The Lullaby of Burps

Habits.

Little did I know that in my early years, they would now become snares, footholds on my daily life.  Do you end up being mastered by them?  Somehow, don't your habits eventually shape your personality?

I've figured one way to deal with stress, presumably, is to bite my nails, the inside of my cheeks and sometimes even the front collar of my shirt.  Bad habits.  I can't fully blame my father who also bites his nails as if he's collecting the remnants to build an ark.  But I've always done so, openly probably more so than I realize.  Delcina hates to be in the van with me because I leave the shells of my work randomly on the floorboard (at least I don't spit them wantonly on the dashboard to collect like a bee that has found its way in your vehicle, only to lodge himself on the furthest point of the window, away from arms reach, to slowly wither away throughout the season.  Dry and crunchy).

Biting my nails turned into biting the inside of my cheeks.  There have been times I bit them raw, both sides.  I've found myself chewing away without even realizing so.  I was granted a short reprieve right after my Emmaus walk almost 4 years ago.  Perhaps it was God's way telling me to relax.  Lately I've felt myself returning to the comfort of pain, that gnawing sense that I can somehow bite my way through a problem.

And now my shirts.  I am constantly biting my collar, sometimes my necklace when I am at home.  It's almost unconscious.  As I'm typing this out, my t-shirt collar rests on my bottom lip.  I think after trying to figure out why I was behaving this way  I realized there was another long habit that I had overlooked.

Overeating.

I have a love affair with food.  Some of my earliest memories deal with food somehow, from barbecue parties at my Uncle David's house where he smoked brisket like a champion, to being in my grandmother's house where the assembly line of meals never ceased.  I even have stories recited back to me from before I can remember that deal with food.  How is it that three of the most vivid memories of my grandmother, two deal with food and one with a second-story open window that I almost sailed out of?  Let's take the leap through time, shall we?

Picture a toddler falling asleep with a fried chicken bone in his hand.  I used to be a skinny kid, one that I can back up with the one photo of me on my apartment porch when I lived off in Park Place.  I have some great memories of that apartment complex.  My first kiss, losing a tooth playing football, rolling a noisy Tonka Truck through the courtyard, bouncing tennis balls against the wall.  Playing Monopoloy with the downstairs neighbor (what was her name?  wow, can't even remember) and my buddy Frederico (was it Frederico?) and dancing to Blondie in her bedroom.

I failed at outrunning wasps but excelled in running through the complex in my bare feet when it rained.  I once threw one of my infant sister's dirty diaper in an open car window, shuffled through dirty mags behind the dumpster with the neighborhood boys.  I remember making paper gliders just to watch them majestically  float through the complex.  My step dad's canary-yellow pick-up truck.  My Uncle Steven who called a girl a "broad."  I also remember staying up late on Friday nights watching Cinemax kung fu epics downing the left over pieces of fried chicken from Hartz.  Simply, that's when the pounds began.

For years all my om said was that when she bought jeans for me I had went from slims to huskies.  I was a husky kid, a panson in Spanish terms--the fat kid.   

Fast forward to my high school years where I battled weight issues with a variety of dress styles, diets, and work outs.  Perhaps my weight issues led to all my other issues that I thought I had or manifested itself into issues I wanted to use as crutches.  Don't have a girlfriend?  Cause you're fat!  Kids making fun of you?  Cause you're fat!  Why didn't you run harder at football practice?  Cause I'm fat!

Later I was known as "Big Ray" or "Big man."  Society sure does put you in your place.  People like to rub your belly like you're pregnant.  They remember your name cause you're the big one.  Grandmas love you cause you never say no to a hot plate.

And eating too much was fun (a bible study instructor once said, we keep committing the sins we like because they make us feel better).  I used to order a Domino's large pizza, eat it all before my grandma came home, then in an effort to not upset her, always responded to the call to a dinner of starchy tortillas.  When I outgrew my high school pants, i began working overnight, which undoubtedly led to more complex and habitual eating.

Once a week, a  guy who drove a medical food truck would drive through the toll way I worked and leave us plates of chicken wings and other goodies for free rides.  And if I wanted something, Houston always had something open 24 hours.  Whataburger.  Jack in the Box.  When the morning finally came and my shift was over, I'd drive to Shipley Donuts or a taqueria for a generous helping of donuts, kolaches or chorizo before the lullaby of burps settled me into sleep.

When I met my wife I was under 300 pounds.  One thing I later realized was that my wife liked to eat just as much as I did.  As she grew through her stomach reduction surgery, I grew along with her.  Our habits included late night Taco Bell runs, or heating up a pizza before bed.  Eating, for us, became our love making.

So now there's Weight Watchers.  I've been going on 2 months now, and have lost about 20 pounds.  I've recently gained about 5 pounds in a two week span.  Reflecting on my habits I realized how much my routine deals with food and the food I serve others.  I ate during late night card games, or watching a football game.  I charted my points and watched the graph get higher, but I never got that full sensation you get when you eat too much.  Scary.

But before you get down on me, or start worrying about me (yes, my shirt is still resting on my bottom lip), realzing one's habits and pains is the key that will unlock my future.  I've begun new habits over the past few years, like reading my bible daily.  I am the dad that does laundry routinely and bathes the kids, reads them stories at night.  They aren't so much habits as responsibilities and a quest to change.  Now I'm wondering how to do just that without changing everyone else's life in the process.  I'm beginning to think they go hand in hand.