My Plus-Size Lineage

When it comes to image issues, I am the poster child. Like Miss Jackson (if you’re nasty), I have struggled with image issues, weight, learning to love and accept myself for who and what I am. I guise my insecurities and convictions under the self-deprecating humor that I am not handsome. On the surface it’s funny but in the depths of my skin it tears me to silence.

Intellectually, I know it’s all just lies and excuses to hide in the shadows because mine stem from societal pressure to be something manufactured, fabricated, and superficial, plus I’ve been told numerous times that I am admired for being myself, for never giving in to limitations, and for doing things beyond my stretch. Who do I have to thank for my ego boosters and growing confidence?

The plus-size women in my family of course!

The majority of the women on my paternal side are plus-size women who are some of the happiest, bravest, and inspirational people I have ever had the honor of being related to. The matriarch of the clan was my grandmother, a proud, loving, devoted, plus-size vixen with a Mary Poppins disposition who “was kind, but extremely firm”. She was the basis of my discipline, the foundation of my maturity, and the only person I ever really feared and loved at the same time. Whenever I was a brat, she would smack me with a wooden spoon because they didn’t leave bruises, and promised that if I ever got out of hand as a teenager, the wooden spoon would be upgraded to a shovel. While my parents were putting bars of soap in my mouth for mouthing off to them, my grandmother did one better and put hot peppers in my mouth, and no amount of milk or Sunny Delight was able to alleviate that searing and scorching burn (guess that will teach me to use the “B” word around her).

I speak of all this not to incriminate my grandmother, but to point out that all of my behavioral and attitude problems were adjusted because she cared enough to show that I was above childish mentalities. At 16 years old, I lost my grandmother to stomach cancer, and four months later her husband (my grandpa), a wonderful, wise, football loving plus-size man who I have also put on a pedestal, succumbed to the same disease.

Opening up a 12 year old memory is enough to blow out my lap top from shedding tears , but they are tears of joy, celebration, and remembrance because I was never branded anything more than a loving grandson to two of the most important plus-size people in my life. In their household, nobody was judged on the basis of their race, weight, or sexuality. This tradition carries on through occasional family gatherings, as all our plus-size relatives come together to laugh, rejoice, celebrate, and indulge on each other’s experiences, memories, and hopes for the future through witty humor, playful sarcasm, and satirical elements of pop culture. In such a gathering, nobody is spared from playful wrath because we all pick on each other for our flaws and crazy antics (I get picked on for having dreams of snowball-throwing credit card turning monkies and mistaking vagina models for ear models), but in the end we’re all still family because nobody gets their feelings hurt and the love is stronger than ever. It is through such gatherings that despite my personal convictions and insecurities I am reminded of who I am, not what I think I should be.

Through my journey of self-discovery, I have a conscience who is my guide, one of my best friends, and biggest (no puns intended) inspirations in my life. She is a facsimile of my grandmother, a fun-loving businesswoman, a plus size vixen, and just like me, an overachiever. She also sees things in me that I do not see in myself, and because of her approach in getting me to push myself out of my shell, I am brave, bold, and beautiful. And for all that I would like to thank my hero Tina Sanchez for giving me my plus-size personality. Our stories are legendary, our adventures are immaculate, and our times spent together are priceless. The secret to our relationship is that we provide the color commentaries when appropriate, we’re both business ethics oriented, driven, and more importantly, we inspire each other to be the best we can be through wavelengths of laughter.

I dedicate this piece to you boo.

Emo Loredo -- Daily Venus Diva.

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Readers are predisposed to eclectic and immaculate writing, and nobody knows this better than Emilio R. Loredo, better known as Emo. Born in the Bay Area but cultured throughout California, Emo, confined to solidarity due to his introverted nature as a kid, spent a great deal of time tuning out to the world by reading books and writing short pieces that were inspired by the very stories that satisfied his intellectual curiosity and stimulated his creative growth. Diagnosed with autism at a young age, what Emo felt he lacked in social skills, he made up for in writing, becoming an incentive for success and character building. His writing throughout school and college have garnered positive feedback by his teachers, mentors, and peers, all of whom have agreed that his writing is creative and knows how "to tell a story." To Emo's credit, he wrote for his high school newspaper, edited papers for his peers and teachers, and to date, has had his written work with MoxieManagement published online and read on live radio. Emo's flair for creativity is inspired and persevered by his autism and affinity for the odd and unusual. There is more to Emo than just the writing on the wall: he is a San Francisco State University graduate with a B.A in Sociology and a double minor in LGBT and Sexuality Studies and is currently studying dance at CCSF. Community service is at the helm of Emo's big-hearted nature, for he currently volunteers his time with the San Francisco Suicide Prevention center where he works to save lives. Emo's overarching goal is "to make oddities cool one weird moment at a time!"