Dear Spike:
Maybe, by the time you’re old enough to even recognize such things, the Miss America pageant will have faded into history like other throwback eccentricities of the 20th Century. A little footnote, it might then be, about how our society once found it appropriate to grade women like so much cattle through an auction yard.
More likely, the famous beauty pageant — which began as an Atlantic City bathing suit review and now bills itself as the nation’s largest “scholarship program” for young women — will still be around, the cultural causatum of a time in which it was acceptable to believe that women had a “proper place” in our society. And as such, it will be just one more thing you’ll have to contend with as you try to sort out what it means to be a woman in our nation, in our world, in our time.
I’m still sort of shaking my head over the surreal assignment I received to cover the pageant in Las Vegas this past weekend. The angle itself was worthy enough: “Miss Utah” Jill Stevens was a combat medic who did a tour of duty in Afghanistan. Her decision to compete for a tiara to go with her Kevlar helmet — and the widespread support she received in that endeavor — may be a clue into the changing way in which our nation has come to see veterans.
At least, that was the noble premise of the assignment that had me immersed in pageant-girl culture for three days.
But it nonetheless was strange — and more than a little bit uncomfortable for me as the recently minted father of a beautiful baby girl. The little four and five-year-old pageant girls who dotted the Planet Hollywood Resort and Casino were, to put it crassly — and, in fact, mildly — just a little bit creepy. That’s to say nothing of their mothers, one of whom I saw Christening her daughter in a thick cloud of hairspray while riding up an escalator in the casino and another of whom I overhead telling her little girl that Miss America would “never, ever, ever eat at a buffet!”
At one point I overheard Stevens mumble that she’d rather be back in Afghanistan. And I could relate.
And then my mind started to wander, as it sometimes does these days, 20 years into the future. . . Would I prefer you to be parading in a swimsuit on a casino stage or ducking incoming fire in another unnecessary war?
It’s a false choice, of course, as it is far more likely that you will be doing neither of those things. But I suppose the incredibly disparate possibilities do say something about just how far we’ve come away from the idea that there is any one “proper place” for women in America.
That’s a start. And I suppose it gives me hope that you’ll never be under the impression that high heels, swimsuits and evening gowns are in any way a prerequisite for being a woman.
Love,
dad
3 comments:
Sigh. I've been a reader of yours for quite a while, but I need to respond to this. You see, I was actually Miss Maryland a coupla years ago, and I competed at Miss America.
Yes, I wore the heels and the swimsuit and gown. But I never thought those things were a "prerequisite for being a woman."
In fact, I believe the local bars and nightclubs obectify women more that Miss America. At least the pageant evaluates more than just sex appeal and ability to bump and grind on the dancefloor.
I share your disgust at the little girls prancing around with crowns and the mother with the hairspray. You won't ever see my child in a pageant. However, what a grown woman over the age of 18 decides to do is quite a different story.
I was a 21 year old trained vocalist looking for some public speaking experience, a way to get involved in more community service, and get some help paying for college. Mom and Dad were pretty poor, and my scholarship from my school wasn't enough.
Winning Miss Maryland allowed me to volunteer for a year, network with people I'd otherwise never have met (which led to a job), and most importantly earned me $20,000 in scholarships. So, yes, it is indeed a scholarship program.
I don't ask that everyone out there love the Miss America program. But I think it is often unfairly judged by people, including you, who don't truly know what a great asset it is for the young women who get involved. You don't have to change your mind about the overall premise of Miss America, but I wish you and others would stop being so judgemental. Wondering if you'd prefer your daughter face mortal danger in combat, as opposed to the Miss America stage... well, it's a bit melodramatic.
That said, love your blog. Spike's adorable, you write beautifully, and she's lucky to have these letters from you when she grows up. I'll continue to enjoy reading, despite our difference of opinion on this issue. :)
p.s. I love buffets, by the way. I don't know where that woman heard that one. There's no anti-buffet clause in the Miss America contract, in case anyone is wondering. But then again, maybe my buffet habit is why I didn't win the big prize. Hmmm....
Always find common ground...
"You won't ever see my child in a pageant. However, what a grown woman over the age of 18 decides to do is quite a different story."
Agreed.
Thanks for reading Spike's blog, Kelly, and for speaking your mind.
- Spike's dad
My husband was entirely smitten with Miss Utah.
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