problem with running away from home in Singapore is that the island is only twenty-six miles wide and sits in the middle of the Indian Ocean.
Where did I think I was going?
I would take a bus to the edge of the island, get scared, and then take a cab back home. Of course I didn’t have money for the taxi, so I’d have to go into the house and ask my parents for the cab fare. Then I’d get in trouble not only for running away, but also for needing the cab money.
I ran away from home more than seven different times over the course of the year we lived in Singapore. One night I tried scaling down the side of our house from the second floor. Needless to say my 225-pound girth kept me from being successful. I got stuck on a window ledge and had to call for help until my parents finally heard me and grudgingly came to my rescue.
Seventh-Grade Gregg’s Typical Binge
4 Hot-Dogs-with-Everything at the local A&W
2 large orders of Onion Rings
1 large A&W Root Beer
1 Chocolate Milk Shake
1 Vanilla Milk Shake
My favorite friend in Singapore also happened to be named Sue. She was our full-time housekeeper—a luxury far more affordable in Singapore—and boy, oh boy, could she cook. What’s more, she was delighted to see me enjoy food as much as I did, and she was always willing to fix me something to eat. Food equaled love. And I wanted all the “love” I could get.
My father’s drinking continued to affect his career in the Air Force, and it wasn’t long before we were transferred again—this time to Landstuhl, Germany. This was about the time all hell broke loose at home.
My father was on TDY, meaning “Temporary Duty Yonder,” the military’s slang for a business trip, which kept him away from home most of the time.
Meanwhile, my mother was plotting to become the most desired “natural” blonde in our small military community. We were sternly instructed to say that blond was my mother’s real hair color even though we knew it came from a box. She was working for the public affairs office at Landstuhl Hospital, where she became the belle of the ball. Men, both single and married, began calling the apartment in droves. It was at this time that my mom hatched what she thought was an ingenious plan for me to screen her calls.
Mom insisted that whenever the phone rang, no one was to answer it but me, and that I was to assume the identity of Sue, our female maid in Singapore, who still lived there and had not traveled with us to Germany. My still-high-pitched voice and tendency toward theatrics fit into her plan very nicely. Being twelve, I had no real understanding of what I was doing.
So I would answer the phone, pretending to be Sue, the female maid, and basically handled my mother’s dating schedule. It got to a point where various men would call “Sue,” i.e., me, for advice on how to win my mother’s affection. And when my mom would blow them off, they even started asking “Sue” out on dates.
I thought I was handling this insanity perfectly fine. I enjoyed the thrill of performing and, more importantly, I had my secret world of food ever at my disposal. Now I also had the “bonus” of my mom’s approval and perceived affection for doing her bidding. Little did I realize at that point my mom could have given a Disney-inspired villain a run for his or her money when it came to cruel ways to parent a child.
Since Mom was always away from home on dates, including overnight stays and long weekends, I was able to maintain a nice stash of junk food. It began to extend beyond sweets and candy. Whenever I could, I would fix whole meals for myself—no matter what time of day. My typical breakfast during those years was really more like lunch or dinner.
Eighth-Grade Gregg’s Typical Breakfast
1 large box of Spaghetti
1 large jar of Spaghetti Sauce
1 whole can of Parmesan Cheese
1 loaf of White Bread
Butter and Garlic for the Bread
At twelve years old I was running the household—cleaning, fixing dinner, making sure that Lori and I got to school on time and that we stayed out of my mom’s hair, all while coordinating my mom’s social life over the telephone by pretending to be “Sue.” I was writing notes to teachers and signing school permission slips by forging my mother’s signature when necessary. I was a one-stop-shop, and Lori and I were a good team.
My favorite memories from that period were of Saturday mornings during the winter. My mom would usually leave around 4:00 a.m. to go skiing with the man-of-the-moment. Lori and I would pretend to be asleep until she left and then we would get up immediately afterward.
I’d race to the kitchen and fix us a big pot of spaghetti complete with tomato sauce and Parmesan cheese. It would be about 5:00 a.m. at that point. Lori and I then sat down with a tape recorder and a nearby stereo system and made an audiotape of our own version of a television variety show—ingeniously titled The Gregg and Lori Show. We had lots of special guests (whatever cassette tapes we had of our favorite performers) and would insert canned “applause” into our recording to make it sound like our “musical guests” were performing live.
During our recording sessions we would chow down on the spaghetti. I always ate much more than Lori, who continued to maintain a healthy weight, while my own weight continued to skyrocket.
Ramstein Junior High School, where I commuted to via bus from Landstuhl, was an interesting place. A school full of military brats (a common nickname for the kids of military personnel), each of whom was convinced that his or her father outranked all the others’.
I didn’t have any close friends, so when I discovered that a kid at school named Mike shared my love of superhero comic books I used some of my precious food money to buy a few comics for him in the hopes it might bring us closer together. It worked, and before too long I had a new “best friend”—though Mike never used that exact phrase. I had never really had a good friend before, not to mention a thin friend. In some weird way, I felt a little more validated as a person.
Look, world. Someone likes me even though I’m fat!
Mike and I used to sit around and quiz each other about science fiction television episodes and comic books. We were happening guys.
Adding to this newfound social life? Girlfriends. One for Mike and one for me. Suddenly I wasn’t solely focused on food anymore and it felt fantastic. My girlfriend’s name was Judy. She had blond hair and a wicked sense of humor. Mike and his girlfriend, Kim, and Judy and I would French kiss like there was no tomorrow.
While I could tell Judy liked me, I never forgot the fact that I was fat and she was not. I was obsessed with finding out why she would have a “fat guy” as a boyfriend. Mike agreed to do the detective work for me.
One day after lunch I was waiting in the school hallway to go into class when Mike approached me with the news. Apparently Judy wanted to date me because since I was the fattest guy in school, I “probably
