Free to Succeed Tour : Phoenix (and Fat Knees)

He stood angrily on his porch and yelled at me. He raised his coffee colored fist in my direction and pointed at my legs. All the Meeker Street neighborhood kids stood on the East and West of Arturo and me; their heads followed our verbal altercations the same way guests at the US Open follow a tennis match: they looked left, then right as we each served up a neon green ball of meanness.

You walk like a duck, Arturo hollered from his porch. 15-0.
Yeah, well, at least my house doesn’t smell like dog piss, I retorted. 15-15.
At least I HAVE dogs! 15-30.
Your dad can’t speak English! 15-40.
Your Mom’s fat! 30-40.
You’re the poorest family in the neighborhood! Match point, Jasmine.

That last comment left everyone in a stunned silence. It was true. Arturo’s family was the poorest in our ghetto, but it was something nobody mentioned. Their brown grass, the gravel driveway filled with two broken cars, the sheets that covered their windows instead of curtains. The Barron family was at the very bottom of the Meeker Street totem pole—a totem pole carved with painful stories of struggle, pain, and blue-collared life.

Arturo stood slack-jawed and let the insult sink in. Then it happened. The comment that forever changed my life.

Hey, you, Fat Knees, Arturo yelled desperately from the porch. Ha! Fat Knees…just look at you…FAT KNEES! How can you walk, Fat Knees?! Look at the fat just spilling over, Fat Knees!

The sun beat down on my ten-year-old head while I stood on his gravel driveway and felt my soul melt into the soles of my shoes. My fat soul. I was extraordinarily overweight (fluffy, puffy, round, rotund, fat) growing up, but why—of all the other chubby pieces of my anatomy—would Arturo choose my knees to poke fun?

With that comment, Arturo won the Meeker Street Open. And I ran home—vowing to never, ever wear shorts again—and sobbed.

Over 15 years later, Arturo Barron has never left my fat knees alone.

A few days ago while in Texas, I called JD to complain about the heat. The most brutal heat ever. As in, I think I just saw Satan cross the street with a Pepsi in hand. That hot. JD said I should leave my childhood insecurities and finally buy myself a pair of shorts. Unthinkable! Unfathomable! Uncomprehendable! I mean, WHAT WOULD ARTURO SAY?!

I built up the courage to buy a pair of shorts while in Dallas (they’re more like a half a pair of pants, but whatever) and stowed them in my bag until I could bear the sight of them. Today, walking in the heat of Phoenix, Arizona, I decided to wear my shorts. And kinda be okay with the girl I am—knees and all.

***
I just want to take this opportunity to thank the lovely and ultra fab group of seminar attendees in Dallas!!! I can’t believe how AMAZING everyone was! The seminar was standing room only after spike in registration, but it made for such a great night! Thank you to everyone who came bearing cookies and gifts—the keychain, the pens, the Texas To Do List, the books—it means so much more to me than you’ll ever know! Thank you!

Here are a few pictures of the Dallas seminar, courtesy of Kenny Kim

If you're interested in attending the Los Angeles or the Santa Barbara seminar, be sure to register today because these will be closing soon due to attendance maximums. I'd love to meet new friends in L.A. and represent in my hometown, so holla back and I'll see you soon! 🙂
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