-image is a state of mind, influenced by our parents, friends and peers, and society and ultimately dictates how we flow through life’s current. “Who” we are is our choice.
I believe that for the most part, my parents tried to do what was best for me and abide by the parenting Hippocratic oath of “Do no harm”. There are exceptions, but usually any harm that came from their efforts was based on the love they had for me. Sometimes this “love” was shown through sarcasm, using phrases like “ I’ll buy your clothes any day and let someone else feed you”, or the eternally witty remark “If you didn’t have so much tucked away for a*s you’d be 6ft. 8”, which was meant to mean “Honey, try not to eat so much because I don’t want you to get fat and be unhappy”. Unfortunately, at 7 years old my brain had not developed to the point which would allow it to comprehend the hidden love behind the confusing message my ears had just received. So, I ended up fixing a big bowl of Frosted Flakes to help comfort the hurt I felt having fully understood the snide tone of voice with which the confusing message was delivered.
Few friends were of any use in helping me feel better, or help defining a positive image once I had adopted a less than adequate, much less optimal, self-image. The trouble with “friends” is that what comes out of their mouths does not match their body language. Guys do not usually participate in this sort of rhetoric, meaning that I have never had a male friend of mine say to me, “Dude, that sweater is outdated”. Women, on the other hand, do not hesitate in the slightest to blurt out their opinion concerning your lack of fashion chic. Nonetheless, even true friends would rather accept me as I came than give me a clue that might actually enhance the self- image I had formulated amidst strangers. Heaven knows it is better to stand next to someone uglier than you if for no other reason than to make yourself look better! Society loves fashion and I had little sense of it, or so it seemed.
Speaking of society, unless you do not own a TV, listen to the radio, or read any of the magazines while waiting in the checkout line at Wal-Mart, you are, and further will be, influenced by what seems to be what the rest of the world thinks is “good looking”. This subject alone could take up a volume of pages, so, for argument sake, I will assume that I do not need to expand on the influence that society and advertising has on what we buy, what we wear, and how we act.
Shortly after this initial epiphany, I choose to make the decision that I was just fine as frog hair with the body I was given and what I had done with it so far. I also decided that it was best for my general health and feeling of “self-worth” that I projected and aire of confidence about myself, which might allow for others to question their initial opinion of my appearance, of which, after this “epiphany”, I could care less about! My state of mind dictates that I’m good for now and the best is yet to come.


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