TAMI SANDERS
Multi-Media Artist and Producer
I’ve become an expert at learning to detach! It’s a hard, albeit necessary task we all have to grasp at some point in our lives. The process can be excruciating…but, making it out on the other side are the lessons. They are the lessons that bring lightness to our heart and resolutions to our head. Feeling the calm and peace in my heart – maintains the life I want to live from this day forward. The trials and tribulations of my first 50 years built my character. I can now give myself an enveloping hug and know, I am and will be OK!
I've learned, the only one in control of you – is YOU!!! You have to face a time of no more entitlements…no more whining…learning to embrace the good, bad and ugly in yourself with a sense of humor. I know that has been the key to my salvation! Facing the saddest times in my life when I thought "all is lost" - mustering my profound sense of humor was imperative. Giving myself a “break” - knowing I’ve done the best I possibly could with the givens I’d been handed….laugh at myself DAILY! If anything comes from this book…it may be to shed light on the basics of our humanity. Reaching out to others and offering a hand if they need it…even, if it’s just a shoulder to cry on…you never know when you might need one!
My book has always been in the works...in my head! I just didn’t know where to begin! I found the answer taking a long road trip by myself. It's amazing what happens when you're alone with your thoughts...it just may turn into a book!
***Please enjoy just SOME of the excerpts....
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Everyone Needs a Hero!
I didn’t know believing in myself was an option. But Jim Robinson changed that for me when he married my Mom when I was 15-years old. The household somehow seemed brighter. A surge of oxygen was present with his positive demeanor and raucous laugh. Laughter…well, that was a strange phenomenon. No more walking on eggshells, that’s for sure.
My biological father, Bob Sanders, left on February 1st when I was just 14. Why I remember that date…I don’t know! All I can say now that I’m an adult, a mother, and for the most part, a nice person, is that he left in a very chicken-shit way. No word, no note, no acknowledgement…just fucking left!
Mom came home after an afternoon of shopping, went back in her bedroom to drop her packages. When she re-emerged her face was white. She announced to me and my two older brothers, “He’s gone!” In silence, we get up and follow her back to the bedroom. Sure enough…and empty closet with a couple of wire hangers left behind.
Just as silently, we pile back into the front room and take our original positions. Jim, on the floor watching TV; Rob on th couch reading a book; and me at the table eating cheerios. I don’t know how much time passed, but as the tears start falling in my milk, Rob gets up and leaves slamming the door behind him. You could here the his car screech away. Mom sat on the stool at the kitchen counter with her face in her hands.
The pain my Mom endured was excruciating. Maybe, as the only other female in the household, I felt the betrayal. I don’t know how the boys handled it, except to say that I know they were angry.
Their marriage had been a roller coaster anyway, so we weren’t surprised that he left. But, that does not mean that the grief of our family unit dissolving wasn’t very present. It hurt! It hurt very badly. Our lives would be different from that point on. And when you’re young, the fear of the unknown is ever present. This just polarized that fear…not to mention how the feeling of abandonment takes over and what that does to your psyche.
It was at that time, right or wrong, that I vowed that I would never place my happiness in someone else’s hands. My Mom had…and I watched as her confidence was shot down in one fell swoop. It wasn’t until Jim Robinson came into her life that I could see her smile again and the ever-so-present anxiety lift.
When I say, I didn’t know believing in myself was an option…the truth was, I didn’t think about myself in that way. Believing or NOT believing I mean. But, as I entered high school and new opportunities presented themselves, it was Jim Dad who planted the seed to develope my way of thinking. I can, without question, point to that time in my life when a personal mantra started taking shaped. It was a mindset that drove any personal success I would realize for the rest of my life. The, “I can do anything that I set my mind to!” philosophy started with his guidance, love and belief in me. It started with running. Yep - hitting the pavement… sweating, sucking it up and moving.
As a football Hall-of-Famer from
At first, he went slowly for me. I would follow him, like a quail, step-for-step! It was hard no doubt! I’d stop and bend over to catch my breath. He’d jog around me, “Come on! You can do it! Don’t stop!…Keep going!” And I would. I wasn’t about to let this old man get the best of me.
For the first 2 to 3 weeks running was hard. It was REALLY hard. But, I kept going and pushing through the shin splints and the aching muscles. After a couple weeks, I will say it started getting easier! It wasn’t long before I was going 3 to 5 miles.
