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Part of the problem of changing your body around is that you're not really that aware of how big you are or you aren't.
When I was a 265lb powerlifter with somewhat high levels of strength, I still looked in the mirror and saw a 150lb boy who started
lifting in order to be big enough to be left alone. And one motorcycle accident and layoff later, I've lost size and strength,
but I sometimes still remember having more strength, and end up stuck. Or I'll buy a shirt and realise it's way too big.
And sometimes others will comment on how huge I am, or how small, depending on their own size.
That being said, the other day I went to the little Asian grocery down the road. I was wearing sunglasses, a pair of silver
tribal earrings, my spiked and patched jacket was over my shoulder and I was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, all my tattoos
showing.
But they know me down there, it's no big deal.
This little kid sees me walk in, my boots clacking against the flooring, and goes completely saucer eyed. He's all of about
three, maybe four years old. And he bolts like a startled faun.
He runs right behind a Samoan fella, with tattoos on his FACE. Now, Samoans tend to be very large and very strong, but
this particular "physical specimen" was spectacular. Six foot six, at least four hundred pounds of muscle and bone, with fists the size
of Thanksgiving turkeys. The kind of person you truly don't want to meet in a dark alley.
He looks up to see what's wrong, what's scaring his kid, just like every concerned father does. We make eye contact, and he
clocks the expression on my face of total bemusement. And to my immense relief, starts laughing.
It's a good natured, rolling laugh, and he says something to his kid I don't catch, something which reassures the kid, almost.
The most monstrous, scary human being I'd seen in person, ever, relaxed and showed his true peaceful, playful, easygoing nature.
I was careful to walk down the other aisle so as not to cause his kid any other worry, as the kid wasn't 100% reassured and
clung to his father's leg. The father rubbed his kid's head with an affectionate gigantic hand.
He scowled at me through the tattoos in his face with the impish, strange sense of humour Pacific Islanders have. "Hey, you scarin' my kid?"
Making light of the situation.
"Not as half as you scare me, man." Giving as good as I get, and making light of it back.
He nodded sadly. Mutual understanding. We've been there, done that.
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