BLOOPFEST

          

          Yesterday I was reminded of a couple of moments in my life so embarrassing that I felt myself blushing even after all these years. (Okay, all these decades if you are going to be technical) You see, before I found my life's calling as a wife and mother, I worked in radio, primarily as a news reporter, but always with other responsibilities added into the mix. Everyone had to pitch in back then because the FCC placed requirements on radio stations that were incredibly bizarre.  For example, they required stations to broadcast information on topics that absolutely NO ONE wanted to hear. Whether you were a Top 40 station whose audience only wanted to hear the latest hits, or you were a Christian station attempting to encourage your listeners, the Federal Government was insistent that you broadcast a certain percentage of air time on topics such as health, nutrition and education.  Never was the creativity of radio stations more apparent than in the grudging compliance of these ridiculous standards.

           One of my responsibilities at a Dallas radio station was a noon time interview program called Today in Dallas. I'm sure our precious listeners believed that we crafted the program for the sole purpose of entertainment, but that was just a hopeful by-product.  The REAL purpose for the show was to appease the FCC.         

       One day when thumbing through our stack of press releases and promotion packets I noticed that the spokesperson for the Wisconsin cheese industry was going to be in Dallas. Her title was "Alice in Dairy Land".  Not only was her enclosed fact sheet interesting and professional, but she would be a perfect interview to cover the topic of nutrition! I made the arrangements for her interview even before my morning coffee break.

        The morning of my interview, I went through my preliminaries in the production room: Reel to reel player set to record (told you this was a long time ago), possible questions prepared, etc.  When she arrived she proved to be a charming representative and I knew this would be a fun, interesting interview. The tape was cued and I began, "Welcome to Today in Dallas, this is Juanita Jackson, and my guest today is...." 

          Oops! With all my preparation I failed to get her name.  "Ha Ha, I forgot to ask your name.  Don't worry, I will edit this part out.  We can just start again."  So, armed with the correct information, we rerecorded the beginning segment and had a wonderful interview.

          By 11:00 am my interview was completed.  I took the tape into the control room while chatting with co-workers about where to grab lunch that day.  It was not until I was on the way home from lunch that my error became obvious.  I was in a car full of employees with our radio station blasting.  My friends were not about to miss an opportunity to 

embarrass me when they knew I was about to be on the air.  The intro music began, then..."welcome to Today in Dallas, this is Juanita Jackson, and my guest today is...(long painful pause affectionately know as "dead air" in the industry) Ha, Ha, I forgot to ask your name!" Suddenly I had trouble gasping for air in the crowded car, my heart was beating thunderously fast, my face was turning beet red, my friends were staring at me in confusion. "Don't worry, I will edit this part out. We can just start again," proclaimed my traitorous voice. (More dead air, much longer this time followed by loud clearing of the throat noises and my friends faces looking in stunned disbelief) Then, in my most perky voice, "Welcome to Today in Dallas...."    Miraculously, I was not fired even though every superior at the station (which was just about everyone) either gave me a stern talking to or at the very least, a knowing smirk.   To this day, I cannot hear the name of the state of Wisconsin without experiencing a flush of embarrassment.  Ironically, I cannot remember Alice in Dairy Land's real name, nor one single fact that she so generously shared with me that day. Just take my word for it, it was very interesting.

          It would be so nice to say that I never made another radio blooper, but I once had a doozy when I worked as a news reporter at a station in Abilene, Texas.  One of the first and most important lessons taught to broadcasters is to read your news copy BEFORE you go on the air.   After several years in radio, and multiple newscasts each day, I rarely stumbled over words.  I had the ability to read so quickly in my head that by the time the words came out of my mouth, they simply did not take me by surprise.  I became a little bit cocky.  Two minutes before going on the air, I would scan the news stories, accurately judge the length of time each would require, and place them in the order of importance.  I was good!   

