ON IMPORTANCE

My longtime pal Rick sent me a nice email yesterday about who is most important in the world. It’s not the rich and famous but those who make an impact on your life. The email said few people remember the names of the Nobel Prize winners, or the richest people in the world, or the last five Miss Americas, etc. True.

There was a time, however, many decades ago, when I could recite the names of more than five Miss Americas. I would get so excited about the big pageant in Atlantic City that I would pretend to be a judge and keep a score card. Mama Bore would watch the TV show with me, knowing full well that I, her no-talent, buck-toothed third child, would never achieve the ideal status of a Miss America or wear any type of crown for that matter. But she never rubbed it in.

Years later, in my twenties, I found a kindred Miss America-viewing spirit in the Library Lady. By then, though, it was more for kicks than for any admiration. At the time, even the Miss Kansas pageant was televised. I think we quit watching after one contestant’s grand finale to her talent presentation was doing the splits atop two kitchen chairs. Now, you might ask, “How does a human being do this?” Well, she started by having the backs of the chairs close together, balanced on the tops, then gradually spread her legs until she landed into something that was well beyond splits. She still had a smile on her face, but Library Lady and I were grimacing for weeks afterward.

I think the Miss America pageant started going downhill when host Bert Parks was canned. That “There She Goes” song just wasn’t the same after he was pushed out. It also didn’t help that a few winners had to give up their crown due to having nude photos in their resumes, shamey shame. The major TV networks dropped the show and it ended up lost somewhere on cable. I haven’t watched it in over 20 years. So, Rick is right. Being a Miss America is nothing in the grand scheme of life.

Mama Bore still considers me her favorite middle child, my cats adore the hand that feeds them and cleans their messes, and Big Bore thinks I’m the hottest 60-year-old on the block. One can’t ask for more.