Chicken legs

August 1984. I was born to a very loving jewish family, living in the promised land of Israel. 

I grew up as a healthy, thin, energetic child. Living the in countryside, I used to spend my time outside a lot. Running with my dog, feeding chickens, skateboarding, riding my bike. No one had a clue that this very normal child would become a food addict. But it was written on the wall for me, wasn't it?

1990. We have another one of those family dinners we used to have. Living in Israel means being close to your family members. And it means many many family dinners, on any occassion. Should it be a birthday, a holiday, or just a friday evening (Shabbat dinner), any reason is a good enough reason to eat. A lot. Food brings people together, doesn't it? 

Chicken legs. Many many chicken legs. A lot of food was brought once more to the kitchen table. Around it were my family members. Not only my parents or my big brother, but also my loving grandma (who cooked this special dinner), my uncles, and more. I was probably 5 or 6 when I got my first memory of getting a comment regarding food. It was my uncle, who probably saw the first hint of my food addiction starting to grow. I just sat there and ate chicken legs. One after the other. A 6 year old eating 6 chickens legs and asking for more. I still remember him watching in shock (or was it disgust?). I remember everyone, mainly my mom and my grandma, dismissing him at once. I was thin. So I didn't have a food problem. 

Right.