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Phat Acceptance
Some might say that 14-year-old Brandon Williams is an over-privileged snowflake. He lives in a million-dollar house overlooking the ocean in Santa Cruz, California, gets a weekly allowance equal to the take-home pay of many service industry workers, and has gone to a private, all-white school from Kindergarten through eighth grade. Health-nazis call him "obese," but to most normal people he's simply chubby, and handsome by Caucasian standards. Brandon should be happy -- or at least think he is -- but he's not. Like many young teens he's sure there must be a "there" somewhere that's better than "here," and he's tried to find it in fantasy games. He's also tried to dull his angst in various chemical ways, and wasted a year of his youth staying high. Brandon hopes to be a writer and use words to fight the wrongs in the world. Being who he is and living where he does, he's never experienced discrimination or hate based on appearance or race. Despite the protests of his liberal-minded and loving, but career-oriented and somewhat distant parents, Brandon decides to attend public high school, but his first day is a shock as he discovers what public education in the U.S. is all about... pounding just enough knowledge and mainstream values into kids' empty skulls so they can become productive Proles. Since no one knows him, he naturally falls in with the outcasts, which include Travis White, one of the school's few black students and the fattest at five-hundred pounds. There is also Bosco Donatello, a chubby but world-class surfer dude, though indifferent to his fame and seemingly oblivious to the present as if he's been transported through time from 1963. Brandon struggles with the question of whether a person can empathize with the suffering of others unless he or she has suffered. Along these lines he discovers that most of what he "knows" about black people - and fat people - is only what he's been taught. Phat Acceptance is a mix of issues, including consumerism, advertising, propaganda, xenophobia, and how kids are brainwashed from the time they first turn on a TV into buying what they're told to buy, wearing what they're told to wear, eating what they're told to eat, looking how they're told to look -- which now includes weighing what they're told to weigh -- and hating who they're told to hate. It also illustrates how the "war on childhood obesity" gives haters a group of people whom it's socially acceptable to hate, as well as how sheep-like people are in accepting how "unhealthy" they are because they're being told they are by a health and fitness industry with multi-billion dollar profits. The result is a new religion of "health" and a new holy war against those who won't worship.
Paperback
First published March 21, 2011
8 people want to read
About the author
Jess Mowry
32 books21 followersWhy do I write?
"After almost forty years of working with kids and raising four of my own, along with a few strays -- none of whom are in prison or collecting Welfare -- not to mention over twenty years of writing books and stories for and about kids, I've found that it's a lot easier for people to be "pro-child" about some kids than it is for them to care about and champion "other" kids. Perhaps, like the animals in George Orwell's Animal Farm, some kids are more equal than others?
"Almost all my stories and books are for and about black kids, who are not always cute and cuddly. My characters often spit, sweat and swear, as well as occasionally smoke or drink. Just like their real-world counterparts, some are "overweight," may look "too black," or are otherwise unacceptable by superficial American values. Like on the real kids, they often live in dirty and violent environments, and are forced into sometimes unpleasant lifestyles.
"And virtually no one writes books or stories about them -- at least seldom in ways that don't exploit them, and/or don't glorify gangs, guns, drugs and violence. I've learned from experience that few publishers, including black ones, will publish positive books about these kids... books that don't portray them in stereotypical roles, and thus only reinforce the negative aspects of their lives.
"The result is that there very few positive books about these kids. This leaves them with no role models except stereotypes of gangsters, rappers or sports figures. Worse, virtually the only books that "white" (or more fortunate) children have to read about most black kids are also filled with these negative stereotypes. About the only exception are books in which black kids play a supporting role to a white hero.
"I have devoted my career, such as it is, to writing positive but realistic books and stories, not only for and about black kids, but also for "white" kids so they will understand that the negative stereotypes aren't true... that most black kids have other interests besides guns, gangs, drugs, violence, becoming rap stars, or playing basketball.
"When I first began writing I wanted to write many different kinds of books; adventure novels, magic, ghost stories. These were the kinds of books I grew up reading, though I often wondered why there were no black heroes, such as ship captains or airplane pilots... no black Indiana Joneses, Hardy Boys or Hobbits. But mainstream publishers only want the stereotypes: if not blatantly negative stereotypes, then only stereotypical positive images. Only what "good black kids" are "supposed" to do. What the mainstream white world expects them to dream about and aspire to be.
