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Fat Stupid
Ugly: One Woman’s Courage to Survive
by Debrah Constance as told to J.I. Kleinberg
Foreword by Penny Marshall |
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Category: |
Inspiration / Self-Help |
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Publication date: |
September 2004 |
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Publisher: |
Health Communications, Inc. |
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Binding: |
Trade Paper |
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Size: |
5 1/2” x 8 1/2” |
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ISBN: |
0-7573-0225-4 |
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Pages: |
220pp |
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Price: |
$12.95 |
WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING:
“Debrah's journey should be an inspiration and give hope to
those who feel they've been dealt an unfair hand in life. A remarkable
story of determination
and faith.” Johnny
Carson
“The most compelling part of this book relates how Constance, who was named
California’s Woman of the Year in 1994, founded A Place Called Home—a
youth center in South-Central Los Angeles that has become a refuge for inner-city
gang members and gives them a chance to turn their lives around....largely thanks
to the author’s hard work and commitment.” Publishers Weekly “The remarkable Debrah Constance has been one of my great inspirations—a
successful businesswoman who decided that she wanted her life to be about something
larger than herself and created A Place Called Home, a haven of safety and creativity
for children and teens. Her life story is heartbreaking and inspiring, filled
with passion and hope. Read it and weep... and cheer. And be prepared to rethink
your life.” Arianna Huffington, syndicated columnist and author of Fanatics
and Fools: the Game Plan for Winning Back America
“Debrah Constance is a hero to me. She has not only turned around the lives
of the children at A Place Called Home, but she’s turned around my life
because she’s taught me to do, not just talk. Her story is so important
for America to hear.” Jasmine Guy, actress and author of Afeni Shakur:
Evolution of a Revolutionary
“...A Place Called Home sprang from the imagination of Debrah Constance,
who tells her colorful and unconventional story in these pages. The need for
such a place—and
dozens like it—is indisputable. But to assemble a devoted paid and
volunteer staff, to build and maintain unique programs, to continually
attract new donors,
and to keep the whole operation going, through good times and bad, for
nearly eleven years, is a tribute to Debrah’s passion and a gift
to the community. It is an honor to be a part of A Place Called Home.” Penny
Marshall, Director, from the Foreword to Fat Stupid Ugly: One Woman’s
Courage to Survive.
“Fat, Stupid, Ugly” is gut wrenching, horrifying and inspiring.
Debrah’s
story of how she takes the difficulties of her life and uses them to
fuel her drive to help others; the children, the gang members and the
mothers
of APCH
is painfully moving. Her actions and choices are an inspiration and
profound teaching to us all. Debrah brings her miraculous love, Beauty,
hope,
learning and a chance to make a difference to her people. It is an
honor and privilege
to know her. This woman is a Heroine of our times.” Ana
Forrest,
Creatress of Forrest Yoga, Founder of Forrest Yoga Circle, Santa Monica,
California
“Not only was I moved by Debrah's chilling story, but also completely inspired
by her incredible dedication toward life. It was intriguing to witness
her ability to keep a tight grasp on the gifts of lightness and humor during
her darkest
times. Debrah's remarkable strength to persevere motivated me to move
down my own path with more grace and dignity. As a survivor of childhood abuse
I found
Fat Stupid Ugly to be a refreshing answer to the typical and unauthentic
recourses available today.”
N. Poole
“This book made me feel like I could accomplish anything. For most of us,
good self-esteem and good self image drives us to do great things ... make more money,
create a home for our family, be the best kind of person we can be, and do right in
the world. But for Debrah Constance, not having any self-esteem and being labeled
“Fat Stupid Ugly” pushed her to help a displaced community deal with
life's hardest issues -- drug addictions, gang violence, single parenting, school
drop outs, and death. Debrah is the founder of “A Place Called Home,”
a South Central Los Angeles youth center that provides at risk children, ages nine to
twenty, with a secure, positive family environment where they an regain hope and
belief, earn trust and self-respect and learn skills to lead to a productive life.