Soon I found I liked going on my own. I wanted to jog. I didn’t want to run. In fact, I never went out for the cross country team. I just liked the feeling of sweating and found it was a wonderful chance just to think. I did admire those who competed in cross country. If you’ve ever run any long distance to the point of puking your guts up…you’d understand. But, you’d also question, “People do this on purpose???”
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I never really was a beer drinker…but, if that’s all there is, I suppose I could choke it down with the best of them. I was in the middle of shooting a 5-feature program for
The
On this series, KUED provided me a 5-person crew…Pat, a phenomenal photog; Kevin on audio; Nancy, the Associate Producer and Eric…our New Yorker – comic relief as well as grip. We’d already shot a couple road-trip stories and had our travels down to a science. It was with this group I learned how to play every kind of poker you could think of – and we invented a lot of our own.
Be very clear – I felt as the producer, it was my JOB, to make sure poker-playing/beer-drinking/cigar-smoking respites were crucial in any shoot schedule I devised. It was a must! I’d learned years before, if the crew is happy (maybe hung-over a time or two) – the project turns out fabulous!
With our poker, though, no money was involved – just match sticks. We were very simple…a deck of cards, bunches of matches and duct tape. That’s all we needed. The tape, by the way, was for Indian poker. Have you ever played your own hand of poker when it was stuck face-out all over your face and arms, for all the other players to see but you? Makes betting quite interesting.
So, with our Triumph in the Desert shoot, our first stop on Sunday evening was Delta,
The next morning, we start heading out into the desert. All of a sudden, there are no more paved roads. It was nothing but a dirt road that I’m sure I saw the ruts from wagon wheels. It brought back a queasy thought…I’d been lost in the desert before.....
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Leaving broadcasting was a "no option" for me. My sensibilities kicked in and there was no turning back. My personal life was excruciatingly awful. Not a "chugging along" situation...it was becoming volatile! Tom's mother, Helen, was on a rampage trying to get her thumb on me. The weak-ass Tom, was riding the fence. He didn't want Mommy "cutting the purse strings." I tried to keep things 'normal' for the girls...the undercurrent was about to spill over.
At the time, I was working at KUTV in Salt Lake and establishing a niche that proved valuable for the station, as well as completely fulfilling for me in my long-time career. The General Manager had just offered me the position as Community Affairs/Public Relations Director. It really was a compliment, because they were creating a position just for me. It would have doubled my salary. But, they wanted me to sign a 2-year contract. I was torn. I would have loved that promotion, but it was time to "shit or get off the pot" on the home front!
The decision came in one moment! We had a Nanny, of sorts. I preferred to call her a liaison - only because she came in the morning to get the girls ready for daycare. It was so much better for them not to be ripped out of bed and rushed every morning. Instead, she'd come over and calmly get them fed and ready for the day. She'd drop them off at daycare, go off to her collegte classes and pick them back up in mid-afternoon.
One morning, while I was grabbing my keys to rush out the door for a meeting, I heard Stephani asking, "Mommy, can I...???" I turned to see what she wanted, but she stopped in mid-sentence and looked at me. She wasn't talking to me...she was talking to the Nanny. For me - that was it! My career wasn't important anymore.
I turned down the job they offered with not one feeling of regret. I started freelancing for KUED, the PBS station located at the University of Utah. During this time, I separated from Tom. Strange but, most definitely needed. His dysfunction clouded the household with...hmmmm, the only word I can describe it was "evil." His greed and anger and spoiled-shit snobbery was out of hand. I repeat his so eloquently spoken sentiment, "The power of money is stronger than the fear of losing you!" Well, FUCK that shit....!!!
I needed to get myself and the girls as far away from this toxicity as possible. The Lowens were not normal by any means. They were not loving, caring people by any stretch of the imagination. Whatever agenda of control they were trying to infect my family with was not going to fly with me. Tom was already a goner!!! I do remember asking him to go down to his parent's house and take a good look around - because his mother HAD TO HAVE his "balls under glass" somewhere!
When school was out (Stephi just finished her 3rd grade year...and Kenz would be starting Kindergarten the next year)...I scooped them up and said, "WE were going to go up to Oregon and visit my Mom and Dad for awhile."
It was June of 1994. The girls and I literally "fled the scene" and flew home to Oregon...and God it felt incredible. In fact, it was the same day the whole OJ Simpson drama was playing out on TV. Why I remember that? Hell if I know. But, to be home was such a relief. To be enveloped by normal, caring family contrasted the ugliness in which we left. The relief spoke volumes. A change was inevitable.