"I often write about violence because the U.S.A. is a violent country in a violent world and pretending it isn't doesn't help anyone. Most of my kids aren't angels, but they are being as good as they can be... which is a lot better than most people seem to think they are.
"To me, being pro-child includes all children, even kids whom it may be hard to like... especially kids who are hard to like."
"After almost forty years of working with kids and raising four of my own, along with a few strays -- none of whom are in prison or collecting Welfare -- not to mention over twenty years of writing books and stories for and about kids, I've found that it's a lot easier for people to be "pro-child" about some kids than it is for them to care about and champion "other" kids. Perhaps, like the animals in George Orwell's Animal Farm, some kids are more equal than others?
"Almost all my stories and books are for and about black kids, who are not always cute and cuddly. My characters often spit, sweat and swear, as well as occasionally smoke or drink. Just like their real-world counterparts, some are "overweight," may look "too black," or are otherwise unacceptable by superficial American values. Like on the real kids, they often live in dirty and violent environments, and are forced into sometimes unpleasant lifestyles.
"And virtually no one writes books or stories about them -- at least seldom in ways that don't exploit them, and/or don't glorify gangs, guns, drugs and violence. I've learned from experience that few publishers, including black ones, will publish positive books about these kids... books that don't portray them in stereotypical roles, and thus only reinforce the negative aspects of their lives.
"The result is that there very few positive books about these kids. This leaves them with no role models except stereotypes of gangsters, rappers or sports figures. Worse, virtually the only books that "white" (or more fortunate) children have to read about most black kids are also filled with these negative stereotypes. About the only exception are books in which black kids play a supporting role to a white hero.
"I have devoted my career, such as it is, to writing positive but realistic books and stories, not only for and about black kids, but also for "white" kids so they will understand that the negative stereotypes aren't true... that most black kids have other interests besides guns, gangs, drugs, violence, becoming rap stars, or playing basketball.
"When I first began writing I wanted to write many different kinds of books; adventure novels, magic, ghost stories. These were the kinds of books I grew up reading, though I often wondered why there were no black heroes, such as ship captains or airplane pilots... no black Indiana Joneses, Hardy Boys or Hobbits. But mainstream publishers only want the stereotypes: if not blatantly negative stereotypes, then only stereotypical positive images. Only what "good black kids" are "supposed" to do. What the mainstream white world expects them to dream about and aspire to be.
"I often write about violence because the U.S.A. is a violent country in a violent world and pretending it isn't doesn't help anyone. Most of my kids aren't angels, but they are being as good as they can be... which is a lot better than most people seem to think they are.
"To me, being pro-child includes all children, even kids whom it may be hard to like... especially kids who are hard to like."
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
August 31, 2011
Some might say that 14-year-old Brandon Williams is an over-privileged white kid. He lives in a million-dollar house overlooking the ocean in Santa Cruz, California, gets a weekly allowance equal to the take-home pay of many service industry workers, and has gone to a private, all-white school from Kindergarten through eighth grade. Health-nazis would call him “overweight," but Brandon is only slightly chubby, and handsome by American Caucasian standards, though his looks are nothing special in a sunny, seaside environment of blond and blue-eyed surfer dudes.
Brandon should be happy -- or at least think he is -- but he’s not. Like many young teens he’s sure there must be a better world somewhere, a "there" that's better than "here," and he's tried to find it in fantasy games, and has even created a website world with his best friend, 12-year-old Tommy Turner, a cheerful fat boy who lives next door. He's also tried to dull his angst in various chemical ways, and has wasted a year of his youth staying high.
Brandon hopes to be a writer and use pen and PC to right wrongs in the world. Being who he is and living where he does, he’s never experienced discrimination or hate based on appearance or race. Despite the protests of his liberal-minded and loving, but career-oriented and somewhat distant parents, Brandon decides to attend public high school. He isn’t completely naive, thanks to his older brother, Chad, who also attends public high school and is now a senior; but Brandon’s first day is a reality-check as he discovers what public education in the U.S. is all about... pounding just enough knowledge and mainstream values into kids’ empty skulls so they can get their McFreakin’ diplomas and become productive Proles. Since no one knows Brandon, he naturally falls in with the outcasts, who include Travis White, one of the school's few black students and also the fattest at five-hundred pounds. Other new friends include Danny Little-Wing, a Native-American boy from an almost forgotten local tribe and the second-fattest dude at school; Carlos, a fat gang member; Zach, a pot-bellied gainer; Rex Watson, a smaller-than-average boy with higher-than-average intelligence who was kicked into high school a year early; and dismal Jason Gray who is really not “obese” but who has been taught that he is and therefore to hate himself. There is also chubby Bosco Donatello, a world-class surfer though indifferent to his fame and seemingly oblivious to the present as if he’s been transported through time from 1963.
