A single teardrop falls from my face onto the pink page of the children’s book on the table in front of me.
I had picked up “Big” by Vashti Harrison from the shared resources bookshelf in my school, and decided to read it on my lunch break. My school was holding a mock Caldecott Award contest, and this was one of the books in contention for the prize.
The large, black “BIG” on the cover being held by a small child in a pink tutu was what drew my attention.
“That word looks too big for her to carry,” I thought. I didn’t understand just how metaphoric that was for the girl–and for myself–until I had finished the book.
I opened the book and began reading. My throat caught. My eyes welled with the tears of three decades of shame, grief, embarrassment, sadness, ridicule, invisibility, fear, rage, and sorrow. Page by page, my heart felt heavier and heavier with the weight of sadness for this girl–for me as a girl, as well–-and finally, finally feeling seen. Heart heavy and eyes wet, I pulled the book to my chest in an embrace. While I couldn’t pinpoint how I felt exactly, it felt a lot like love; like an empathetic hug from the author that helped me feel safe, known, and accepted.
I take a picture of my two favorite pages (the girl standing at the mirror and the girl giving back the malicious words of others) so that I may remember how I felt in the moment, and make a note to add this book to my library before drying my tears and picking up my students from recess.
***
As children we all aspire to be big. Big is celebrated: you’re such a big girl, look at that big girl walking all by herself, you cleaned up all your toys like a big girl, big girls pee pee on the potty, you rode your big girl bike without training wheels, you ate all your dinner like a big girl, let’s get a big girl bed to replace your crib…big is good!
At some point in our childhood, however, we learn that big is no longer something to be celebrated…big is no longer good.
Big is no longer a joyous commemoration of growth, development, skill-building, and mastery.
Big becomes an insult. A word shot like an arrow from a bow with the intent to hurt: cow, whale, moose, wide-load, fatty, thunder thighs, and more.
Big becomes adultification and exclusion; you’re too big to cry, you’re too big to wear that, you’re too big to play with that toy, you’re too big to be making that mistake, you’re too big to dance, you’re too big to be acting that way, you’re too big to play sports, you’re too big for this space, you’re too big to be loved…big is no longer good.
Big becomes bad. Big becomes a warning for children: don’t eat too much food or you’ll get big, make sure you exercise so you don’t get big, you’ll get big if you play too many video games, make sure to eat your fruits and veggies to prevent becoming big.
Big becomes an issue of morality; big is gluttonous, lazy, apathetic, ugly, dirty, monstrous, repulsive.
So we try to become smaller; smaller bodies, smaller voices, smaller personalities, smaller accomplishments. We live surreptitiously so as not to call attention to ourselves. We think the smallness will save us–protect us–from those who weaponize our “big” against us…those who use our “big” to hurt, exclude, teach a lesson, put down, manipulate, and fear.
But becoming smaller does nothing but rob us of our voice, our power, and loving ourselves.
But when is that shift from “big is good” to “big” becoming weaponized?
While I can’t pinpoint a specific era or age wherein “big” makes this transition, I do know that it happens in all of our childhoods, well before our teen–or even preteen–years. I also don’t know how to make it go away. Anti-fat bias is embedded so deeply within our culture.
It’s the American Medical Association classifying “obesity” as a disease and treating it as something that must be eradicated like smallpox and polio. Children and adults are pedaled medication and surgeries to “cure” them of their “big.” It’s eating disorder professionals insisting overweight patients cannot have restrictive eating disorders; choosing instead of focus on their “big.” It’s celebrities, everyday women, and family members touting their latest “weight loss” technique while simultaneously slandering their own bodies and the bodies of others. It’s diet companies advertising on billboards, radio, youtube, tiktok, instagram, facebook, busses, magazines, tv, medical offices, and anywhere else they can think of to make their $73 billion off of our fear and disdain of “big.”
It’s clothing companies charging more for plus size clothing–as opposed to their straight sized clothing–using the justification that “big” customers require more fabric…even though a size 0 and a size 12 definitely use differing amounts of fabric yet cost the same. And, in that vein, it’s not being able to find your size clothing in stores; the need to visit a specialized store to find “big” sizes. It’s public transportation that doesn’t accommodate all bodies. It’s turnstiles into museums and subways that don’t allow all bodies to pass through. It’s airlines requiring “big” flyers to purchase two seats so as not to encumber on smaller flyers. IIt’s doctor’s offices, restaurants, bars, concert venues, sporting arenas, and even the dmv having seating that doesn’t allow all bodies to sit. It’s insurance companies and medical professionals not allowing needed surgeries/treatments/etc until the “big” patient loses a certain amount of weight. It’s all a “big” person’s medical issues being blamed on weight instead of their medical professional running tests or researching symptoms. And if I pointed out all the places in which anti-fat bias is present, this blog would have no end. Suffice it to say, anti-fat bias is EVERYWHERE and fat–”big”–is NOT the problem.
And while I have no answers, I do know this: We are not the problem.
May we, like the character in “Big” strive, not to make ourselves smaller, but to make more space for ourselves in the world, to use our voices, and to love ourselves
“And she was good”.
***
Book Synopsis
“Big” has won big! Vashti Harrison and “Big” have won: the Randolph Caldecott Medal (awarded to the most distinguished American picture book for children), the Corretta Scott King (given annually to outstanding African American authors and illustrators of books for children and young adults that demonstrate an appreciation of African American culture and universal human values), the distinction of being a New York Times Best Seller, and “Big” was one of five finalists for the National Book Award.
