I have a special affection for candy bars. Not only do they taste good but they remind me of my dad. My dad and I were never close. Men in the 50s didn't take on that role. And my dad had a few personal demons of his own to battle, just like I do. But I know he loved me. Every night, while working at the factory, my father would buy me a candy bar from the vending machine. We were a poor family yet he managed to come up with the quarter to do so. He'd spend part of his break picking out the candy bar. It was usually a Chuckles. Every morning, when I'd awake I'd get to check his lunch box for my treat. Or sometimes, late at night after I knew he'd fallen asleep, I'd sneak into our kitchen to find my gift.
My father did that act completely out of kindness and love. I am the one who has mutated a candy bar into something other than it's original intention. Now when I see one, my mind drifts off into ruminations of diets, counting calories, and guilt. I remember the days when I ate 4 or 5 candy bars. I remember the shame of realizing I was overweight and then the 2 or 3 decades of denial.
What I'd like to get back to -- when I see a Chuckle or a Snickers or whatever - - is to be reminded how much my father loved me. The only way I can do that, is by clearing my mind and trying to accept myself. Loving myself seems almost too much to hope for. But loving others is something I can do.I can't seem to help myself, but that's no excuse for not helping you.
I started this fast on December 15th, my father's birthday. I should have had a candy bar the night before in tribute.
Day # 4: Going well, bored as hell. Food is my HBO.
Quote for the day stolen off the internet: "I love you with all my butt, I would say heart, but my butt is bigger."
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