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"Shouldn't he BE here by now?" I asked Mom for the 10th time.
Mom looked a little anxious herself, though she answered calmly enough, "I'm sure he'll be along soon."
We'd been concerned about some of Pop's recent symptoms--shortness of breath--things like that. Finally Mom had persuaded
him to have a checkup. Now we were waiting for him to return.
Suddenly the door opened and in burst Pop. "Hi, everybody! What a wonderful day!"
We laughed. Obviously, Pop's great mood meant he wasn't dying at least.
"Doc said all I have to do is lose 40 pounds. No big deal. I just have to get more exercise and cut down on food, especially
what Doc calls empty calories." (Guess that's a fancy name for junk food.) Anyway, Pop sure was full of enthusiasm and good
intentions. Little did we know what we were in for.
"So don't set any ice cream at my place. And don't serve me any of those rich pies you insist on making," he told Mom.
Mom's eyes widened in surprise. She didn't say anything even though Pop was the one who'd always asked for more pie.
"This diet is going to work," Pop declared. "And I don't want either of you sabotaging my efforts!" He absentmindedly reached
into the cookie jar, then caught himself. "The rest of you can eat junk like this," he said. He got himself an apple.
At the dinner table, Mom served the portions. Pop looked at his plate, then at mine. His plate had one piece of chicken,
mine had two. His plate had one scoop of potatoes, mine had two. Pop looked at our plates again without saying anything. I
felt sorry for him. But hey! It's not my fault I'm a skinny growing boy.
During the evening, even though Pop went to the refrigerator many times, he never took anything except a drink of water.
I was proud of him. He was really trying.
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He paced about. Finally he said, "I need some gum. I'm going to the market."
He came back with a large bag containing 20 packs of sugarless gum, two packages of doughnuts and a giant bag of corn chips.
"They were on sale,"Pop said and put the chips and doughnuts in the cupboard. He chewed lots of gum the next few weeks.
The thing I hated though was that Pop didn't seem so happy anymore. I never knew what would make him mad. Once he saw my
term paper for English class on which I'd earned a B. "This is the best you can do? Maybe if you didn't spend so much time
watching TV or playing soccer, you could have gotten an A."
"But, Pop...," I started. He'd been proud of my Bs before. Mom caught my eye and shook her head, so I said nothing more.
Maybe I'm a coward, but I began avoiding Pop after that whenever I could. One day though he came up to me all excited. "Your
grandmother's birthday is next week. Don't you think your mom would be pleased if we invited her mother out to dinner at a
nice restaurant?" I must admit Pop was clever.
Mom wasn't stupid either. When he told her his idea, she said, "That's sweet of you, dear. However, I think Mother would
enjoy the fresh air. Let's have a picnic at the park. I'll pack up some good food."
"Oh boy!" Pop said. "Carrot and celery sticks!" He went out, slamming the door behind him.
Another time Pop became excited while reading a magazine. "This is just what I need. Listen to this, 'Miracle pill. Lose
weight without boring exercise or dieting.'"
"Do you really believe it would work?" Mom asked.
Pop sighed. "No. I suppose not. Besides, it probably wouldn't even be healthy."
During the sixth week of Pop's diet, he complained about the food at every meal. "Why can't we have a real meal around here
for a change?"
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Finally Mom had had enough. When Pop and I came in to eat, the table looked as if it were Thanksgiving
Day with all the food. "Now this is more like it!" Pop said. He was happier than I'd seen him in a long time.
Pop started filling his plate. He stopped and looked at Mom. "Don't you CARE what I eat?" he asked.
A sheepish look came over Pop's face. "Of course, you care," he said, answering his own question. "And so do I." He put small
portions on his plate.
Two days later, Pop saw the doctor again. He came home one happy man. "Doc says I've lost 19 pounds in six weeks. I'm nearly
halfway there."
He frowned. "I know I haven't been the easiest person to live with these past weeks, but it hasn't been too bad, has
it?"
Mom grinned. "Yes, it has. However, it's been worth it."
I noticed how loose Pop's pants were. "Soon you'll have to buy all new clothes, Pop."
"Yes, I will, won't I?" he said, pleased.
Now I wish I could say the last 21 pounds were easy as pie. (Oops, poor word choice.) They weren't. But Pop stuck it out.
We all did. Eventually, he lost all 40 pounds. He felt better, and he looked better.
He still must be careful about what and how much he eats or his weight will go back up again. So you better believe we're
helping him eat right. We never want to go through dieting with him again. It's great having the old Pop back. Just not
so much of him.
(Published in Clubhouse magazine in 1989.)
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