Brandon has never been hated before, and there is a question of whether a person can empathize with the suffering of others unless he or she has suffered. Along these lines Brandon discovers that most of what he “knows” about black people (and fat people) is only what he’s been taught. Brandon also delves into the mostly cyber universe of teen and pre-teen gainers, a rapidly growing (no pun intended) counter-culture that few young-adult authors, educators, and "experts" on youth seem aware of... or perhaps don't want to admit exists.
Phat Acceptance is a mix of issues, including consumerism, advertising, propaganda, xenophobia, and how kids are brainwashed from the time they first turn on a TV into buying what they’re told to buy, wearing what they’re told to wear, eating what they’re told to eat, looking how they’re told to look -- which now includes weighing what they’re told to weigh -- and hating who they’re told to hate. It also illustrates how the “war on childhood obesity” gives haters a group of people whom it’s socially acceptable to hate, as well as how sheep-like people are in accepting how “unhealthy” they are because they're being told they are by a health and fitness industry with multi-billion dollar profits. The result is a new religion of "health" and a new holy war against those who won't worship.
Brandon should be happy -- or at least think he is -- but he’s not. Like many young teens he’s sure there must be a better world somewhere, a "there" that's better than "here," and he's tried to find it in fantasy games, and has even created a website world with his best friend, 12-year-old Tommy Turner, a cheerful fat boy who lives next door. He's also tried to dull his angst in various chemical ways, and has wasted a year of his youth staying high.
Brandon hopes to be a writer and use pen and PC to right wrongs in the world. Being who he is and living where he does, he’s never experienced discrimination or hate based on appearance or race. Despite the protests of his liberal-minded and loving, but career-oriented and somewhat distant parents, Brandon decides to attend public high school. He isn’t completely naive, thanks to his older brother, Chad, who also attends public high school and is now a senior; but Brandon’s first day is a reality-check as he discovers what public education in the U.S. is all about... pounding just enough knowledge and mainstream values into kids’ empty skulls so they can get their McFreakin’ diplomas and become productive Proles. Since no one knows Brandon, he naturally falls in with the outcasts, who include Travis White, one of the school's few black students and also the fattest at five-hundred pounds. Other new friends include Danny Little-Wing, a Native-American boy from an almost forgotten local tribe and the second-fattest dude at school; Carlos, a fat gang member; Zach, a pot-bellied gainer; Rex Watson, a smaller-than-average boy with higher-than-average intelligence who was kicked into high school a year early; and dismal Jason Gray who is really not “obese” but who has been taught that he is and therefore to hate himself. There is also chubby Bosco Donatello, a world-class surfer though indifferent to his fame and seemingly oblivious to the present as if he’s been transported through time from 1963.
Brandon has never been hated before, and there is a question of whether a person can empathize with the suffering of others unless he or she has suffered. Along these lines Brandon discovers that most of what he “knows” about black people (and fat people) is only what he’s been taught. Brandon also delves into the mostly cyber universe of teen and pre-teen gainers, a rapidly growing (no pun intended) counter-culture that few young-adult authors, educators, and "experts" on youth seem aware of... or perhaps don't want to admit exists.
Phat Acceptance is a mix of issues, including consumerism, advertising, propaganda, xenophobia, and how kids are brainwashed from the time they first turn on a TV into buying what they’re told to buy, wearing what they’re told to wear, eating what they’re told to eat, looking how they’re told to look -- which now includes weighing what they’re told to weigh -- and hating who they’re told to hate. It also illustrates how the “war on childhood obesity” gives haters a group of people whom it’s socially acceptable to hate, as well as how sheep-like people are in accepting how “unhealthy” they are because they're being told they are by a health and fitness industry with multi-billion dollar profits. The result is a new religion of "health" and a new holy war against those who won't worship.
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