I knew it was the right decision when after a day of looking like two "zombified" deer - Stephani and Mackenzie hooked up with a couple of playmates. It didn't take long and they were off running and laughing and playing. A small town has its benefits. And my babies were coming to life once again, as was I.....
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I carefully pull out the .357 Magnum from the cardboard box with 2 fingers. I didn’t want to get any fingerprints on the murder weapon. “It’s not loaded!” the
But, the .357 I held in my hand was the weapon used to shoot Franklin Bradshaw in the back of the head. One of the wealthiest men in the country made his fortune by starting a chain of auto parts stores and acquiring federal oil and gas leases. But, he was unassuming man who wore clothes he bought at the thrift store and used a Coors beer carton as a briefcase. In contrast, his daughter, Frances Schreuder, became the quintessential Manhattan Socialite, who thought nothing of dropping $40,000 of her father’s money on a pair of earrings.
In 1983,
It was a case that spawned two books and two television miniseries. “At Mother’s Request” was my assignment in our “Behind the Minds of Murderers” series. I was psyched, because I didn’t have to cover Ted Bundy. He gave me the eebie-jeebies. Plus, this was more recent and more interesting to me. Besides, I got to interview Stefanie Powers, whom I admired for years. She was playing
To me, Stefanie Powers was just gorgeous. I loved her and Robert Wagner in “Hart To Hart” at the time. Yep, I was star struck. When I saw her, my first impression was how teeny she was! In fact, most of the stars I met weren’t bigger than life as they seem to be on television or the big screen. She was a petite woman with big hair. This was the ‘80’s after all. When I walked up to her to shake her hand, I think I said something stupid like, “I named my daughter Stephani!” - like she gave a shit. I laugh to myself about that one now, but at the time I remember a hot flash of embarrassment.
Stefanie was a pro. We set up an interview area in the hotel, in which she was staying. As she sat down, she looked at the photographer and asked, “Is THIS how the lighting is going to be?” Jeff’s face started turning red. As an Irishman, I’d learned long before, you better know your stuff before you question his professional ability. I look at him and hoped fire wouldn’t shoot out of his nose. She redirected the lighting he had set up, “this one needs to go here and that one needs to go there!” She knew what lighting would make her look the best. I was impressed, because she was right.
She did look beautiful and was an easy interview. But, it was definitely a
It was a fun project for me that started a wonderful, professional collaboration with Ken Verdoia. Ken had an exclusive interview with
What I discovered was a man who was just as passionate and demonstrative as I was. He was friendly and generous with his insight and footage. He made me want to do a kick-ass job on this story, not only for the story’s sake, but I didn’t want to piss him off!
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What the hell was I thinking? Why would I let myself be sucked into a marriage that had “bullshit” written all over it? Well, I WASN’T thinking straight – that was the problem! The costly lessons played themselves out accordingly. Shoot me before EVER letting me do something so stupid again – OKAY!!!!
I woke up at
It was a whirlwind courtship. I had never in my life had a full court press put on me like that! Cards…phone calls…attention I had been craving for a long time. I knew Thurman Bell from school. He was a couple years in as Head Football Coach, when I was a Senior – and oh yes, Head Varsity Queen of Cheerleaders. (Shut up – yes…cheesy – I KNOOOoOOOW!!!!)
My Dad, also a coach at the time…and my brothers were athletes – our world of sports was vast in our household. I remember Thurman as one to walk around with the stern look of macho! Hey, my brothers had the same discerning glare. I was used to it and it didn’t faze or impress me!
Over the years, I had married…moved away – realized a successful career, had two beautiful girls – but, when my first marriage was clearly ending, I had to find refuge and establish a safe haven for me and my babies. First order of business going into battle – choose your battleground and strengthen your ally base! That meant, quitting my job and moving home. If for any reason, having family around to lean on and form boundaries against the enemy. It was sure to get ugly…and I needed my MOMMY!
Enter this former “character” in my life. Thurman was NOW a guidance counselor along with my Dad at the school. When dropping in to see Dad, I would always walk by and taunt Thurman. Again, I wasn’t impressed or afraid of him like so many seemed to be! “What is your REAL name anyway? Thurmando…Thurma-roosky…The Thurminator??? What???” He would just laugh – I think tickled at my bravery for just giving him shit!” Eventually, we did go play golf together. It was a game I picked up in
Mom and Dad had a fit that I was even letting “that man” into my radar. Dad, with his MS, was wheelchair bound. He told me that he would kick my ass if I kept seeing Thurman. I challenged that one – I would have LOVED for him to stand and do JUST THAT!
