Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Special Treat –  Jennifer Oliver

February 22, 2008

Perky Game

Jennifer Oliver

 I would've made a great cheerleader, cheering my little heart out in a cute little skirt, swishing maroon-and-gold pom-poms, flirting with football players. I would've made a great cheerleader if it weren't for stage fright, not to mention those mind...numbing...splits.

My older sister, Tomi, was a cheerleader in high school and college. She excelled in gymnastics, wore the homecoming queen crown, won local beauty contests, was a straight-A student, your basic all-around wholesome girl next door. People were always drawn to her light, her enthusiasm for life, a natural shoo-in for the Nobel Prize for Perkiness.

In 1973 and 1974, Tomi was a contestant on "Match Game." The thrill of watching my sister on nation-wide television, bantering with celebrities and raking in big money, was incalculable. Tomi's earnings from that game show helped finance the wedding of her dreams, in which my little sister and I happily played out our roles as flower girls.

A few years following Tomi's game-show success, another sister of mine, Kim, decided to try her luck on "Wheel of Fortune." In order to qualify as a contestant, Kim had to undergo several preliminary trials with timed tests. Part of the screening process also required showing the potential candidates examples of the kind of contestant the production company was seeking. They directed everyone's attention to the television set, which flashed a series of ideal contestants from past game shows.

Kim nearly fell out of her chair.

One of the ideal contestants looked very familiar: it was our sister, Tomi, in all her perky glory, joking with celebrities in "Match Game '73."

Kim was sorely disappointed when she was ineligible to participate on the "Wheel of Fortune." Not that she was lacking the perky gene. Far from it. The timed tests simply proved to be too rigorous for her.

Last summer, our organization's quarterly Hail & Farewell went with a "Beach Party" theme where we twisted and hula-hooped to 1960s music, tossing beach balls from table to table. The crowd sported straw hats, snorkeling gear, open-toed sandals, Hawaiian shirts, white-gooed noses.

And then there was the contest to determine, by applause, who was decked out in the best beach outfit.

Someone tagged me as a contender. What, me?! A contestant?! But my outfit was nothing special!

I stood next to six other women who wore beautiful sarongs and the like. There it was again. Stage fright. I wanted to slink back to my chair, back to the comfort zone of anonymity.

The first woman stepped forward. The audience clapped their approval of her outfit.

"Yeah, Gayle, WHOO-HOO!" I yelled above the applause. "Doesn't she look great, everyone?!"

I clapped my swimming fins together and yelled out, "I'm her biggest fin!"

If I was going to be mortified, might as well go out blazing.

Then it was my turn.

In my sandals, shorts, peach-colored top, I trudged forward, hugging an armful of pool noodles and a beach ball, clutching several swimming fins, and hoisting over my shoulder a bulging bag of everything my four children would need at a beach: towels, bottles of sunscreen, swimming goggles, snorkeling equipment.

It was my portrayal of a very tired Mom at the beach.

One by one, as each lady stepped forward, I yelled and slapped the fins together, telling each one I was her biggest fin.

After the applause had died down, the MC looked at me and said, "Folks, this is a first. A contestant cheering on her own opponents?!"

A roar from the crowd sealed it for the MC. "Jennifer, I declare you the winner!"