        I might have gotten away with this habit much longer were it not for the crisis in Iran.  Imagine a world BEFORE terrorism, when the name "Iran" conjured up vague images of a wealthy Shah, and beautiful hand-woven rugs.  Sure, the Shah had been deposed, but the country would come to their senses soon.  Meanwhile there were a few scattered news stories about an upstart Ayatollah Khomeini, whose name, I was very proud to acknowledge, I could pronounce without the aid of the pronunciation guide that was included in some news stories.  I was good!   

      Imagine my surprise when I launched into my lead news story one day with my most authoritative voice, and found, buried in the third sentence, the word "Shiite" Muslim.  Picture, if you will, the familiar scene of Wylie Coyote chasing the Roadrunner, but having to come to a screeching halt before falling over the abyss.  That is a pretty accurate picture of my flawless newscast until I reached the abyss.  I mumbled the word which sounded like "shhheeet Muslim", then continued as if I meant to say it that way.  You can fool some people with confidence.  Maybe I was not as good as I thought.                                                           

        As I reminisced about these bloopers just yesterday, I could feel my face turning red all over again.  I found an old photo of my radio days, and also a photo of my youngest daughter during her summer internship at South Carolina's Public Broadcasting. She may have inherited my voice, but she seems to have avoided the "Deep Doo Doo" gene.  Well, you can't have everything.      

PASSING THE TORCH, CAREFUL, IT'S HOT

  
        If you peek into my house today, you might think it looks sort of empty.  After all, it is a rather large house for two people, and you probably wouldn't see all that I see.  For example, if we walked out on the back deck, you would see a well-used gas grill, but I see much more.  I see a cute little five year old girl looking earnestly into my face as I frantically watch over the sizzling burgers. 
 I hear her troubled little voice as she hesitatingly utters these words,                     "Mommy, I think I'm becoming a virgin."  I see myself juggling the burgers that I almost dropped as I try to compose myself enough to reply.  "Noooo, Sweetie.  You were born a virgin.  What do you mean?"  I see her confused expression as she explains. "Well...I don't think I like meat anymore."

          When I walk into the guest bedroom, I don't always see the full size bed that sits so predominately under the window, but I see two little twin beds and the little boys who knew how to stretch a 10 minute bedtime ritual into a thirty minute marathon of questions, songs and prayers.  Let's face it, there may be nothing more profound than the prayers of three and four year olds.  I wonder if they were just playing one of their favorite games of "Stump Mommy" because that is often what they did.
         On the night that "Daddy Fogle" passed away, it was obvious that the boys had loads of questions about Heaven.  The room was lighted only by the gentle glow of a night light, and one question was quickly followed by another, and I could tell that Stephen was troubled by something.   I should explain that he was always my little climber. Agility and athleticism just as much a part of him as his blue eyes.  The questions kept coming.  "Will we be angels?  Will we have wings?  Will we be able to fly?"  But one that stumped me was Stephen's troubled and frustrated query. "Will there be trees in Heaven?" 

Hmmm, that's a tough one.  Then I remembered the verses  that describe a river, the throne of God, a street of the city, and the tree of life.  None of that description (in Rev. 22) makes me think of floating around on a cloud, playing a harp.  After considering for a few minutes I was able to tell him (with conviction) that there would indeed be trees in Heaven. His tense little shoulders relaxed and a smile lit up his face as he said, "Do you think God would let me climb trees?"  I always try to be truthful with my  children, so I gladly answered, "I don't see why not."
         The sun room is filled with visions of all four of the kids playing Liverpool Rummy with blood-thirsty glee.  I treasure every moment of motherhood.  Even now, as they are all grown and living in other States (I don't want to hear any more complaints from friends that their children live an HOUR away) I am comforted in knowing that each of them (and now three exceptional spouses too) live lives of honor and value in the families they are building. 

           This is the first Mothers Day where I have the joy of seeing one of my own children embarking on this same incredible journey of motherhood.  I am passing the torch to my children's generation knowing
full well, that they will get scorched a little as they carry on.  But the joy is also unsurpassed.  And, of course, now I get to embark on the journey of grand-parenting which is essentially the fun parts of parenting without the annoying bits like "responsibility". 

        I am up for the challenge.  So...Happy Mother's Day, to my children!