I will say, and Mom at one point admitted as well, that Thurman was a nice guy. I wasn’t TOTALLY blindsided. He was relentless in his pursuit. That became very apparent and I welcomed it, because his foreboding stature kept Tom away from me and the continual fall-out from the first divorce.
Thurman was at my house with me and the girls constantly. They too weren’t impressed by him…and he seemed to love that. One would fill his head with hair clips…while the other painted his toenails GREEN! It was an endearing sight – a side many would never have seen! I guess THAT was where I had let my guard down with him. I interrogated him constantly. My natural reporter instinct was always working overtime. But, I wanted to know. I needed to know what the real basis was from which he operated.
As a State Championship winning football coach, in a town that thrives in local sports – the word “God” was thrown out on a regular basis. Having been in the public eye, I knew the reality of such labels. Pretty much bullshit – but, again…what do ya do? People want to think and believe what they will and you can’t change their minds, or should you try. It’s a stigma, that takes on a life of its own if you let it! At a young age, I realized that when people would jump on my bandwagon as quickly as they jumped off! Mind check – make a note!
I thought Thurman had that perspective too. Everything he said seemed to reflect that he had a handle on it – and wanted to live an authentic life just as much as I did. For that reason, I looked to him as a kindred spirit, of sorts. Think about it…when the lights turn off on the football field and the sound of the cheering crowd fades…or the body of a former beauty queen piles with the sagging accents of a middle-aged woman, the content of our former accomplishments would give way to a life of bliss, understanding and happiness. I knew it would be absurd – picturing myself at 85-years old, in a rocking chair on the front porch donning my tarnished Miss
Fortunately, Dr. Phil (God love him) arms us with the terms that define a particular state of mind answering, “What in the hell was that?” This one was easy…it is called “Bait and Switch!”
It had been only a couple weeks into our new marriage when the ugly demons raised their ugly heads! The man was an asshole - I had been duped! On the other hand, he had never dealt with someone as strong as I was either. He had his hands full...and didn't even know it!
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I don’t know how many times I was flown to It’s funny, they never sat down. Disney’s people are always on-stage. That’s why they’re not called employees. They are called “cast-members.” Television is a ‘hurry up and wait’ business. While we were waiting for set-up or whatever, plunking on a patch of grass, studying script or resting was normal for me. But, they always stood at attention in their crisp, clean-cut way. I asked once, about this odd behavior. “It’s not professional!” I was told with a smile. Disney, in my professional experience, was a class act. They would literally close down the park for celebrities and TV crews to meander, enjoy the park and celebrate the occasion free from the hubbub of the daily masses. I saw many stars walking around with their families. It made it easy to stare and get more than a glimpse. The first thing I realized…not so surprising – they are just like US! One that intrigued me was Sylvester Stallone. Of course, in his Rocky movies he was bigger than life. But, in person, although I didn’t take out my measuring tape, he was a small man. I’m 5’7” and he didn’t seem much taller than me. Yes, he was in amazing, cut shape – but smaller than I would have thought. Or, it could have been that he was escorted by two huge, black, mean-looking bodyguards that just dwarfed him. He was at *************** 
If I’d known that life with PM Magazine Utah wasn’t going to last, I would have relished the moments. Because, in all reality, we were spoiled – we worked very, very hard, but yep, spoiled. We traveled a lot. We, basically, had a ticket to the front of the line whether it was to interview dignitaries, celebrities or just spend a day finding out more! We talked to so many interesting people and heard such amazing stories. My memory banks are full. I can honestly say, work was more fun sometimes than any leisure time I had at the time..
RFK: CASE CLOSED? 
Right beyond his hairline, you could actually stick your finger in the dent where the bullet went into his skull. Paul Shrade was part of Robert F. Kennedy’s Campaign staff, and was walking behind Kennedy when the shots rang out. He was one who survived the evening RFK was assassinated. A night that, obviously, changed his life forever - not to mention an incident that is now an historic tragedy in American history…but, Paul found himself on a mission. He didn’t believe Sirhan Sirhan was the assassin and was out to prove it. This was an intriguing story...and I was about to push the envelope once again.
