Friday, March 05, 2004

I recently found out my dad developed diabetes. I thought he was joking. He wasn't.

He's been eating (and acting) like a child until now. Used to stuff his face with everything he found lying around. Chips, pop, juice boxes, ice cream, frozen yogurt, cheap chocolates, cheese, donuts, etc. I used to tell him, "Dad, please. Eat healthier. I mean, you don't even need me with you. Just read the labels. Here, I'll show you."

But he told me it was his life and he'll eat whatever he went out and paid for. Then a few weeks ago, he bought an entire gym set. The whole BowFlex-looking apparatus, except not. One of those four seater weight training power stations. Also bought a treadmill, which my mom now uses religiously with her classic '70s synthesized pop music blasted zealously through the vents in our house. My dad started exercising. Wanted to lose the flotation device that had its own satellite orbit. Then one day, the doctor said his blood sugar level was twice the normal amount.

I haven't taken it seriously and the possibility that he might die from this (like my grandpa) hasn't hit home yet. But he's finally getting his life in order, at least, nutritionally.

"Dad, omega-3 fats are good. Found in fish. Eat lots of that. No saturated fats. No trans-fats. I don't want you eating anything that has a high sodium content. Cut down on your calories."

I bought 4 types of cheesecake on Wednesday. Creme Brulee, Berry, Cappacino, and Amaretto (the latter being my favourite flavour in the entire world.) I took out a slice and gave him a bit to try after he looked at me forlornly, tempted: "Does cheesecake have sugar? Let me try it, Lily. No, don't. Okay, yes."

That's when I knew he had a lot to learn and a long way to go:

"NO BANANAS EITHER?!"

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