“Sarah, you want to go to the Y with me?”
She was holding a royal blue crayon just above a page of typing paper. “I’m drawing.” She didn’t look up.
“After you finish your drawing?”
She looked over at me in my gym shorts and T-shirt.
“You can get on the rowing machine, or the bicycle,” I said. “Come on. Father–daughter time. It’ll be fun.”
“Oh, brother. Here we go again.” She rolled her eyes, dropped the crayon. “I’ll finish it later.”
I’d been going to the Y for about a year. In a fit of optimism, I had purchased a family membership. But John and Sam didn’t like going with me, and with my rotating shifts, Sally and I rarely found a time that was convenient to go together. I began to encourage Sarah to go with me. Obesity is common in people with Down syndrome, as Taylor, a genetic counselor, had told me early on.
Taylor and I had known each other for a couple of years before Sarah was born: she’d been my tutor for genetics in my second year of medical school. Taylor and I both tended to be blunt and plainspoken. After Sarah was born, Taylor was our genetic counselor. As our session was winding up, Taylor paused. “One last thing: don’t spoil her or let her get fat,” she said. “No one likes a fat, spoiled retarded kid.”
Although Sarah tended to stay in pretty good shape, when she was sixteen, Sally and I both noticed that she was getting a little big in the haunches.
“I’m glad you’re going with me to work out,” I told Sarah. “Keeps me motivated too.”
Sarah nodded.
“And we need to make sure that you don’t get overweight,” I said. “Keep in shape.”
“I get it,” she said. “I get it.”
Sarah was wearing a Little Mermaid T-shirt and big, baggy gym shorts. Two fitness instructors were showing her how the rowing machine worked. The instructors were in their mid-twenties. Fit and cheerful, one had a ponytail, the other short-cropped blond hair. They both wore YMCA shirts, stretched tight across the chest, tucked into the small waistbands of their shorts.
“I wasn’t going to come,” Sarah said in a loud voice, “but my dad talked me into it.”
I was on an elliptical trainer, one row back from the rowing machines.
The trainer with the ponytail glanced back at me, and smiled. I smiled back, stood a little straighter as I bobbed up and down with the machine.
Sarah pulled on the handle of the rowing machine.
“Good job,” the one with the short, feathered hair said, and then looked back at me to see if I was watching how well Sarah was doing.
We smiled at each other.
Sarah scooted her butt forward, allowing the machine to rewind. “You’re getting it!!!” the one with the ponytail said.
A heavyset elderly woman sitting motionless on a nearby stationary bike watched.
Sarah pulled back again on the handles, and her machine made a faint whirring sound. “Fitness is important,” Sarah said, pitching her voice above the sounds of the gym. “My daddy exercises a lot.”
“Exercise is important,” the one with the ponytail said. “I bet your father’s proud of you.” She smiled at me, and then at Sarah.
My chest swelled slightly. Such a good dad.
“He thinks I’m fat,” Sarah said, her voice loud and matter-of-fact. The last word hung in the air.
The two trainers snapped their heads around to glare at me. What an asshole.
I flinched. That’s not what I said. My legs lost their stride on the elliptical trainer, and I had to catch myself with the handrails.
The trainers turned their backs to me, and patted Sarah’s shoulder.
Driving home, I looked over at Sarah.
“What?” she asked.
“The thing you said to the exercise instructors,” I said.
“What thing?”
“When you told them I thought you’re overweight.” I said.
“I didn’t say ‘overweight,’ ” Sarah said. “I said ‘fat.’ ”
Yes, I know. “I don’t think you’re fat,” I said.
We rode silently.
“Exercise is good, whether you’re overweight or not.”
“I know, Dad, I know.” She shook her head. “Sheesh.”