You know, sometimes being a parent isn't easy.

So when my son was ten, my wife and I divorced (not my choice, but that's another story). Over the course of the first year, he ballooned up to being a fat kid. His diet didn't change. We never kept snacks around. Desert would be every other night, sometimes less. Plenty of protein and vegetables.

Next three years, I hated taking him to the doctor. I would get the same disapproving look from the doctor. The same lecture about nutrition and exercise. I would be polite, but inside I was seething. I knew everything she was lecturing me on.

Part of me wondered if he was eating like garbage on the days he was over at my ex-wife's house, but that wasn't it.

Now he's fifteen, and he's in great shape. Hell, we even wear the same size clothes...making laundry difficult. The pudgy little guy faded away to a pretty handsome and healthy young man.

I know there are plenty of kids who are fed soda and snacks from their parents. Still, I learned not to judge. Some parents of fat kids are as confused as I was back then.

If I had over-reacted back then, and berated my son for his weight, would he have wound up losing weight? I suspect not. If I broke his spirit, perhaps he wouldn't have had the confidence to work as hard as he did for his black belt. Perhaps he wouldn't have wound up loving salad and vegetables. He might have wound up resenting "healthy" food if I had made a big issue of it. I don't know.

That's the thing about being a parent. Raised by wolves, or raised by loving parents, you never have an idea how things are going to go. All you can do is love your child, try to be a better person to set an example, and then spend every day worried and stressed about how it's going to turn off.