The F Word “胖”就一个字

2015-05-30周昕

新东方英语·中学版 2015年6期

周昕

在这个以瘦为美的年代，“胖”成了女孩们唯恐避之不及的字眼。而这个字也伴随我走过了四十多年的人生历程。在这场与“胖”的较量中，我没能获胜，但“胖”却没有阻碍我成为人生赢家。谁说胖子就没有春天呢？

"OK，" I said to my daughter as she bent over her bowl of rice. "What's going on with you and J.？"

"She's bossy，" Lucy complained. "She's turning everyone against me，" Lucy muttered2）. "She's mean， she's bad at math， she's terrible at kickball3） and ... she's fat." "Excuse me，" I said， struggling for calm. "What did you just say？" "She is fat，" Lucy mumbled4） into her bowl. "We are going upstairs，" I said， my voice cold.

I'd spent the nine years since her birth getting ready for this day， the day we'd have to have the conversation about this dreaded5）， stinging6） word. I knew exactly what to say to the girl on the receiving end of the taunts7） and the teasing8）， but in all of my imaginings， it never once occurred to me that my daughter would be the one who used the F word. Fat.

I am six years old， in first grade， and my father is hoisting9）—that's really the only word for it—me up into the backseat of the family's Chevy Suburban10）. "She's solid. She weighs 65 pounds，" he's telling a friend. I am eight years old， sturdy11） bare legs dangling at the end of the examination table while my pediatrician12）， a woman with a soothing13） voice， and disconcertingly14） cool hands， tells my mom to stop packing me two sandwiches for lunch. And my mother， overweight herself， nods and says nothing.

How can anyone say no to food？ I'm beginning to recognize that there are people born with an "off" switch， people to whom food， even the most delicious， is simply fuel. Then there are people like me， who eat every bite and still want more. I have no off switch. Happy， sad， lonely， content—the one constant in my life is hunger.

I'm 15， five-foot-six， 145 pounds. My parents have shipped me off on a teen tour to Israel. The group is filled with mean girls. There are five girls named Jennifer with my group that summer. "Oh， not the fat Jennifer，" I hear one of my tour mates saying matter-of-factly15） to another.

I am incandescent16） with shame， knowing that fat is， by far， the worst thing you can be. Fat is lazy， fat is gross17）， fat is sloppy18） ... and， worst of all， fat is forever. I am fat—and， hence， undesirable， unlovable， a walking joke—for the rest of my life.

Then I'm 18， sitting in the dining hall across from the crew coach. I'd been a good rower in high school， good enough for Princeton to recruit me， but now I've gained the 15 pounds—one of my many bulimic19） freshmen classmates should have gained but didn't. "If you want to stay on the team，" the coach tells me gently， "you're going to have to lose a lot of weight."

The coach relegates20） me to the worst boat and never makes eye contact with me again. The next year， I quit the team and join the school newspaper. I find my place， my calling21）. On the page， nobody can tell that you're fat.

I am 33， and after two days of labor22） followed by an emergency C-section23）， the doctor places my newborn daughter in my arms. At eight pounds， 11 ounces， she's one of the biggest babies in the nursery. I'm far too embarrassed to ask my doctor the only thing I want to know： Will she be normal， or will she be like me？

Now， at 42， I've made as much peace as a plus-size woman can make with her body. In my career， my weight has never held me back24）. I've worked for national newspapers， written best-selling novels， had a book turned into a movie， co-written a TV show that made it on the air. I have a job I love， two smart， funny daughters， a rich， full life with wonderful friends and a man who loves me ... but I know that， when the world sees me， they don't see any of this. They see fat.

My daughter sat on her bed， and I sat beside her. "How would you feel if someone made fun of you for something that wasn't your fault？" I began. "She could stop eating so much，" Lucy mumbled， unwittingly mouthing the simple advice a thousand doctors and well-meaning friends and relatives have given overweight women for years.

"It's not always that easy，" I said. "Everyone's different in terms of how they treat food." Do I tell her I didn't cry when someone posted my picture and commented underneath it， "I'm sorry， but aren't chick-lit25） authors supposed to be pretty"？

Words are my tools. Stories are my job. And I have no idea what to say. So I say to my daughter， "I love you， and there is nothing you could ever do to make me not love you. But I'm disappointed in you right now. There are plenty of reasons for not liking someone. What she looks like isn't one of them."

Lucy nods， tears on her cheeks. "I won't say that again，" she tells me， and I pull her close， pressing my nose against her hair. So as we sit there together， I pray for her to be smart. I pray for her to be strong. I pray for her to find friends， work she loves， a partner who adores her， for her life to be easy， and for her to have the strength to handle it when it's not. And still， always， I pray that she will never struggle as I've struggled， that weight will never be her cross to bear. She may not be able to use the word in our home， but I can use it in my head. I pray that she will never get fat.