I started making PM/Evening Magazine’s National Reel as a story producer. That meant, my features were starting to get aired all over the country. It tickled me to death first of all, but secondly – I was raising my own bar – challenging what I expected of myself…and it was working. My ‘No Fear’ attitude and taking chances were what earned credibility with my Consulting Producer, Stephanie Hendrix, out of our National Office in
Becoming a feature producer Stephanie consummately trusted and turned to when she wanted to step out of the "proverbial box" and force new limits nationally was more than a compliment to me. I took her challenges willingly. The controversy surrounding RFK's assassination would be shattering PM's norm - and we knew it! I would be taking an enormous chance on a story that didn’t fit the mold of the light, whimsical entertaining features for which PM Magazine had become known. Stephanie said she would ‘plead the fifth’ if questioned about slipping me the contact…I was on my own – so, this better be the absolute best feature I produced to date! Or shit was gonna hit...Oh MAN – I started sweating just thinking about it.
I flew to L.A. to meet this extraordinary man, with his extraordinary story. As a member of the AFL-CIO, Paul Shrade was passionate about injustices that existed in our world…a “right” fighter in every sense of the word. The assassination of RFK, the investigation surrounding it and the conclusions that were made – consumed him for very personal reasons. He was shot in the head for crying out loud, that would make it pretty damn personal! So, he started his own investigation and was coming up with a long list of unanswered questions. Questions that police and other law officials ignored…the next thing he knew – the case was offically closed - but, Paul was just getting started!
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UPSIDE-DOWN PILOT
Producing features, for me, was really like playing. The harder I played, the better the stories I was producing. And going into a project with a playful spirit was contagious – everyone else wanted to play to. We were like a bunch of kids trying to figure out building a tree house. If we didn’t have the ideal equipment…improvisation was half the fun.
Craig Hosking was a former helicopter pilot for KUTV and quit his job to pursue his real dream as an stunt pilot for the National Air Show circuit…his niche was landing an airplane upside down. He and his Dad worked on their biplane for years to figure out how to make it work.
Not only attaching wheels to the top of the wing…but, they had to re-work the engine and the oil system so it wouldn’t spill into itself when the plane was upside down. He, also devise an electric powered 5-point seat belt system so he could let himself down slowly when he got out of the plane. Instead of hitting the button and just falling – wouldn’t have “left a mark.” After years of perfecting his baby, he was ready to hit the circuit!
In turn, it was one of those incredible stories that fell into my lap. Craig needed video footage to promote himself…and we needed good stories! It was a perfect collaboration where everyone would win. But, to do a story about a man landing his airplane upside down…man, oh man – to do it justice was going to be the “puzzle” we got to play with that day...
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We didn’t get out much. She just didn’t really feel like it. She was content to cozy up in the recliner with her little white teacup poodle, “Sweetie” who would never leave her side. She’d nuzzle her way as close to Mom as she could get. The last time I remember Mom wanting to get out, was one morning after a shower. I had started helping her at that point, because I just didn’t want her to fall. After we got her dressed, she was looking at herself in the mirror. I asked if I could put make up on her. She always liked it when I would do her make up… again, she just liked to be “played” with. And, for some reason she thought with my background in make up – she always seemed to feel more beautiful when I did it. She didn’t realize that she was a beautiful, beautiful woman…and she didn’t need my help at all. But, I would play, and always add a little more exotic color that she wouldn’t dream of applying.
“Mom - look at how beautiful you are!” I make her look at herself. “Look at your cheek bones. Now, that you’ve lost weight, they are really sticking out there!” And she said, “Let’s go somewhere!” Mom was always a big one for “weight loss” – how shitty it was, her weight loss was coming from something that was killing her. But, we are in denial remember? And, she wanted to be seen thank you very much - with her new-found weight loss and exotic make-up. I take her to Fred Meyer of all places, that’s where she wanted to go. She could push the cart, actually using it for balance. I really didn’t need anything…so we wander around, and then head for the hats. She wanted a new hat to go with her beautiful make up. I had already bought every single hat they had…but, she wanted to look anyway. We were there all of 15-minutes and she was tired and ready to go home. To this day, I wish there were someplace I would have taken her that was, well – NOT Fred Meyer for chrissakes. But, I think she wanted to go someplace that was just normal, not special - because she wanted to feel like a normal person, without cancer.
