In 1981, when I was nine years old and in 4th grade, Papa decided that fasting on Sundays was a good way to cleanse the body and the mind. He was home for a month between his month-long business trips, so my mother and I had to participate in the weekly day of fasting.
I was shocked to learn that people chose not to eat for a day or even longer. He said that we could have water, although to truly fast, we shouldn't even drink water. I wanted at least orange juice, but even this was off limits according to his rules. The three of us were not to eat anything between Saturday night dinner and Sunday night dinner.
At the time, I was going to Sunday school at the local Methodist Church. My parents did not attend the church, so I would ride my bike 10 minutes to the church in my dress every week. Sunday school started early, before the main service. Soon I started lighting the candles before the service and stayed on for the service, sitting in the pew with adults or a classmate's family. I wanted to get baptized but my parents wouldn't let me.
Every week there was a social in the basement of the church after the Sunday service. Donuts and coffee were served, so when Papa's fasting kick started, I started going to the social. My parents looked down upon food like donuts, and I didn't like coffee, so previously there was little reason for me to go. They didn't serve orange juice, and I wondered why they didn't - what were the kids supposed to drink? But there was no way I was going to refuse free donuts when I had no other way of getting food until dinner.
I remember standing in the room full of chatting adults, most of them retired, with my eyes fixated on the donut plate. I would try to figure out if anyone would notice if I ate two, or if I could get two before they were gone. I tried to make enough small talk with the adults so that they wouldn't think I was there just for the donuts, but after the donuts were gone, I chatted politely a few more minutes and left the room to jump on my bike and get home before the sugar rush ended. I felt guilty breaking Papa's fast, but I knew he had no way of finding out, since he didn't know anyone at the church. Luckily he never was home for more than a month at a time that year, and by the time he got back from his next long business trip, the weekly Sunday fast was forgotten.
Picturing myself as a lone nine-year-old fixated on donuts at a church social full of retirees seems slightly absurd, but I still experience that food fixation when I go to cocktail parties - I almost feel like I have to be eating constantly just to have the courage to stand there and talk to strangers. It's not the alcohol that interests me, it's the food. Only recently I've gained enough presence of mind to feel comfortable standing around talking to people without food in my hand or my eye on the food.
For those considering a weekly day of fasting, please take this warning into account:
Fasting of any kind is not recommended if you are pregnant, infirmed, on medication, a child, or in any other abnormal circumstance that requires supervision.
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