MARY ANN FITZMORRIS

No pain, no fame

In middle class American culture, parents will do just about anything for their children. Sometimes it costs time, sometimes money, sometimes pain. Regardless, if at all possible, the parent delivers. My committment to this duty had its greatest test last month. My son’s desire involved all three, but it was the pain that concerned me most. Ever since the kid saw screaming people holding signs for a brief second of camera time on the Today show, being one of them has been on his agenda. On our recent trip to New York, it was definitely on our list of things to do. We inquired about it immediately, on our cab ride to the hotel. The affable driver replied with a chuckle, “Yeah, I see those fools every morning about four o’clock. They come out of their hotels carrying those goofy signs. I just laugh and laugh.” “Well, my son and I want to be a couple of those dummies, so what do you suggest?” I asked, feeling really foolish. “Just get out early. Really early,” he advised, still shaking his head. Early is a word my husband doesn’t hear on vacation, so I knew I’d have to be Parent-On-Duty, singular. At 4 a.m. on the streets of New York, I was genuinely fearful of who else might be “out there.” Who knows, the Today show dummies might have created a whole new cottage industry for street predators. Not wanting to be one of their prey, the logistics of this had to be carefully considered. And I considered it for three days. But safety was not the only reason I looked upon this adventure with dread. It was cold! Bitterly cold! Every time the hotel doors opened, they blew in with a gust of Arctic air that literally knocked us back for a second. I couldn’t imagine facing that so early in the morning. To say nothing of standing in it for four hours. The words of an ex-boyfriend, a television videographer, came to mind. “Some people will do anything to get on TV,” he always marvelled. And I had become one of them. In keeping with family policy, I waited until the last minute to make a decision on whether or not I would come through for my son. The temperature outside had dampened his enthusiam for the idea anyway. But I had a strategy, and I was hoping to get the spouse to go along. Things went exactly as I had hoped. The blizzard on Saturday morning flushed out all but the really nutty diehards. As the camera panned the barricades, it was mostly barricades! Only an occasional giddy screamer. “Let’s get down there quick!” I urged, since we were planning to play in the snow anyway. He glared from under his warm covers. His party pooping chum, my daughter, was still sleeping. My son, with coat on, begged loudly enough to wake his sister, and they grudgingly got ready for a morning in the snow. We trudged to the subway station, the kids throwing snowballs all the way. It was 8:30 a.m. by the time we arrived. Only 30 minutes left to get our half second of fame. Evidently, a number of other people had devised the same strategy, because the crowd had grown considerably since we last saw the television. So had the storm. Fortunately, a small outlet of Dean & DeLuca on the corner offered shelter from the blizzard, and, more important, coffee for my husband. He and his little gal pal went inside, while my son and I began to jockey for position. We found a spot, and I soon realized that my son had caught the essence of this idea, and I hadn’t. It wasn’t so much about being on television; it was just fun! There is a friendly rivalry; everyone is laughing, and soon it doesn’t matter who gets on. You meet people, swap strategies, and large monitors on the building let you know if you were successful. Whenever the cameramen came out, people ran from Dean & DeLuca like rats emptying the building, until the lens focused on the windows of the shop, showing the smart, warm people. The camera showed kids building a snowman, and people sent their children to get in the shot. My son made it a point to just be wherever the camera was. At 9:59:00 EST, his persistence paid off. He made it, we had a blast, I delivered!