Young Woman of the Year

     When I was a senior in high school, I participated in a, a, a, um, a pageant. For some reason, they renamed the pageant that year. For that year and that year only, it was called Young Woman of the Year (in an attempt to shed the stereotypical label, I'm sure). Then the name returned to America's Junior Miss. I got involved at my mother's urging. She thought I could earn some money for college. It certainly wasn't because I had tall bangs. (In High School, I didn't know much about make-up or hair-styling. In those days, I didn't even pluck my eyebrows.)
     My friend Becca has recently become heavily involved (guffaw!) in her local America's Junior Miss pageant chapter, and she turned to me for counsel, the kind of wise counsel only a former participant can offer. [In talking to Becca, I found out that this pageant is huge in Idaho. Perhaps my mother - an Idahoan - knew about the pageant from her growing up years in the gem state. Perhaps she'd heard of it through the pageant's most famous alumi (or is it alumna?): Diane Sawyer.]
     My YWY adventures were indeed adventurous. My father braved a Minnesota blizzard to pick up the lacy dress I was to wear, for starters. I played a piano something or other at the at-large competition and won that round, giving me a berth at the state comp. (That's short for competition.) The state-wide competition was held in Burnsville, I believe, and I spent a week (missing school) at the competition. I remember fondly that due to a coincidence in scheduling, I spent the previous January week in Orlando with the Tigerettes dance squad and arrived at the YWY competition more tan than I had ever been ... or would ever be. As someone who usually reddens and has never braved a tanning bed, this was a feat. 
     Our friendly week-long competition included dance practice, talent practice, service opportunities and a fashion show at some big mall in that part of the cities. I have lots of 3X5 pictures (fuzzy, blurry and grainy) documenting our fun. I know my parents worked very hard to arrange sponsorships, and they paid for me to rent a tuxedo (yes, for real. It was 1990). I was to wear said tuxedo during the talent portion of the competition, and I had prepared a violin solo. 
     Two minutes before I was to go on stage, my violin string broke. It was as though time stood still, Matrix-style, while the string snapped and flailed. I got a little panicky backstage while I tried to problem-solve. Restringing the violin wasn't a great option. New strings don't hold well at first and I didn't want sliding pegs. What to do? The piano was rolled on and off depending on the talent at hand, and I knew there wouldn't be a piano out there when my name was called. I had one option: singing. 
     Now, it would have been lovely if I possessed a lyrical memory like Becca (teach them that, Becca, teach them that!), but I don't. I have a hard time remembering lyrics to songs. I know the notes but not the words. I knew one song - "As Long As He Needs Me" from "Oliver!" - since I had just played the role of Nancy in our E.T.C. summer musical production. As you may recall, "Oliver!" is set in Victorian England. I do not believe women wore tuxedos back then. Oh well. The evening's M.C.s announced that my string had broken and that I would be singing instead, and then I walked to the center of the stage and did my best. I love singing but I'm no Broadway soloist. I'm the person with whom you might want to sing a duet because I can carry my part and harmonize well. 
     I managed to wow them despite my vocal limitations. In the end, I was awarded first runner-up. I was the 2nd place Young Woman of that Year! I'm quite sure I received this honor because of the broken string. Had my original talent been the singing of that song, my act would have been filed under mediocre, but I managed to stand out because of the minor stringed catastrophe. It was the beginning and end of my pageant days, and I walked away with $1500 for college. Yes, college scholarships - that's what YWY was all about. (No bathing suit portion, thank goodness!)

     Now on to the reason I wanted to post this in the first place. Annie is collecting trophies and medals. She has a few she's earned but has added to the stash Kyle's sole golf trophy and my giant medallion from my time in YWY. She held it up this morning and attempted to read the scripty wording. 

"Mom, were you really America's Ginormous Miss?"

Gulp. Hope not ...