Hey, Fatso! Yeah, You!

Obesity: No matter where you go in this country, especially in the Deep South, you are going to encounter what is fast becoming the most horrific health crisis in history. Yet, it seemingly marches along, steadily picking up steam; statistical numbers rapaciously skyrocketlng with each passing year. And no one seems to have a clue as to how to mount a counter-attack. If the great Chinese war strategist, Sun-Tzu, were to be summoned from the battlefields he now roams, one look at the enemy and he would turn in flight, screaming in fear as he sped past Saint Peter, escaping back into the safety of his present domain on the other side of the pearly gates. The enemy over there are probably a wee bit skinnier; perhaps even a tad emaciated. But they were slim pickings to begin with when they were alive; nothing drastically changing in the few hundred years their souls have roamed in eternity.

Obesity: Though a cousin to Fat, with more than a few like characteristics (enough to ensure the family connection), it cannot be confused as a fraternal twin, and passed off as easily dismissible. That is because one can be a tad pudgy and still maintain a fairly healthy lifestyle. Look back through history to the time when modestly nude paintings were high art and you find both men and women depicted with a tad more curves than 1960's model Twiggy ever dreamt of having shape her skeleton. Pudgy, yes; grotesque, decidely not.

And once one crosses the point of no return, the line in the sand, or any other designation of pop culture drivel that screams Major Fail, only a miracle of, no pun intended, gargantuan proportions can bring them back to life as most people enjoy. Few can make the turnaround like Jared Fogle of Subway fame.

Obesity: Socially, the person afflicted with the disease suffers a ostracization twice as devastating because obesity transcends gender, race, ethnicity, socio-economic stratum or any other quantifier of modern life. Haters across the board can scream singular epithets at folks all day. But add obesity to the mix and you have a double-whammy for the victim of such demagogic slander.

Now those of you who have seen my slight frame might view me as a hater, or at the least, given my build, ignorantly unsympathetic. You need to know that I have first-hand experience on the subject.

The paternal heritage I have been blessed to have, comes from strong Scotch-Irish stock, mostly growing up on farms and having the residual diet of the lifestyle. We are talking hard-working, earthy people, on the go every day with pre-dawn chores being interrupted only for breakfast. Mid-morning chores would resume before taking off a bit of time for dinner, that being the moniker long ago for the mid-day meal. Then the afternoon chores would commence and they were capped off with a weary supper. The work was arduous and the meals were hearty. But the metabolism spikes offset any issues even though the cooking was laden with cholesterol favorites. Still, until this nation matriculated from the Agricultural and Industrial eras through to the Technological explosion, that was okay. People were hefty, maybe a bit pudgy; but not, by definition, obese.

My dad, once standing tall at 6' 2", on a sturdy 250 pound frame, has now been shackled with the illness of obesity. Does he share in any cause to the encroachment of the malady? Yes, he does. And I will not cut him any slack on the faults because he knew better than to allow the affliction to body slam him to the canvas of life and pin him down for the count.

Granted, he had to have the DNA, the uniqueness of cellular combinations, that would predestine him, potentially, for the disease. One day he's working like every other 24-hour period in his seventy-plus years, allowing for some gradual slow-down as the clock winds in an easy progression toward retirement. The next day, metaphorically, he starts picking up health issues quicker; slowing further as the metabolism gears down, he begins to pick up a few more unwanted riders on the journey.

The next thing he knows there is a life filled with taking twenty-eight (28) pills a day to combat high-blood pressure, diabetes, and now renal failure. Added to that are finger pricks to check sugar levels, followed by the requisite insulin injections and a new bestest buddy, the nitro cream patch.

He cannot easily, if at all, gather the strength, or balance, to rise from, or recline to, bed. The same goes for using a chair or couch in which to sit; they are not designed for people encroaching, and literally zooming past, 300 pounds to easily use. He cannot, as well, stand for long periods with his strength just not being there anymore. Let's not forget the recent indignity of hygiene matters.

But this diatribe is not about the giant of a man I grew up adoring, if wondering at times whether I measured up to his standards. This is about the collective body, again no pun intended, of a society scooting along like a train on a track approaching a seemingly eternally deep ravine . . . a chasm now sans a bridge to provide safe crossing.

We are no longer a fat nation . . . we are an obese nation. And it has to be curtailed, one body at a time.

It is not an easy task to undertake. How in the heck do you look at someone, who is on that ride, who is maybe 30-50 years old, and implore them to either lose weight or face consequences no one should be facing in this day and age? How do I, with my gaunt appearance, warn that someone of the impending dangers of obesity?

It is a quandary that I am powerless to answer. It is a conundrum that the masses of high intelligence will not be able to devise a plan to countermand the onslaught.

To paraphrase Galileo,"You cannot teach a man anything, you can only hope to direct him on the wisest course."

This course, folks, needs a helluva number of directors.

A Hell of a Life

Walter Breuning died a few days ago. By all accounts he was a simple man who lived a simple life. But he did so for one hundred and fourteen years.

Before going further, look at the number once more: One Hundred and Fourteen.

