By Karen Middleton
karen@athensnews-courier.com
July 04, 2009 08:32 pm
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They call us baby boomers because we were part of the surge in births after servicemen returned from World War II.
Now, according to the annual report by the Trust for America’s Health and the Robert Wood Foundation, this population segment is responsible for the surge in Medicare claims exacerbated by the fact that in every state the rate of obesity is higher among 55- to 64-year-olds than among those 65 and older.
You wonder why I weigh in—sorry—on this topic. First, I’m a boomer; second, I’m overweight.
I didn’t gain massive amounts in short times. The numbers crept up slowly a pound or two at a time.
O.K., let’s get back to the demographics of this phenomenon threatening to swallow up—sorry again—our nation.
First, Mississippi is No. 1 in overall obesity for the fifth-consecutive year. (One more reason for Alabamians to hug their necks)
However, Alabama is No. 1 in overweight boomers and Michigan is No. 2.
So, there you go. I lived the first half of my life in Michigan and the second half in Alabama. It’s geographic and not cheesecake-ic.
If my parents had had the foresight to move to Colorado, which has the most malnourished people (18.9 percent obesity, compared to Alabama’s 31.2), and I had stayed put there, I wouldn’t be writing this column.
That’s right. It’s the fault of our parents. Most of them are not around to defend themselves, so let’s have at them.
Most of our parents married during the Great Depression or maybe during the rationing days of WWII. So what were they thinking? Love and lust obviously outranked the economy.
Economic worries really kicked in when they had us kids. That’s when they started with “Clean up your plate or no dessert,” topped off with something to the effect of starving children in Third World countries like Colorado.
Now, when we boomers are going through the buffet line and we see there are just 13 or 14 bites of peach cobbler remaining in the stainless steel serving pan, we are pre-conditioned to clean up that plate.
I have sworn to fight off this curse of force-feeding parents.
The other day, after fasting for 12 hours for my quarterly cholesterol screening in Decatur, I decided to treat myself to a burger-and-fries combo. I pulled up to the drive-through window and ordered. The pole next to my open window squawked something about did I want to go up to the large size. I emphatically answered, “No!”
When I pulled up to pay and receive my order, I wondered why it cost more than the menu next to the squawking pole had indicated, but I forked over the extra bucks and pulled ahead. Before entering traffic, I looked in the bag and, sure enough, the squawking pole had totally ignored my resolute “No!” and sacked up the large size.
Did I back up my car, demand the correct size and a refund?
Heck no. I munched on that box of fries all the way up U.S. 31. It wasn’t until I got back to work that I tucked into the Mondo-Burger.
But I didn’t eat much supper.
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