“好吧，”我对正在低头吃米饭的女儿说，“你和J.怎么了？”

“她很横。” 露西抱怨说。“她害得每个同学都针对我，” 她嘟囔着，“她很自私，数学不好，足球踢得很烂，而且……她很胖。”“等下，”我强作镇静，“你刚才说什么？”“她很胖。”露西一边吃饭一边含糊地说。“跟我上楼。”我冷冷地说。

终于得和女儿聊聊这个让人害怕、听着刺耳的字眼了，从她出生到今天，我已经准备了九年。对于遭受这种嘲讽和戏弄的女孩，我百分之百清楚该说些什么，但是我怎么也没想到，我自己的女儿正是那个说F词（胖）的人。

我六岁上小学一年级的时候，一次父亲把我抬（真的只有“抬”这个字最合适）到我家雪佛兰萨博班汽车的后座上，并对他的朋友说：“她长得很结实，有65磅重。”八岁时，我坐在体检台的一头，晃悠着粗壮的光腿，听到我的儿科医生——一位声音轻柔、双手冰凉得令人不安的女士——告诉我母亲，午饭便当别给我带两个三明治了，太多了。而我那本身体重就超重的母亲点了点头，什么也没说。

谁又能对吃的说不呢？我渐渐明白，有的人生来嘴上就有道“闸”，食物，哪怕是最美味的食物对他们来说也不过是给身体提供能量的东西；可也有人像我一样，吃得再多也不够。我嘴上没有那道“闸”。无论是高兴还是伤心，孤单还是满足，我的人生一直处于饥饿的状态。

15岁时，我已经有5英尺6英寸高，145磅重了。父母把我送去参加一个赴以色列的青少年游学团，这个团里有很多刻薄的女孩。那年夏天，我所在的小组有五个叫珍妮弗的女孩。“哦，不是那个胖珍妮弗。”我听到一个团员直言不讳地跟另一个这么说。

我羞愤难当，觉得肥胖是到那时为止我人生中最糟糕的事。肥胖意味着懒惰，意味着恶心，意味着邋遢……最糟糕的是，肥胖会永远伴随着我。我胖，所以我不受人欢迎，不招人待见，走到哪儿都被人笑话，余生都会这样。

18岁那年，我在食堂吃饭，对面坐着划艇队的教练。我在高中时就已是一名出色的桨手了，因表现出众被普林斯顿大学录取。但如今，我体重增加了15磅，我那些患有贪食症的大一同班新生本该变胖却也长不了这么多肉。“你如果想继续待在队里，”教练温和地说，“就必须减掉很多体重。”

教练把我“调”到最差的一艘划艇上，然后再也没和我有过眼神交流。一年后，我退出了划艇队，加入了校报。我找准了自己的位置，找到了我的职业方向。在报纸上，没人能看出来你是不是胖子。

33岁时，经历了两天的分娩和随后的紧急剖腹产，医生让我抱上了刚刚出生的女儿。她有8磅11盎司重，是育儿室里最重的婴儿之一。我太过难为情，都没有问医生我唯一想问的那个问题：她会是个正常人还是会像我一样胖？

如今，42岁的我已经做到尽可能平和地看待自己大一号的身体。我的体重从来没有阻碍我的职业发展。我为几家全国性的报刊供稿，写了许多畅销小说，有一本书已被改编为电影，而且还与别人合写了一部电视剧并成功播出。我有一份自己热爱的工作，有两个聪明有趣的女儿，生活充实富足，有许多非常棒的朋友，还有一个爱我的男人……但我知道，世人在看到我时，看不到这一切，他们只会看到我很胖。

露西坐在她的床上，我坐在她旁边。 “如果有人取笑你，但取笑你的原因并不是你的错，你会怎么想？” 我开始发话了。“她可以少吃点。” 露西含糊地回答。她不经意间说出的这句话正是多年来医生们和好心的亲朋好友都会给肥胖女性的简单建议。

“这件事并不总是那么容易，”我说，“每个人对待食物的态度都各不相同。”曾经有人贴出我的照片并在下面评论说：“借问一句，鸡仔文学的作者难道不该是美女吗？”我要不要告诉女儿，我当时并没因此而哭泣？

语言是我的工具，讲故事是我的工作，而我现在却不知道该说些什么。于是我对女儿说：“我爱你，无论你做什么我都不会不爱你。但是我现在对你很失望。不喜欢一个人可以有许多原因，但外表一定不是其中一个。”

露西点点头，脸上还挂着泪花。“我不会再说那样的话了。”她对我说。我把她揽了过来，鼻子贴着她的头发。我们一起坐在那里，我祈祷她将来成为一个聪明、坚强的女孩；祈祷她能交到朋友，找到喜欢的工作，拥有爱她的伴侣；祈祷她的人生旅途一帆风顺，祈祷她在遇到坎坷时也能够有力量去处理。而且，如以往一般，我祈祷她永远不会像我曾经那般挣扎，祈祷她的体重永远不会成为背上的十字架。或许在家里她不能说这个字，但我可以在心里说。我祈祷她永远都不会变胖。

1. Jennifer Weiner：珍妮弗·韦纳（1970～），美国当红通俗作家，读书期间即获得普林斯顿大学美国诗人奖，之后为多家报纸、杂志（如《费城追查报》《柯罗波丹》《封面人物》等）撰写专栏文章。她的小说《偷穿高跟鞋》被改编为同名电影。

2. mutter [?m?t?（r）] vt. 轻声说话；小声抱怨

3. kickball [?k?kb??l] n. 儿童足球游戏（美国儿童按棒球规则进行的球类运动）

4. mumble [?m?mbl] vt. 咕哝；含糊地说

5. dreaded [?dred?d] adj. 令人畏惧的，可怕的

6. stinging ['st????] adj. 尖刻的；刺人的；刺一样的

7. taunt [t??nt] n. 嘲弄；奚落；讥讽

8. teasing ['ti?zi?] n. 戏弄

9. hoist [h??st] vt. 举起；抬起

10. Chevy Suburban：雪佛兰萨博班（一款大型运动型多用途车）

11. sturdy [?st??di] adj. 强健的；结实的；强壮的

12. pediatrician [?pi?di??tr??n] n. 儿科医师