One of the best things my mother has bequeathed me is a lack of interest in dieting. Until she was in her seventies and experiencing some weight-related health problems, she never followed a diet in her life.  (The doctor put her on a “no white starch” diet that worked pretty well until it was undermined by home-baked German goodies from friendly neighbors in her new home in PA – sorry, Mom.)  As for me, I have not consciously cut calories, denied myself anything I like to eat, or bought a diet book – ever.  OK, this is not strictly true, as I did revise some of our family eating habits when the pediatric nutritionist put us on a “family diet”; if my kids were doing it, I was doing it, too. Mostly, that was cutting sweets and portion control, basically healthy eating. But Scarsdale, Dr. Atkins, low-fat, low-carb – no thank you.

Granted, part of this legacy is genetic and another part cultural.  There aren’t a lot of heavy set people on either side of my family. We weren’t raised in an ethnic household where food was of big social and emotional value. My Canadian French grandmother did most of the cooking, adhering to the bland, plain food preferences of my Irish grandfather.  But a good part of this non-dieting stems from my mother’s advice to four daughters, “Don’t rely on your looks. Get an education and skills to support yourself and children if you have to.” Of course, this makes sense coming from a widow – and good looks or no, there were not too many men looking to take on a 30-year old single mother with six young children. Good thing she had that nursing degree my grandfather was reluctant to pay for: ‘You’ll only get married and quit.” 

The more time I spend in waiting rooms reading magazines, the more I realize the obsessive nature of losing weight. All a big marketing ploy, I’m convinced, to persuade us to buy and do things we don’t really need. It’s part of the whole culture of discontent with what we have and how we appear, as if changing those things will bring happiness – as opposed to acceptance of ourselves bringing about positive changes. Alas, the message is not well-received. Some years ago when I was student-teaching, a high school girl approached me after class — could she ask my opinion on something. “Do you think my thighs are too fat?” Well, didn’t I launch into “If you thought half as much about your studies as your looks, you would be an A student.” and “If women were liberated from bad self-images, their power would be enough to rule the universe.” Sadly, the girl did not become an A student nor ask me for advice again.

Yet, the last laugh is on me. My mother should have said: “Pride goeth before a fall.” Yours truly expects to commence dieting shortly – a severe, unforgiving, and not so fun diet after all.  After my sister was diagnosed with celiac sprue – gluten intolerance – my doctor did a blood test on me that was positive. The gastroenterologist is recommending an endoscopy to look at my small intestine to see what damage has been done, even though I have not had symptoms other than occasional stomach upset. Look who will be inspecting labels, checking menus, and bringing her own food along to family functions. So, farewell bagels, toast and crackers; goodbye, pasta, cookies and cake – except the modified versions I may be able to get at Whole Foods.  Hello, diet; it’s me, Erin.