Open Letter to another's Grandma

 

Dear Grandma-

 

You’ve been on my mind since that day I saw you at the salon.  You were there with your beautiful grandbaby-girl although I wasn’t sure why; a last minute babysitting request perhaps?  I was there for a trim.  The neon sign said walk-ins were welcome so I had walked in and taken a seat by the door to wait.  You arrived with her in tow, and she arrived with a vise-like grip on her Slurpee.

She’s 8 years old, right?  I was hooked the minute I noticed her purple high-tops, matching purple tutu, and white t-shirt with the purple Eiffel tower on it.  Purple is my favorite color, and Paris is my favorite place. Her shoulder-length brown hair bobbed as she followed you to the small table where you sat her down.  When she sipped her Slurpee, I could almost taste the cold cherry goodness on my own tongue.  She chewed it little; the way you do with those icy drinks, and I knew it wouldn’t take long for her tongue to turn red.  That’s when I noticed the cake.   

You removed the plastic lid and cut her a piece.  As she waited she swung those uber-cool high tops back and forth.  When you put the plate in front of her, she looked up at you and asked, “Why’s it so small, Grandma?” 

“Because you don’t need a bigger piece,” you said.  “Just eat it, and don’t make a mess.”  She looked down, and you walked away in a huff. 

As I watched her take a bite of cake and wash it down with Slurpee, I could feel my own blood sugar rising.  I admit some mom thoughts crept into my mind. That is an awful lot of sugar.  I hope she brushes her teeth when she gets home.   Most of us were raised with similar messages.      

Then something weird happened. 

She lifted her head, looked right at me with those big brown eyes and smiled.  Her face was awash in joy; the pure pleasure a child takes in eating something delicious.  It was the kind of face we wore before we learned that maybe cake is bad or sugar will rot our teeth or eating food we love will make us fat. 

I smiled back and, as I did, my own eyes flooded with tears.  It was the same kind of face, I thought, that my daughter often wore while eating delicious, healthy, and not-so-healthy foods before she turned 13 and was diagnosed with an eating disorder. 

Around the beginning of middle school, and it seemed to happen this fast, she woke up one day and that innocent look was gone.  In its place was an expression that confirmed she understood what the world was telling her: She was not perfect the way she was.

She’s 15 now and food – eating it, preparing it, being around it, thinking about it, talking about it, needing it, wanting it, ignoring it, and over-indulging in it – every aspect of negotiating, surviving, and thriving through consumed nutrition has been a struggle.     

What I want for you, Grandma, is to learn from my experience.  Please don’t belittle or shame your beautiful granddaughter for liking sugar or food of any kind.  She is perfect, a one-of-a-kind, just the way she is.  Don’t ruin the joy of food or imply by your tone that it’s bad to like it or to want it. 

Consumption needs boundaries, but with a focus on health not appearance.  Help her not buy-in to the messages that bombard her daily regarding what she should look like, what she should wear, how she should act.  Eating or not eating cake will not make her a better person; neither will the size of her pants.  But we sure want her to dance and twirl in those purple high tops as long as humanly possible.

Sincerely,

H.S.Y.H.

Hoping to Save You Heartache