Red Rover, Red Rover, We Call the Fatty Over

Illustration by Zoe Gigis

The evening started as they usually did, with hellos, hugs, high fives, and a quick getaway to the basement. Our reoccurring and emblematic dinner parties with family friends were always the same. They consisted of good food, positive music, and lots of fun. The kids’ faces were consistently rosy from playing games of tag or jumping on the trampoline, and the parent’s from copious glasses of wine and laughter. Instead of alcoholic beverages, the kids drank lemon San Pellegrino, our tongues and minds buzzed from the sugar. Empty cans would be left scattered on mantelpieces or miscellaneous furniture in random wings of the house, the nannies would scurry around picking them up. Us kids spent every moment of those ritual dinner parties in the basement of whomever's house we happen to be at that particular night. We played games, told stories, and laughed until our sides began to ache – some of my fondest childhood memories. The basements were our sanctuaries, away from our parents and their watchful eyes that seemed back then to be so much more judgmental and wary than they realistically were. One memory in particular from our basement escapades sticks out to me more than any other of those adolescent and carefree nights. I can still hear the “red rover, red rover, we call [name] over,” chant echoing in my mind as if I have transported back to that very evening. If you're unfamiliar, Red Rover is a playground game where two teams line up opposite each other, the first team agrees to call one player from the opposite team over. The person called runs to the other line and attempts to break the chain of their hands linked together. If they break it, they go back to their team, if they don’t, they have to join the opposite team’s chain. Whoever has the longest chain of people in the end wins. It’s both dangerous and extremely fun, the perfect combination for a group of ten-year-olds high on sugary drinks looking for activities to fill their time. The game of Red Rover on this particular night stands out to me the most, as the chants were unnecessarily taunting. When the boys' team called on me, the regular Red Rover chant to call on someone had been altered. As a replacement for my name, “fatty” was used instead. “Red rover, red rover, we call the fatty over.” Having grown up with a brother and the other boys’ present, I was used to playful banter along similar lines. I refused to let the unkindness of the words get to me and I catapulted forwards charging their linked arms in hopes of breaking their chain. I was unsuccessful. I remember thinking if I was so fat, wouldn’t I have broken it?

Growing up I was never overtly large, but chubby, most likely carrying around baby fat I never lost. Ironically, despite my pudginess, my parents were relatively strict with healthy eating and I was seldom allowed sweet things. At school, I was known for having the healthiest lunches, and always wanting to trade classmates for something a bit sweeter. All through grade school, I had been slightly heavier than most of my friends, and typically experienced light teasing about my weight leading up to high school. The minimal taunting was never something that affected my everyday life and mainly came from my brother. Despite working out multiple times a week in high school with a trainer, and playing many different sports, I maintained the same weight, give or take a few pounds. In grade ten I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism. The slight fluctuations in weight, little to no weight loss despite healthy eating and continual exercise, all began to make sense. Hypothyroidism, also called underactive thyroid, is a disorder of the endocrine system in which the thyroid gland does not produce enough thyroid hormone. The thyroid hormone helps control metabolism and energy. During my first year at University, I finally got my condition under control after years of trial and error to find the right medication and dosage. With my thyroid gland beginning to work as properly as it could alongside the medication, I started to lose the weight that I had carried around with me the majority of my life. Over my first year, September to August, I had lost around 30 pounds, the majority of it lost during the summer due to working long hours outside, constantly moving my body and the right medication. I was considered a healthy weight for my height, however, the large decrease in a short time was concerning for the people around me, especially the ones who weren’t seeing me daily. Personally, the fat loss wasn’t as much of a change as I’d been watching the weight gradually decrease technically over almost five years. Quickly, however, the body-shaming I had experienced while growing up and before the 145 pounds had vanished was a whole different kind of shaming than what I experienced at 115 pounds. According to others, I needed to “eat more” and was “so skinny”. At first, I was extremely happy with the way I looked and felt, how clothes fit my body, and I was no longer embarrassed to ask a friend to borrow clothes, worried they might not fit. My medication was working, and I couldn’t have been happier. Despite my glee, slowly those feelings started to dissipate. People were becoming worried, afraid that I had developed an eating disorder and was unwell. I became self-conscious once again. It’s comforting to know that people care about me and my wellbeing. However, with that kind of negative attention comes comments of concern about my body when there was nothing to be concerned about. Sometimes our bodies change, especially when experiencing issues with metabolism, alongside large changes in life like going to university, and I think people sometimes have a hard time accepting or realizing that.

 It wasn’t until after I had experienced two different sides of body shaming, that I fully understood the reality that no one’s body is perfect. There is no particular shape or size that every single person on this planet can agree is the epitome of beauty and perfection. It’s important to realize that through my weight journey, I have experienced both negative and positive remarks about my body. Nevertheless, a comment is a comment and whether it's negative or positive, it still can be perceived as either depending on the state of mind or situations the receiver may be in. People have no right to make comments about a body that isn’t there’s. We have to be extremely careful concerning how we approach the conversation of weight. There is so much shame around how much or how little someone weighs that it consumes our society. We would be exponentially happier if we didn’t let our bodies define us so intensely and if we didn’t comment on people’s bodies because we think they should or shouldn’t be a certain way. By relaying my experience and speaking out about my views on body shaming and weight, I am not trying to debunk or distract from serious issues and experiences that are maybe similar or far worse than mine. I understand that some people can become very ill regarding eating habits and sometimes it’s important to speak up and voice concerns if you see a friend or family member you may feel to be in danger. However, I think it’s crucial to make sure you're aware of all the facts before you start to make comments or point fingers as you never know someone’s situation.