This is the worst part of my job. I don't know how to tell you this, but your son is fat.

Susie chose Doctor visits.

The PTA in Rockdale County was a bit nosey. I'm not sure how the subject came up, if my parents asked them, or if they had spies at PE, but they had noticed that I was not very athletic and a little -- oh how best to put this delicately? -- on the husky side. Their solution: get me involved in sports.
I'm not sure if my Kindergarten teacher, Mrs. O'Kelly, was in on it, but she did enthusiastically endorse the local soccer program, and since I had a kind of crush on her, I insisted that we sign up.
The less said about me soccer career the better. My poor parents deserve medals for suffering through my painful attempts at playing soccer every Saturday. How embarrassing it must have been for them! I, at the time, did not have the sense to be embarrassed by how I would start off running after the ball only to kind of dawdle after it because of my size -- husky, as the PTA helpfully pointed out -- and lack of interest. It's only going to come back this way again. Why rush?
Why couldn't I be the goalie? They just stood in one place.
So yeah. I signed up for two years of that before wising up.

The PTA was not done with me yet. Oh no. I actually forget what their intermediary suggestion was after I stopped playing soccer. But, during my third grade year, they finally told my parents maybe something was physically wrong with me and that it would be best to take me to a doctor to be on the safe side.
A boy who is a little overweight, doesn't like sports, and prefers to read? In Rockdale County? Must be something wrong with him.
So my parents took me to a doctor so that he might diagnose my fat ass.
I remember Mom sitting me down at the kitchen table to explain why they were taking me to a doctor.
I bawled.
I felt like such a disappointment especially since my parents seemed to agree. Why else would they go along with all this? As distasteful as the idea was and as isolated from my family as it made me feel, a part of me also secretly hoped there would be something wrong with me for all the attention I would get. (Take that, Ethan!)
So they took me to the doctor. I don't remember much of the examination except that the doctor had me walk back and forth a bit. Then, he said, "Apart from an odd walk, there's nothing wrong with him. He's just not athletic. He'd rather read."
"I could have told you that for free," I said.
If it ever comes up, I might blame that doctor's visit for making gay.

And eventually, the problem took care of itself. I hit a growth spurt, and it all went vertical.