Debrah's memoir chronicles her life as an abused child who thought so little of
herself she endured deep psychological and emotional problems, drug and drinking
addictions and abusive relationships throughout her life. After a life long
struggle with her poor self image, she found a way to change her pattens, get help
for her drug/alcohol problems and give back to children who have lost hope.
This is an amazing person. I found hope and direction for my own life after
reading it. I hope I get an opportunity to meet her one day so I can thank her.
Her story belongs on the Oprah show so that other people can learn that even when
the most unfortunate situation occurs ... there is hope. Thank you Debrah!”
Tony, South Jersey, from Amazon.com
“My name is Olivia, and I'm 15 years old. I just read your book “Fat, Stupid, Ugly”.
I originally read it for a school project, but now I can't tear my self away from books dealing
with the amazing places and things people have done to help others. Originally I wanted to
become a pediatrician because I wanted to help children. Reading your book opened my eyes
to another area were I can help people of all ages, and not just children. I think, I will
still keep my dream of becoming a pediatrician, but I hope to start and organization like
your A Place Called Home were I can help others. Who knows, maybe in a couple of years I'll
come to visit A Place Called Home. I would really love to join your staff one day. I'm writing
you this e-mail just to let you know what a big impact your book had on me. I've always had a
knack for helping others; weather is just simply donating food for a food drive, or giving my
clothes that don't fit me to children, to the Salvation Army, or to my church. Your book has
inspired me to do even more, to go further. Even though I'm only 15 I want to make a difference
in the lives of others, weather it be sharing my talent of dance and music with the people of my
community, or simply letting a friend know that they can talk to me. Thank you for inspiring me
to do more, and showing me that I can make a difference. Good luck to A Place Called Home. I
hope your success keeps rising; all of you there are true angels to those who are in need.”
Olivia, student
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EXCERPTS from Fat Stupid Ugly: One Woman’s
Courage to Survive
Excerpt, Author’s Note, page xv-xvi:
I began life,
it would seem, as some kind of Grimm’s fairy-tale
creature, large and oafish, undesirable, grossly imperfect.
Neatly penned in my baby book
were the words, “Debbie was a fat, unattractive baby.”
Fat
and ugly aside, my life was fairly normal for the first couple
of years. During that uncomplicated time I could have set out
on any of a dozen different
paths toward an orderly life. Found my way to happiness without
significant chaos or pain. But it was not to be.
Before I could
talk, the abuse began, followed by a haunting succession of smoking
and pills, rage and rebellion, alcoholism,
cancer, and broken
marriages.
The
path I took was rutted and slippery, dark and twisted, looping
back on itself in unmarked detours.
But this is not a story
of defeat. This is a book about surviving. It’s
about hope. It’s about the amazing resilience of the
human spirit. It’s
about how each of us—ordinary, imperfect, damaged—can
dream and empower and heal.
« back to top
Excerpt, page 18:
During the day, I practiced piano in the
already smoky den. I’d sit at
the upright with an ashtray nearby and a cigarette dangling
from my lips. But once I had stubbed out the cigarette, I couldn’t
leave the butt in the ashtray as evidence, so I’d quickly shove
it behind the music holder. Mother caught me smoking at the piano
many times, but it wasn’t until Tchaikovsky
developed a smoker’s cough that the piano tuner,
and Mother, discovered the extent of my subterfuge:
hundreds of cigarette
butts had fallen inside
the piano, packed themselves beneath the keys, and,
dropping down further, piled
up beneath the pedals until the pedals jammed, useless.
« back to top
Excerpt, page 40-41:
I did a lot of sewing and decided I
wanted to work in the motion picture business designing costumes.
Grandpa offered to pay
for me to go to
school to learn
pattern making, so I signed up for classes
at Santa Monica College. I was so proud. College!
