October 27, 1993, We have a Postural Screening Exam at school. This involves getting undressed behind a curtain, having your heigh and weight measured, and having your spine felt by the school nurse. The curtain is thin enough so that all the ten year old girls in my 60 person grade can stay very still and hear through the curtain what everyone's weight is. Charming. Also really fabulous? I spend two pages of my diary recounting these weights and heights. They seem to help me get a grasp on the natural order of things.
At four feet tall and 53 pounds, I had very little competition for tiniest person ever. And though everyone else towered above me at normal ten-year-old heights, I held fast onto my 53 pound achievement.
I'd like to make some feminist comments about the obsession with weight, but the entry is more matter of fact than angst-ridden. I don't reflect on much of anything. It just IS. I was 53 pounds of uncomplicated truths.
And when you KNOW your good friend is a way prettier ten-year old than you are, at least she weighs 67 pounds. Ha, take that!
I'd rather not address the fact that sixteen years later I still could easily ball park most of my friend's weights.