With my father I was terrified. I don't remember one incident of ever having sat on his lap, or being held, or hugged, or loved, or told that I was beautiful or wonderful. I was told I was overweight but as I looked at pictures recently, I was not overweight. Everyone would have ice cream for dessert but I was given a half a grapefruit. My father, he was the one who weighed me. He would say, Looks to me as if you've gained some weight - tomorrow morning we'll weigh you. And I stayed up all night worrying about being weighed, and that's when my struggles with food started. And here I am: 81 years old and it's still going on.