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Farewell, Dad, and so long, Rhino

A special delivery arrives and inspires me to get rid of all my clothes with XXL on the labels.

By JOHN C. COTEY
Published December 13, 2005

FOLLOW THE PROGRESS: Weighing In, John C. Cotey's column about his effort to lose weight, appears Tuesdays in Floridian. His starting weight on July 1 was 250 pounds. To read previous columns and his Web log, The Skinny, please go to www.sptimes.com/skinny

WEIGHING IN: 217.5

When my father was dying from lung cancer this year, I went to spend a few days in the hospital with him. And I mean in the hospital. For three days, I slept on a cot in his room, a remarkable feat for a 255-pound guy with a history of trouble sleeping.

My dad was unimpressed. He told me, with some aggravation, that I had kept him awake with my tossing and turning. I tried to explain that the cot was too small, and he told me to lose some weight.

The rest of my trip, he called me Rhino.

I swore right then that I was going to start losing weight, and the next time he saw me he would have to eat that nickname.

A month later, my dad was dead. And I was still in the 250 to 260 pound range.

So Rhino it was.

I was reminded of this (okay, I've never forgotten it) when two boxes of his clothes arrived at my house last week. His wife had decided she was ready to move on, and I inherited some of the things she thought I'd like.

When healthy, my dad was built like me. We swapped clothes occasionally. My last trip to see him, I had even borrowed some of his jeans, waist-size 40 and 42, because I had outgrown all of mine.

Those jeans filled one of those boxes that arrived. They might as well have been my parachute pants from 11th grade. They weren't going to fit (and I'm not sure I could have worn them even if they had, quite frankly. Creepy).

I was relieved. And happy. I should have kept a pair for posterity's sake, but I boxed them back up.

The experience inspired me to tackle our closet and get rid of some of the other clothes from my Rhino days.

My wife and I had agreed to clean out the clothes we no longer wore and give them to Purple Heart, and I started with anything with an XXL on it. My pile quickly grew.

I knew long ago I had surrendered, but this much?

Now back in the fight, I quickly began tossing anything I had bought merely because it was comfortable. A striped shirt that was remarkably wide (I used to wear that?). An oversized red polo (is that a dress or a shirt?). Even some short-sleeved shirts that weren't fat clothes; they had just gone out of style before I could slim down.

I filled three garbage bags. And then I found a batch of pants with the tags still on them. One pair, a 2003 birthday gift from my mother I swore I would work my way into. Another, a pair of brown corduroy pants I bought in Arizona in 2002. Two pairs of dress pants purchased online in January, about the time my last failed diet.

Each pair fit.

They were my inspiration clothes, and I forgot I even had them. The years of failed attempts to halt my expanding waistline had created the stockpile, but I had stopped adding to it about when I began to realize 36s and 38s were hopelessly in my rearview mirror.

Okay, so the 36s are still a bit tight. But I can button most of them.

The last pair of pants I tried on were the black slacks I wore to my dad's April funeral: size 42. Check this out, I said excitedly to my wife before pulling them off.

Without unbuttoning them.

The next day, the Purple Heart came and took away every last bit of the Rhino's wardrobe.

[Last modified December 12, 2005, 15:57:13]