I was standing with my mother in a grocery store line. I believe I was no older than seven, possibly younger. With the innocence and curiosity of a child, I pointed toward a man in the next aisle and casually said, "Mom, that man looks like my balloon."

The man behaved as if he had not heard. He just quietly stood in line, staring straight ahead. My mom, though, leaned down and quietly whispered, "Dianne, that's not nice. We'll talk in the car."

I knew these words to mean that I had said something wrong. I didn't understand: I loved balloons. Besides, the man did look like one; I hadn't lied. I remember being confused.

In the car my mom explained how the man most likely had a medical condition and that he probably felt badly about his weight. She explained how many people do not understand and sometimes tease or humiliate people who do not look like them. I recall thinking that this was stupid because God had made the man. Besides, balloons were nice. But I didn't say anything. I just listened.

As I went through grades K-12, I saw some teasing but did not really connect this to the classmates' weights. Looking back, it could have been a main factor. But I was quiet and shy and also sometimes got teased. I mostly stayed out of the way and tried to mind my own business.

In college, my mother's words of wisdom served me well. I had forced myself to come out of my shell and to make connections with people. I sometimes even initiated conversations.

I had an amazing friend. She was a graduate student while I was a junior. She reminded me of Snow White: her eyes were a vivid, sparkling blue; she had dark, wavy hair that framed her face; her lips were a cherry red against skin that was very light. But the resemblance did not stop here. Her smile could warm a room and her gentle kindness flowed out from her mouth in a soft, musical voice that revealed a deeper beauty. I could imagine her in a real-life scene with animals surrounding and coming right up to her.

This particular night we had agreed to eat dinner together. After paying for our meals, she went on to get us a table while I stopped at a counter to pick up some condiments. Two very thin, Barbie-doll girls soon set their trays beside mine. I recognized them as the same two girls who had stood behind us in line, complaining. They had piled their plates high while giving my friend the once-over. One of the two had scathingly made a highly inappropriate comment: "If I looked like that I would never put another piece of food into my mouth again!" The other girl encouraged this poor behavior through giggles and the accentuated nodding of her head.

These two girls had been responsible for my friend's quick retreat to a table. I glanced over at her to see that once again her food sat next to her as she wrote in an ever-present notebook. This notebook contained what would eventually become an award-winning thesis.

Memories of the grocery line flooded my mind. My mother's quiet wisdom rose to the surface. I, myself, had before been compared to Barbie.

I turned to the girls. Quietly, I spoke to them: "My friend has a medical condition," I began. "She is supposed to eat no less than five small meals per day. Yet this is the first meal that she has eaten today and still her plate holds less than either of yours. Some day your metabolisms might fail you. The difference is that my friend has an inner beauty that shines out, regardless of her weight. You two will be left with nothing when your outward beauty fades. But her beauty will only grow with age." I left them, stunned, and joined my friend at the table.

I dealt with teasing for being shy. Now I have gained an understanding of how it feels when you've done all you can but still do not meet the world's idea of normal. My husband struggled with his weight most of his life. My son plateaus at a set weight regardless of the effort he exerts. And I've gained weight. Please do not remind us of our struggles: sometimes weight is all we can think of; we are aware and we are working on it. Please let’s enjoy each other while we can.