Yesterday my son came home from school with a plain, unmarked envelope containing a pamphlet titled Why Your Child’s Weight Matters and a permission slip to put him on a scale. We’re not being specifically targeted; this is an NHS public health initiative aimed at collecting data on every single eleven year old child in the land.
The enclosed literature starts with the assertion Evidence suggests overweight children are highly likely to become overweight adults, with health problems getting worse as they get older.
Six additional pages drone on about obesity, bullying, and healthy eating habits. This might seem innocuous but, check it, the entire thing presumes that all families receiving the circular have a problem.
They offer assurances that the tests will be performed privately (admittedly a big upgrade over stateside scoliosis screening which if memory serves was conducted cattle-call style), but I am incensed at the fundamental view of the literature. And you know what? I’m allowed. Why? Because, aside from being a parent and a wayward pundit specializing in the politics of family life, I also have an advanced degree and whole early career doing this kind of policy analysis.
The best of these sorts of studies are conducted in neutral terms, implying zero judgment. You can’t say “We’re just wondering about the statistics!” while also serving up several pages worth of exercise tips.
On a very simple level I am tempted to refuse permission for a different reason: my son would skew the record. Quite apart from the fact that he is not British, the boy is a rangy bean pole of a kid, the youngest in his class and the tallest in the school. He is easily four inches taller than the headmistress, for goodness sake.
This kid was breastfed in infancy, a vegan (by his own choice) until age seven or so, and currently eats mostly vegetarian, all organic, mainly homemade meals. He is allowed sugar (unlike his sister at the same age) but only because it would be impossible to keep up with his rapid growth if I didn’t shovel in ice cream on a regular basis.
If you can imagine, watching him grow is a lot like pulling silly putty; he is a round ball for half a second then stretches and stretches and stretches. Yeah, he eats the occasional bowl of chips (in the states we know them as fries) but I’m an insufferable, annoying, wholesome food, demanding sort of mother.
We’re extremely, maniacally careful about nutrition, and judicious about exercise. We go outside to have fun; we love our walks, bike rides, skating. We don’t own a car – all transit and chores are conducted with real physical exertion.
Our life together revolves around a boat, for goodness sakes! He jumps nimbly from the roof to the lock, hauls the anchor, holds the vessel securely at the shore…. all requiring a peak condition of form that I simply see as natural.
If the NHS wants to find a group of ill-informed rubbish consumers, it would be wise to exempt us from the study. Though of course, my well-behaved public health self says we’re a diverse community and the entirety of that truth should be reflected in the statistics.
If I believed they could pull it off without shaming anyone I might even sign the forms.