"My Wish is For World Peace"
At the end of my senior year in high school there was only one thing I wanted-- (other than a date with Curtis Beezer)-- I wanted to be Miss Mini-Cassia. This was the local pageant that led to Miss Idaho, and ultimately, the grand prize of all prizes--Miss America. I'd been dreaming of this since I was 7 and watched Burt Parks sing, "There She Is" on our old console tv.
So, I entered the pageant. After weeks of rehearsals, cat-walk practice, and honing my amazing dance, (which I, sadly, choreographed myself), the night came. I felt dazzling in my silver, sparkly evening gown and spray painted shoes. At the end of the pageant, we were to share a quote or dream. Did I stand there with my bouffant hair and red lipstick, and say, "I want world peace." ? No, I made up some dumb thing about looking to the future. I don't think that's what lost the pageant for me. (Could it have been my terrible routine to "What a Feeling"? Maybe.) But, I'm sure it didn't help.
I should have asked for world peace.
Because if I'd known anything about my future, I'd have known that world peace begins at home. And, if, like my dumb saying suggested, I could have 'looked to the future' and seen what lay in store, I could have guessed that in a home filled with six boys, peace is just a pipe dream.
We have arguments that no Geneva Summit could solve. Turns on the Wii, who gets the last brownie, and, honestly, who has to clean the toilet--talk about a cold war. There's yelling and threats and way too much of, "Mo-o-o-m!!!!" I'm supposed to be the arbitrator, but seriously, most days my approach run towards, "Everyone just go to their rooms!"
Wait. Maybe I'm on to something. Maybe that's what the world needs. It needs a Mom. Someone who could step in and tell everyone to just take a time-out. Go to your countries, and leave everyone else the heck alone. And, don't come out until I say.
That might work.
Until then, I'm trying a new peace-keeping tactic. Locking myself in my room. I may practice my cat-walk. Or tease my hair into a bouffant style. And, listen to this.
(Thanks to my sweet friend, Mamaleisha for the topic suggestion. If you have a suggestion for something for me to write about, leave it in the comments.)
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| (Miss America 1985-Sharlene Wells-Hawks) |
So, I entered the pageant. After weeks of rehearsals, cat-walk practice, and honing my amazing dance, (which I, sadly, choreographed myself), the night came. I felt dazzling in my silver, sparkly evening gown and spray painted shoes. At the end of the pageant, we were to share a quote or dream. Did I stand there with my bouffant hair and red lipstick, and say, "I want world peace." ? No, I made up some dumb thing about looking to the future. I don't think that's what lost the pageant for me. (Could it have been my terrible routine to "What a Feeling"? Maybe.) But, I'm sure it didn't help.
I should have asked for world peace.
Because if I'd known anything about my future, I'd have known that world peace begins at home. And, if, like my dumb saying suggested, I could have 'looked to the future' and seen what lay in store, I could have guessed that in a home filled with six boys, peace is just a pipe dream.
We have arguments that no Geneva Summit could solve. Turns on the Wii, who gets the last brownie, and, honestly, who has to clean the toilet--talk about a cold war. There's yelling and threats and way too much of, "Mo-o-o-m!!!!" I'm supposed to be the arbitrator, but seriously, most days my approach run towards, "Everyone just go to their rooms!"
Wait. Maybe I'm on to something. Maybe that's what the world needs. It needs a Mom. Someone who could step in and tell everyone to just take a time-out. Go to your countries, and leave everyone else the heck alone. And, don't come out until I say.
That might work.
Until then, I'm trying a new peace-keeping tactic. Locking myself in my room. I may practice my cat-walk. Or tease my hair into a bouffant style. And, listen to this.
(Thanks to my sweet friend, Mamaleisha for the topic suggestion. If you have a suggestion for something for me to write about, leave it in the comments.)
I think you really are on to something. I work in a halfway house for recovering addicts and alcoholics and the Mom approach has worked wonders for me. I have been known to trot out middle names when things got ridiculous enough. Some of the guys are deeply offended by being treated "like children," but perhaps not coincidentally, those are the ones who behave the most childishly and eventually many of them realize the connection and start behaving better--at least while "Mom" is looking. :)
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