During my early years I often heard the stories how at the age of around 9 months Mum and Dad decided to get me christened before I got to heavy for a priest to be able to hold me. I was often the butt of these jokes about how fat I was as an infant a toddler a preschooler a child and teenager a young adult …
I have written before about how mum and dad would shovel two tins of baby food down my gob when I was an infant. Whenever those stories were being retold there was a group of people, usually adults but some of us kids around too and everybody would be laughing at the so-called appropriate time all at my expense and of course me being the shy and fundamentally wronged person that I was, well I’d be pain stakingly laughing too – after all any attention was better than none right?
At the age of 3 we lived in Napier. My earliest memories of something not being right happened here. A man would sit at the end of my bed maybe every night maybe once or twice a week. I remember his stripey pyjama bottoms very well. I remember my bedroom feeling very very dark and I remember often tuning my head up and over my right shoulder – straining so I could see the small bedroom window that had a Venetian blind pulled down over it as a means of escaping the torture. I remember how bad I wanted him to go away.
One of the things that my British mother loved to do was to dress me up like some little British girl. I actually remember this particular photoshoot. It was a hot day and Mum had a few outfits that she wanted me photographed in. Dad would have been the photographer. Evidence of childhood obesity Age 3.
One day little one I will make it right