I wouldn’t have to be a high school
dropout for the rest of my life.
I showed
up that first day for my pattern-making
class and I couldn’t
have been any more excited. I sat down
in the classroom and looked around, surprised
to see that all of the other students were
young men. There were no sewing machines,
just
big
tables and
huge pieces of industrial
equipment. It
turned out to be
a class on making patterns for machinery.
The first things we made were a nut and
a
bolt.
I stuck with
it until
one of the
boys bloodied
himself
on a saw.
I never told Grandpa I had quit. I just
kept working.
« back to top
Excerpt, page 51-52:
If ever there was a child that was
wanted, it was Gideon. I had wanted a child all
my life.
I had practiced on
my dolls, but
I had dreamed
of a real
baby.
I was ecstatic through my pregnancy,
and couldn’t imagine being a mother
to anyone more perfect and beautiful
than this little boy. And I knew exactly what to do: I treated
him the way I treated my dolls, loving him more than anything
in the world. I nursed him, fed him,
changed him, and sewed for him. I didn’t
hit him or molest him or call him names.
He was my living doll.
« back to top
Excerpt, page
61-62:
In the midst of these wild times, I came
up with the idea of bartending
as the perfect job. I could
be home
with
Gideon and do my weaving during
the
day, and
work at night while Gideon slept,
making decent money to support
the two of us. So once again, I
enrolled in school, this time at the Berkeley
School
of Bartending.
Never did I imagine that memorizing
hundreds of recipes would be so difficult. The
reading and numbers were
agonizing, but by this time
I could talk to
anyone and I knew something about
drinking, so I stuck with
it.
Gideon must have just started reading
and every day he would test me with
my three-by-five
recipe cards.
My
friends took
me out shopping,
and I bought
all
these Lucille Ball-style bartending
outfits—off-the-shoulder blouses,
cinched waists, short, flouncy skirts.
I went to school every day and studied
really,
really hard. I memorized my recipes
and practiced making all kinds of exotic
drinks, and finally, I graduated. My
friends threw me a big party. I was
very proud. It’s the only diploma
I’ve ever earned and it’s
still framed and hanging on my wall.
« back to top
Excerpt,
page 76:
While work was my respite
from my personal anxieties, from
time to time, on the
way to lunch
or a meeting, I’d catch my reflection in a window
and see Arnold looking back at me. Here I was—like
him an advertising executive, hair cut short, a smoker,
a drinker—emulating
the father who had abused me. If
there was irony in that,
I managed to lessen
its
sting
with another
glass of wine.
« back to top
Excerpt, page 95:
Except for my pregnancy, when I put
my baby first and managed to
stop smoking and drinking, I had smoked
through good
times and bad. I smoked
when my beautiful
son asked me not to. I smoked
through cancer and marriages
and divorces and right on into
my sobriety, where I found myself surrounded by
equally
cigarette-fixated
alcoholics. I simply saw myself
as a smoker, even
doing a self-portrait weaving
in which I have a cigarette hanging out of my
mouth.
I was a smoker for life
at the rate of two and a half packs a
day.
« back to top
Excerpt, page 99:
Growing up, I carried a terrible
burden of shame, knowing that
I was too ugly
for other people to look
at. I
would turn up
my collar, try
to hide
my face,
and went out of my way to avoid
seeing my reflection in a mirror.
I
was the Ugly Duckling, but I continually failed to turn
into
a swan. I looked
at my mother and my
sisters,
who
were all
beautiful, and I
was certain
that I
was adopted. How could those
beautiful people be related
to me? I searched
the house for adoption
papers, convinced
that
they
would reveal the
truth.
« back to top
Excerpt, page 112:
To become a member of APCH,
the children had to
sign a written
pledge, agreeing
to ten rules
that haven’t changed since we opened
our doors: no smoking, no drinking, no drugs,
no weapons, no graffiti, no racism, no fighting,
no profanity,
no gang-related “colors” and
no gang-related apparel.
