When I was a little kid I got to be on a T.V. show. I can’t for the life of me remember what it was called. It was along the lines of Cowboy Bob or Janie’s show, but on a different channel. I think it was called Peggy’s Place or maybe Debbie’s World.
I was only five years old, so I can’t be expected to remember everything, but here is what I do remember: my mom and aunt took me, my little sister, and my cousin to the taping. We sat in the bleachers with a bunch of other kids and were promised a “fabulous prize” if we did what we were told.
As I recall, we were supposed to wave at the camera and cheer whenever a new cartoon was introduced. Then they would break away and, while the cartoon was being shown to kids in the “real” world, those of us in Peggy’s World, or whatever it was called, would play games. We were constantly being assured of a “fabulous prize” if we would just hang in there and behave.
At one point we had to stand in line and wait for our turn to look into the camera and say our name and age. My nearly two year old sister was not cooperating, and I continually had to run out of line, grab her by the arm, and drag her back. I remember looking up into the monitor and seeing myself with one foot firmly planted in line, reaching as far as I could, tugging on my sister. I smiled my prettiest smile at the camera all the while jerking her arm practically out of socket.
Mom had versed her on saying her name and taught her to hold up two fingers when they asked her age, but when the time came, she refused to do it. I sweetly said her name for her, holding her firmly by the shoulders so she couldn’t run away again.
When we got back to our seats, I tried to explain to her that we were going to get a really cool prize if she would just sit still and be good. I sat as though I were strapped to a spinal board, folding my hands into my lap whenever I wasn’t trying to keep her from jumping off the bleachers. I cheered and waved at the camera, I laughed when Peggy/Debbie told us jokes, and I made sure my long blonde hair was resting smoothly over one shoulder, just like my mom had shown me.
Finally, the show was over. We were instructed that when our moms came to get us, they would take us to another room so that we could obtain our long-awaited, much coveted, overly promised, fabulous prize. I was chomping at the bit by the time my mom and aunt stopped yakking. I jumped up and down, clapping my hands together, and begged, “Please, please, please can we go get our prize now?”
My mom picked up my little sister and fawned over her, telling her what a great job she did. Yeah right. Can we please just go get my prize now? My five year old nerves were shot. I was two seconds away from a breakdown.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we were there. We walked to a tall counter and my mom picked something up. I held out my little hand and eagerly grasped what was offered. It was at this moment I noticed some kids were crying. Others had looks of disgust on their faces. I eyed my prize suspiciously and asked my mom, “What is this?”
She replied enthusiastically, “Beef Jerky! If you don’t like it your dad will eat it.”
Of all the things they could have given us: candy bars, lollipops, squirt guns, yo-yos, bubblegum, balloons, McDonald’s gift certificates, yet some presumably capable adult decided to make a bulk purchase of beef jerky.
I was a bit sullen on the drive home, but my hopes soared when mom pulled into Dog-N-Suds. Finally, I was going to get a well-deserved treat!
But alas, she had only followed my aunt into the parking lot long enough to tell her we needed to get home so we wouldn’t be joining them. If ever there was a time when I wish cell phones had been invented.
My cousin tore herself away from the menu board long enough to smile her dopey smile and wave out the car window as we were pulling away. I hated her. I hated my mom. I hated Peggy or Debbie or whatever her name was, I hated cartoons, and I hated my little sister who, all the way home, kept holding up her fingers and saying, “I’se two! I’se two!”
By the next morning I was back to my normal, happy self and I didn’t hate the world anymore, but I still, to this day, hate jerky. I’d give a chewy, processed, dehydrated side of beef to meet the jerk that chose that “fabulous” prize.
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