Hey Hey Hey, It's Diiiiiabetes!

A quick Google search shows that childhood obesity seems to be a pretty consistent issue with Americans right now. It's in the news all the time, with the primary focus being the cause. I see it all the time. It's too much fast food. It's sugary drinks and cereal. It's lack of exercise.

While I'm sure these all add to the problem, I think that once again people are missing the question that needs to be asked: why do parents let their children live like this instead of encouraging better habits? I think a quick look at the age group who's responsible for these children will show something that I think the news outlets are missing: we all grew up with a certain role model. This role model that not only encouraged such overeating, but really glorified it.

I speak of course, of Fat Albert.

"But Roger," you may say, "Fat Albert taught children life lessons and morality." Well, you can keep that opinion to yourself. Seriously, this is the internet - I can't hear you. All talking to your monitor like a whack job. Use the comments section, loon.

Anyway, Fat Albert taught us, above all, that to be in charge, you had to be the biggest kid in the group. Why do you think the others followed him? You think they enjoyed listening to his Darth Vadar-like wheezing, or maybe his fashion sense? (In his defense, I believe the whole group was economically challenged, what with each of them only having the one outfit to wear all time.) No, they feared his mighty girth. I don't know that he would have actually eaten one of them had they crossed him, but just the threat of getting sat upon must have been enough to keep them in line. Not even the Brown Hornet could have withstood that ponderous posterior.



So yeah, all of us who watched the show regularly took this lesson away with us. As a result, when our own, healthy children go out into the world, part of us wonders what chance they have. I know I lie in bed at night sometimes thinking on my own children, lean and strong, and fear that they'll become that kid in the big, orange hat or, God forbid, a Mushmouth. There are days when the fear that my lovely daughter might one day come saying that one of her friends is like a teacher in the summertime makes me want to force-feed her an entire box of Little Debbie snack cakes.

Bill Cosby, what have you wraught?