As a baby, the unnamed african-American girl featured in the story is described as having: big laugh, big heart, and very big dreams. It reads, “At dinner she eats all her food. ‘What a big girl you are!’ the adults would say. And it was good.” The illustrations, drawn almost as if you’ve stepped straight into the character’s memories, are awash with pinks and warm yellows that serve as a symbol for the love, compassion, warmth, and safety the girl feels in her life. As she grew and grew and grew, the girl is shown as a pink ballerina surrounded by words like: free, fun, sweet, kind, caring, smart, creative, graceful, nimble, compassionate, and imaginative. “And it was good…until it wasn’t’”
The story’s pink protagonist blossoms into a pink school-aged girl who loves ballet and flowers. At her school’s playground, she becomes stuck in one of the bucket-style swings when trying to play on them with the girls in her ballet recital. Her peers’ gray faces mockingly surround her, speaking pejorative words in big black letters: “mooooo,” “whale,” “more like moose,” “OMG,” “haha,” and “she’s stuck!” Her face appears defeated, despondent, and despairing. Her own words–unlike those of her peers–are small and pink, pleading “help!”
The gray teacher comes over to assist the girl in getting unstuck. Upon becoming freed from the swing, the girl accidentally falls on top of the teacher. Rather than compassion, the little girl receives ridicule in the form of the following big black words: “You could have hurt someone! Don’t you think you’re too big for that? Those are for little kids! You should know better! You’re in big trouble!” The words take up a majority of the page and appear to be launching at the girl like an arrow from a bow; targeted words meant to wound. The teacher and students walk away while the girl is left sitting alone on the ground feeling “small.” The juxtaposition between the gray of the world and of her peers versus the pink of the girl sends the message that, while the girl is full of compassion, hope, and love, the world is trying to make her a dull, cold, lifeless gray.
Later, presumably that afternoon, wrapped in a pink fuzzy towel and standing in front of her full-length mirror, the girl examines her body. After being shamed and ridiculed by her peers, her teacher, and a saleswoman, big black words appear on her young body: “too big,” “moose,” “cow,” and “haha.” The same words shot at her like arrows on the playground. The “words stung and were hard to shake off.”
It is from these two incidents–the playground swing and examining her body in the mirror–that the young girl began to feel, “not herself, out of place, exposed, judged, yet invisible.” We see illustrated vignettes of how she feels in the world: laying on a bed that’s too small, scrunched into a desk at school that is too small for her, standing largely over other girls in her ballet class, appearing giant-sized while sitting at a lunch table with her classmates, looming over them as they play at recess…yet always unseen, unacknowledged, and unloved by the gray others in the scene.
Despite feeling invisible and trying to make herself smaller for others, people often offer her their version of “advice.” Her ballet instructor paints her pink clothing a “husky gray,” insisting that the girl give it a try because her beautiful pink clothing is “no good.” Her ballet instructor then dresses her as a large gray mountain in the ballet performance–a gray leotard with a sandwich board-style mountain covering her body–while other girls are dressed as petite, pink flowers. Her instructor insists, “This [the mountain costume] is perfect for you!” while also shouting with more big, black, arrow-launched words, “The flower costume won’t fit. You’re just too big! Where are you going? What did I say?” We see the girl, dressed now in all black, holding back tears as she runs out of frame; cracked holes imprinted in the ground where her footsteps have fallen.
Curled up in the fetal position, the little girl cries. Over the next several pages–which are wordless–the little girl begins taking up more and more space on each page. The struggle of fighting against “big” is visible on her face. She pushes at the borders of the page with her arms and legs until she is pictured on both sides of the illustration, before rolling onto her side–defeated–leaving readers with a view of her back.
Small, gray people pass by the big crying girl remarking: “aren’t you too big to be crying,” “have you tried being smaller,” “why can’t you just fit in?” She finally releases the full torrent of her tears and they flood the page like a raging river. Within her tears are words. At first, they’re black words that say, “too big,” “moose,” “cow,” “haha,” and “big girl;” the words that were shot at her earlier in the story. However, as you continue to look at the water, you see light pink words intermingled that say, “graceful,” “creative,” and, even, “big.”
Untucking herself from the fetal position, the girl stands up and gathers the words from her tears, sorting out the black words from the pink ones. Her tutu, once painted a “husky gray,” is starting to slowly return to its original, beautiful pink. She decides to make more space for herself; pushing the boundaries of the pages as pink returns to her leotard. Rather than making herself smaller, she’s going to make her world bigger.
Standing tall in her power, the girl–who has regained even more of her pinkness–faces those individuals who have hurt her with the black words collected from her river of tears. With an outstretched hand, she offers them those words back, “These are yours. They hurt me.” Stunned, the gray people stare back at the girl before them. In her other hand, she clutches the pink words that perfectly encapsulate her being; she is keeping those for herself. The gray people are at a loss. Some do not understand. Holding the words she returned to them–words that are as wide as their bodies and almost as tall–the gray people say things like, “It’s just a joke,” “It’s not that serious,” “You’re too sensitive,” and “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” The gray people, however, have not changed; “they still did not see that she was just a girl.”
Despite the fact that they have not changed, they offer to help her change. The girl boldly uses her voice and takes up her space. “No thank you. I like the way I am,” she says as even more pink returns to her clothing. Enveloped in pink and poised in an arabesque, the girl glows in the fullness of her being while words surround her like silk billowing in the air: creative, imaginative, good, gentle, kind, sweet, funny, and smart. “And she was good.”
***
“No matter how obessed you’ve been with your own vanishing, there will always be someone who still wants you whole”
Hanif Abdurraqib
RheasOfHope 