Our earliest members
were high-school age
and we
stretched the age
range at the upper
end
to include
older children
who were
out of
school and
had no place
to
go. If they weren’t
gang members themselves,
almost
every child had
at least one gang
member in their family,
often more.
Most lived
well below
the
poverty line; many
had parents and siblings
in prison or otherwise
missing
from their
lives. Many had seen
their friends and family
members gunned
down in gang
warfare and drive-by
shootings.
The pressures and dangers
of the street
were, and are,
powerful and
unrelenting.
« back to top
Excerpt,
page 131:
If “it
takes a village” to
raise a child, we
quickly learned that
it would
take a flock of angels
to operate a successful
youth center. During
our grand-opening
celebration in 1993,
one of our
volunteers answered
the phone
and, turning to me,
said, “It’s
for you—it’s
Johnny Carson.” Oh
sure, I thought,
as I picked up the
receiver and a woman
said, “I have
Johnny Carson on
the line for you,
one moment
please.” It
really was Johnny
Carson,
calling to say that
he had seen an article
in the paper, loved
what I
was doing, and he
wanted to send me
a small
check showing his
appreciation. A couple
of days later,
a check arrived in
the mail. Mr. Carson
became—and
has remained—one
of our angels.
« back to top
Excerpt,
page 143:
No
matter what we
do, we can’t shield
the children entirely
from the realities
of the street.
We’ve
lost some children
to gang violence,
drugs,
and drive-by shootings.
But
we have
also witnessed
great change:
drug-dealing gangsters
turning
into professional
musicians, high-school
dropouts
earning scholarships
to
college, scrawny
children turning
into
graceful dancers.
In
ten years, many of our original members
have entered
adulthood.
A whole new generation
of children comes
through our doors.
From the earliest
days, my vision
for A Place Called
Home has been
fueled by hope
and dreams,
inspired
by the
heroic lives
of our young members, and
challenged by
the economics of survival
in an
uncertain world.
« back to top
Excerpt,
page 149:
The children
came into
my office
and I’d pay attention to them, ask them
what do you
want to do, what do you like, tell me the truth and I’ll
listen. In their lives, nobody listens to them. Nobody
sees them as individuals; they’re
always lumped
together with all the other “bad” kids. Even
their parents are afraid of them. But I wasn’t
afraid; I
saw them as children
with
dangerous
toys.
One day one
of my staff
members
came
to me,
indignant,
and said, “Julio
is stealing
food, I saw
him take
food from
the kitchen.” I
said, “Okay,
here’s
what I want
you to do.
I want you
go back there
and pack
up four more
bags of groceries
for him to
take home.” Things
like that
aren’t
done out
of greed,
they’re
done out
of need.
If he’s
hungry, there
are probably
hungry people
at home,
too. We had
food and
they didn’t.
The solution
just didn’t
seem complicated
to me.
« back to top
Excerpt,
page 183:
In
the twelve
steps of
Alcoholics
Anonymous,
steps
eight and
nine ask
us to list
those
we
have harmed
and then
make direct
amends to
such
people.
There is
no compensation
for the loss
and injury
that
I have
caused my
son; there
is no way
to
remake the
past or undo
the harm.
So today
I make living
amends
to Gideon
by living
a sober,
safer life;
he no longer
has
to take care
of his mom.
By loosening
my suffocating
grip on him,
I am
giving him
the respect
and
unconditional
love that
he deserves
and has always
given me.
I am also
giving him
the stories
in this
book, which
are
our stories,
as
imperfect
and
unfinished
as our love
for each
other.
« back to top
Excerpt,
page 198:
Losing
weight
is a measure
of
my success. A pound
makes
all the
difference.
I gain a pound
and sink into a
self-loathing
abyss;
I lose a pound
and
I’m
capable of miracles.
« back to top
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