He lived a hair over thirty of those years in an assisted living facility, and nearly another quarter century as a widower of the late Mrs. Agnes Breuning (with whom Walter is once again strolling along with in the valley of still waters after that 54-year separation). But he was apparently still very active, at least mentally, until the very end. Along the way he picked up a few insights that are worth expounding upon as careful consideration for how we all should live our lives.

On Change:
Embrace change, even when the change slaps you in the face. "Every change is good . . . I think every change that we've ever made, ever since I was a child — 100 years — every change has been good for the people . . . My God, we used to have to write with pen and ink, you know, (for) everything. When the machines came, it just made life so much easier."

Keep in mind that Mr. Breuning was a 50-year employee of the railroad . . . as a clerk. We are not speaking of Walter Breuning, CEO, whose ground-breaking innovations during his tenure carried an industry from Point A to Point B.

Mr. Breuning, after his career had ended, saw the industry shunt along in a mindless limp, following the pathways forseen by Harvard economist, Professor Theodore Levitt, in his paper on Marketing Myopia. That is, when an industry fails to see its potential outside of a narrow scope, it eventually dies, whether theoretically or in the literal sense.

Mr. Breuning watched many friends lose their positions, and perhaps their pensions as well, because the industry failed to embrace change. The majority of those friends probably died embittered at the thanklessness of the corporate executives and their short-sightedness on making channge work for the industry. But Walter Breuning championed the concept around change. Look where it got him . . . health and happiness for 114 years.

Yet, how many people do we all know (some of us stare back at those people in the mirror) who wring their hands and tremble at the thought of trying something, anything, that is new or unfamiliar. I used to be that way about some foods, or social interaction. Some people are that way with computers or electronic technology of any kind. "Oh, that is too complicated. How do you play music on that tiny thing called an iPod?" "The same way generations went from vinyl discs to 8-Track tapes to cassette tapes to compact discs." Change is good!

And how many of those people who fret over change deny themselves of a long life? A helluva lot more than the one who lived to be 114 years old.

On Death:
"We're going to die. Some people are scared of dying. Never be afraid to die. Because you're born to die."

Here was a man who seemingly cheated the Grim Reaper for a long, long time, albeit in an unspectacular fashion . . . just going day-to-day, putting one pants leg on at a time, putting one step in front of the other. But he did it for 114 years.

Years ago when my Mother turned 40 I overheard her tell a cousin that it was "the darkest day of my life." I was 13, and remember thinking, "And the alternative to turning 40 is . . .?"

Mom, who for years has followed my Dad around like a lap dog, is now a mindless soul of 77. She has not excercised her brain for quite a few years and depends on my Dad to tell her what she cannot do, implying she is not smart, or capable, enough.

She is a Christian woman whose eternal destiny is secured by her faith in Jesus Christ. Yet, if asked about death, she would probably cringe and begin to harbor thoughts about dying as if she were one of only a few persons who will ever die.

On a Healthy Diet:
Eat two meals a day. Mr. Breuning said his good health was due to this strict diet.

"That's all you need. How many people in this country say that they can't take the weight off? I tell these people, . . . 'Get on a diet and stay on it. You'll find that you're in much better shape, feel good.'"

But here in America, especially in Beans-and-Cornbread Country, we shovel more food down our throats at one meal than Mr. Bruening did in two meals . . . then we add one more meal and usually a midnight snack.

How in the hell are we supposed to maintain a healthy weight and high energy for many years with that extreme gluttony--a characteristic that is highly frowned upon in the Bible.

And how many shortened life spans result from the grandiose gorging? One man lived to be a lucid, lively 114 years old by avoiding that demon. That man was Walter Breuning.

Work as long as you can:
"That money's going to come in handy. Don't retire until you're darn sure that you can't work anymore. Keep on working as long as you can work and you'll find that it's good for you."

With this nugget I take a half exception . . . but only one-half. I believe work is the life force that keeps the American ideals going strong. It pushes people to do their part, and a wee bit more. Then someone else picks up the baton and does the same.

But that doesn't mean we should, at some point, not consider backing off and exploring more options. I am not talking about quitting a career, retiring to a couch, and wait for the drooling to start.

Nothing says you have to slave 40 hours a week until the day you cannot slave any more. But you should continue meaningful living until the day you die.

There were two more ideals that he did not leave the interviewers with a quote: One was to maintain a simple life. Another was to eschew the myth that owning a home is part of the American Dream.

The two actually go together in a way, although I imagine for most of Mr. Breuning's working life the idea of home ownership was more palpable than the travesty created by the current financial products industry.

Still, considering that Mr. Breuning owned only a small parcel of land briefly around the onset of the Great Depression, being a renter did not stop him from a long and healthy life.

How many strokes or heart attacks or aneurysms are caused when people get too involved in keeping up with the Jones to keep up with their health? How many suicides can also be attributed to such fallacy. Let's not begin with the slow-death diseases that eat away at people silently for too many years until it is too late.

I'm not suggesting that Mr. Breuning had all of the answers, only 93.5 percent of them. And even if someone can live such a life on the fringes of austerity, there is no guarantee that Mr. Reaper won't push them out if front of a bus before they turn 40.

But what a great beacon Mr. Breuning gave us to use.