One of my earliest memories of being overweight was when I was maybe seven or eight and stepping on the scale and seeing it go up and up.  I didn't know why I was gaining weight then.  I do remember wanting to wear sweaters to cover my growing body.  I dealt with all of the normal teasing of being an overweight child, and allowed it to dictact the activities I participated in.  Wouldn't ride a ten-speed bike, you know with the the thin tires, because I thought surely I would pop them.  Didn't play in sports because 1) I was sure I would look horrible in the little sports uniforms, and 2) didn't want to go to the Dr for a physical and be weighed.
        Both of my parents were obese.  I also remember always hearing my mother say "I've got to get this weight off".. she never did.  She passed away in April of 2008 from heart failure at the age of 64.  Both of her legs were amputated, had been on dialysis for a couple of years by then, and had been suffering from mini-strokes for what we think was about six weeks.  My father was brave enough to undergo WLS in the early nineties and had his "stomach stapled".  He was successful, for a while.  He was active, riding his bike long distances and running.  Until he had a heart attack and life slowed down for him.  By the time he passed away from Leukemia this past Spring he had gained all of his weight back.
       So here I am.  When I was 24, I remember saying I would lose my weight before I turned 25.  Instead, I was married, had two children and put everyone else first except for me.  Believe me, in these past ten years losing weight has been my only personal goal, almost to the point of defining me.  I'm not sure if it's just the maturity that comes with age, but I finally woke up and realized I needed to take care of myself first.  I am walking this path and I look forward to meeting and getting to know others so that we can make it easier on each other.