(21Jul98)
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TheFatGuy
People often ask me, "Fats, how did you get your name?" Well, it might surprise the reader to know that I actually got my name in a very unlikely manner. When I was a child, I was normally not let out of the house unchaperoned due to various pending law suits around the neighborhood for such "misunderstandings" as setting my neighbor’s lawnmower on fire, peeing on kids riding by on their bikes and throwing dirt clods at cars.
However, one place I was granted permission to go alone was the local five & dime. The five & dime was magical to my kid-brain for within was all the molded plastic Star Wars figurines that I could ever hope for, as well as army men forever locked in their positions of kneeling or crawling on the ground, and of course there were those coin-operated vending machines! I’m not talking about the machines with gum balls or M&M’s but the machines which promised toys and games for the price of a quarter (or a dime, depending. Now, THAT was the kind of bargain I could afford!) Those were the motherlode of vending machines, always displaying the best of their wares in the front glass.
Taking a quarter that I’d earlier lifted from my parent’s night stand, I deposited my offering in the slot and out rolled one of those small egg-shaped plastic pods screwed together along it’s vertical axis. I clutched my magic treasure in my dirty little fist and ran outside to see what fate had decided to grant me for my two-bits. I unscrewed the clear plastic lid from one end, hoping for the cool rubber monster, or secret spy ring or (dare I dream??) the watch that they show you in the front glass that no one ever fugging gets!! At first, nothing popped out at all and my heart sank. Where was my cool plastic space ship? My rubber monster that I could stick over the eraser on my pencil? Where was my goddamn magic?!? I peered inside my plastic pod and there was a piece of paper stuck in the bottom of it. I unrolled it thinking it might be some kind of treasure map. Instead it said, "Sorry kid, but you’re fat and you’ll always be fat". Was this some kind of cruel joke!?! (It turns out it was, and the worker responsible was later fired for putting slips of paper into the plastic eggs with lewd and insulting comments. I guess the guy got bored at work and decided to entertain himself by shattering the self esteem and corrupting the morals of America’s vending machine youth. It made all the papers here in CA.)
Anyway, when I got home I showed my mother what I had gotten in my magic pod and she said, "Where did you get the money for that damn thing!??" After that she used to call me her "little fat guy" even though I have always been quite skinny. I guess mom was trying in her own way to make me feel good about the experience. During and after high school it just became a big joke because I started exercising a lot and people called me Fatty or Fats kind of like Robin Hood called his very large companion, Little John. An opposite joke. I still don’t get it, but the name has stuck and I remain thefatguy.
I had a traditional Catholic upbringing, attending parochial school, becoming an altar boy, and of course developing a deep-seated sexual perversion due to repressed healthy sexuality. Our school had a choir where we sang religious (mostly) songs and I always thought of myself as a pretty good singer. One day during a break between songs, a guy next to me turned around and said, "You know what dude? You suck!" I was crushed!
My mom tried to console me by telling me that the other kids were just jealous. I wasn’t convinced until one day the choir director came to me after class and said, "Have you ever thought of leaving the choir?" "Why would I do that?", I asked. "Well, the other kids have been complaining to me about your singing. It’s hard for them to focus with you near them". "My mom says they’re just jealous of me," I replied. "Uhhh...Yeah, well you might want to think about leaving the choir". He continued, "Fats, it’s not that you have a bad voice. It’s just unique. A voice like yours is better heard in a different context, outside of a choir setting".
I knew at that moment what he meant. He meant I was really GOOD and I could be a star! "Sir, I understand what you’re saying . I know you’re just telling me this because you know the other kids are jealous and fear that their jealousy might cause fights in the choir and because you think I’m wasting my talents in the choir. Well, I am not going to let you and the choir down by leaving. I want to be right here where I can share my natural gift with the world". "No, I think you misunderstand. I want you to leave the choir. Your talents lie outside the choir", he insisted. "Sir, I know you think I’m wasting my time in a choir like this where I’m not able to fully showcase my singing voice but I’m going to stay. I won’t let the jealousy of other people goad me into a fight, you can rest assured", I beamed with pride.
On several other occasions he tried to talk me into leaving the choir even offering me money once but I again refused to abandon the "team". It would be like the captain abandoning the crew of a sinking ship, for Chrissakes! Every time he talked to me, I could tell that his fear of me wasting away my talent was taking a tremendous toll on him. Eventually, the choir director was found in a pool of his own blood, having taken his own life. The poor guy must have wilted under the pressure of having such a virtuoso under his tutelage. Now, I sing karaoke in small bars to the boos and hisses of a jealous audience. Ah, the curse of a gift such as mine!
Well, that’s all I have time for now. My full life story is on my webpage.
Yours on a web page,
Fats
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