This is your life

"THIS!"

"IS!"

"YOUR!"

"LIFE!"

The audience bursts into applause.

I'm standing on the white stage facing three doors. "Oh great," I sigh quietly to myself as I roll my eyes. Just what I needed...

The host bounces on stage and the audience roars even louder. The annoying music begins to dingle in the air...

How long is this going to take?

"Welcome! Welcome EVERYBODY!" the host yells from his perma-smile. He's a handsome man in his late 60s, but he has the energy of a teenager. His hair is immaculate, and his suit is crisp and deep blue. Very retro; but it works. I squint as he heads towards me. The studio lights are reflecting off his white teeth.

"Today's contestant is a 32 year old Television Producer, Director, and Writer. Some of you may be familiar with her work!"

The audience applauds.

"But, enough of that. Let's get started. Welcome KAAAARRRREN!" he sings.

"Hi," I say. I half-turn to face the studio audience and give a meek waive. I'm hoping this will be quick and painless. Don't these people have anything better to do today? Really? A daytime game show when the weather is nice and they could be laying on a beach -- and yet, they choose to come hear and voyeur some unknown like myself?

"NOW!" says our host through his glaringly white smile, "Tell the audience a little about your accomplishments to date!"

I stall. My accomplishments to date? Uh...what accomplishments?

I look back over my shoulder. The nannies, out-of-towners, and retirees all stare back stoically.

"Well..." I droll. "Funny, you should mention it -- because, well, I haven't really accomplished anything." I say matter-of-fact.

"Nonsense!" yells the host and raises his arm for Door #1 to open.

The audience roars.

Sigh.

Behind it I see scenes from my childhood; hide n' seek with the neighborhood kids, riding my bicycle to the corner store for popsicles, dancing in my dress-up clothes, taking my oath at brownies, baseball games, and family birthday parties. It finally stops on me making snow angels.

"Awww..." the audience coos.

The scene plays out a bit more; so I watch. My mother struggles through the snow banks in the schoolyard in her retro-seventies burgundy pleather coat, bell bottom jeans, and and platform boots. She's out of breath and holding my baby sister.

"Karen!" she yells, "what are you doooing?" She struggles a bit more through the snow to get to me.

"I'm making Angels mummy!" I say, as I pay no attention to her and stare straight ahead towards the sky. The clouds roll past rather swiftly.

"You were suppose to be home from school 20 minutes ago!" she yells, "I had to bundle up your sister and trek all the way out here. I've been calling your name all the way down the block!"

"I know," I say.

She plunks down beside me, and looks me straight in the eye. She's too exhausted and overwhelmed to discipline me at this point.

"Karen," she says quietly, "why would you worry mummy like that? You know you were suppose to come home straight after school."

I start to feel bad as I watch the scene play out. I have a vague recollection of that day.

"C'mon," my mother says and stands to head back home.

"No!" I say.

The audience laughs.

"What do you mean 'no'? GET UP!" my mother snaps.

"No, mummy. I don't want to!" I yell back with my stubborn little 5 year old voice. I continue to make snow angels and ignore her.

"Karen -- get up right now!"

"No, mummy! I won't! I won't! Go away and leave me alone!"

"You little..." my mother begins then quickly edits herself. Left with no other choice she begins to struggle with me -- which is no easy feat. My jaw drops as I watch the scene play out -- but I was only 5 years old. Between the baby, the snowbanks, and my full-blown resistance; my mother has her work cut out for her.

The wrestling continues for quite some time -- and eventually, I cave.

"You're a mean mummy!" I yell at her and walk ahead. I have the advantage. I'm lighter than her and not wearing platform boots so I can maneuver through the snow banks faster than her. I race all the way home with my mother skidding 100 yards behind me, and yelling at me to slow down.

"No! I won't! You CAN'T MAKE MEEEEE!" I scream back and run even faster.

The audience is silent. I'm mortified.

"Well! A precocious little monkey weren't we?" chimes the host and raises his arm again for Door #2 to open.

I wince. I run through the rolodex in my mind of other bad behaviours and accept that all my dirty laundry is going to be spilled out before a live studio audience.

The second door opens and it's scenes from the present; me working on set, hanging with my friends, typing away at my computer, a bridesmaid costume, another bridesmaid costume, and another one, backpacking through Italy, break ups, first kisses, regrets, heartaches and failures. Eventually it stops on a scene of me crying in my bed surrounded by mounds of crumpled tissues.

A woman in the back row sniffles.

"Now," says the host "how does an intelligent, precocious, and vivacious young woman such as yourself end up loosing sight of herself?" he asks.

I pause for a moment.

"I guess, I forgot who I really was?" I say. I think about it a bit more. I guess we all feel invincible during childhood, but circumstances being what they may -- eventually the world will beat it out of you. But only if you let it.

"I stopped believing in myself," I whisper quietly.

The bells go off as soon as I say this; ding! ding! ding!

"Bravo! Bravo, my dear!" says the host, and the audience roars into applause. I ask him what's behind Door #3, and without missing a beat, he simply says:

"That's for you to decide."




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