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What I Did for Love Looking back, of course, I would be horrified if one of my daughters made the same decisions I did at the time. But, I was relentless – and when I was told “No!”…or “Can’t be done!”…or “Sorry, lady – the Airport is closed due to a thick inversion of fog – you’re gonna have to stay here for the night!”…Oh, I don’t THINK so! The moon shining on the snowy “So, where is this old goat gonna land this plane?” I wonder to myself, because * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Each contestant gets 15-minutes on the stage at Atlantic City's Convention Center, on the day of their talent competition. Fifteen minutes to work with lighting, sound and get a lay of the land before we performed before thousands of people. I take my opening pose and the music begins. I start…and just as quickly stop in my tracks. I couldn’t hear anything but the percussion. I walk over to the edge of the stage and tell the Conductor, that I was straining to hear the music and could they please turn up the volume! Did they have speakers in the wings of the stage to boost the sound – something where the music would fill my senses as it had for so many years. I start again. It was a little better, but, AGAIN I stop. I was nice about it…but again, I COULDN’T HEAR IT. After working with the same recording for 4 years, I knew and moved to each nuance of sound. In fact, there was even a little crackle in that tape that only I knew about…but, it was my song and my performance. I was petrified. Rehearsing in the hollow halls of this Convention Center you could fly a helicopter into was one thing. But I forgot...add thousands of people that literally soak up any reverberation…by the time I hit my opening position and the music began. That was it. I couldn’t hear anything except my heart beating. I strained to hear even the percussion hoping I was keeping time with the music. It was 2-minutes of absolute horror. I didn’t know if when I hit my final dramatic show-stopping move - if the music would end at the same time! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 
.....I can’t remember the pilot’s name, but with the money we’d receive from our commercial tickets, plus $25 he could fly 10 people. As it turns out, there were 9 people and one sedated German Shepard! The large kennel, in which it had been traveling, was too large for this puddle jumper…so the owner had to lay him on her lap in the back of the plane. 
By the third time, even though it was not even CLOSE to satisfactory, I go through my complete routine with the orchestra. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted my taped version back. I didn’t want to insult the great Glenn Osser, but I wanted my recorded version. But, it was set…it was already scripted in – I had no choice but to suck it up and give it my best shot. Mike Maki, the Executive Director of the Miss Oregon Pageant advised me to have my music orchestrated...saying. "The great Glenn Ossar orchestra would play my music as well, if not better than the original." Well, I took his word for it and the bastard was wrong! I was just sick and tried to psyche myself up anyway...my talent competition was that night!
I don’t have nightmares about it as much anymore, but it has gone down in my memory banks as one of the most humiliating times of my life. I could rise to any occasion. I was a pro – the show MUST go on. But, once the music started I couldn’t stop. Thousands of people were watching…it was time to compete!
Of course, the audience claps! They have “applause” signs to let the crowd know when to go wild. I give my dancer’s bow and run off stage. I immediately fall to my knees – the tears were unstoppable. I didn’t care about the competition, or screwing up any opportunity to win the crown of Miss America. The humiliation was more than I’d ever encountered. From that day forward…if it is MY ASS is on the line – I will NEVER let anyone defer my better judgement…….. 
I didn’t realize there was a problem brewing as practice continued. At the end, I went over to put my sweats on and grab my stuff to go. On the other side of the stage the current Miss Douglas County was up in arms. Heads were wagging…arms were flying in Lorraine’s face. Add a machete or two… whatever was going on wasn’t pretty.
I walk over to see what was going on, just to be stopped by Lorraine’s hand going up to me with a look of…”Don’t come over here if you value your life!” I was puzzled – the air was thick, I was going home. I was tired and my head hurt. I hadn’t been home 10-minutes when Lorraine calls to tell me what was happening. Miss Twirly Skirt wanted me replaced. I was showing off. I was up-staging her and SHE, after all, was Miss Douglas County and this was NOT the place for a Junior Miss! I was absolutely crushed. Add on the fatigue, and I begin to sob.
It was the first time I was hated just for being me. I was hated just because I existed. It became one of those pinnacle, defining moments in my life that changed my life forever. Thank God, for my Stepfather and his strong arm of reason. Thank God for the wise athletic coach who had the advice to get me through that moment and steer me correctly. Although, it didn’t make any sense how people could react so negatively and maliciously to me without provocation – I mean, I didn’t kill their fucking dog…jealousy wasn’t even part of my being. Jealousy is “green!” Jealousy leaves a bad stench in its wake. Jealousy is, by all accounts, what causes all angst in this world – I’m convinced of it! Come on people…let’s just get along. It just FEELS better.
So, how do I approach the situation now? Either, I could play it down…not jump so high with my split leap and try to “wallflower” myself into the background, OR I could keep doing what I trained to do. I chose the latter. If Miss Twirly Skirt wanted to offer a better performance – then work harder ya silly bitch.
I strapped on my set of proverbial balls and headed out to practice the next night. I set my pigtails a little higher on my head… donned my America’s Junior Miss T-Shirt and walked in ready to work! I was nice and pleasant…but, I’m sure my demeanor spoke volumes…
