suppose some portion of the population will feel sympathy for us. Then there will be those who whisper in small circles at the bingo hall or in the produce aisle of the grocery store, who click their tongues over our hardship, but secretly give praise to the deity of misfortune for finally leveling the playing field.
Politics is like that. So is celebrity. So is my family.
Of course, we knew the nation’s first female vice president would be polarizing. We prepared ourselves for the onslaught, braced for the impact. My mother knew she would be both beloved and reviled. She spent her entire adult life cultivating the image that would take her straight to the top. She put in her time as a state legislator in upstate New York, and then started to think about the United States Senate, though Washington had no idea what it was getting. Off she went, this hot, young mother of three with America’s favorite former quarterback staying home to raise the kiddies. All over the country, women began to look at their beer swigging, lazy-ass husbands snoring on the couch with a brand new perspective.
“Why can’t you be more like him?” they would ask.
With my mother taking D.C. by storm, Brett Sheridan became the poster child for domestic daddy-hood. A tasty piece of eye candy for all the housewives sick and tired of cooking dinner, hauling laundry, and playing taxi driver while their husbands went for cocktails after work.
Soon enough, heavyweight names began to sniff around, looking to get involved with this rising star from the ground up. They worked on polishing her message, getting her ready for the big time. She was everything they had been looking for. Better yet, she was willing to go all the way no matter who went down in flames around her.
That would be us, to a certain extent. To fit the brass ring firmly on her finger, my mother had to sacrifice. Serious contenders need a singular focus. So systematically, we were lead along a gilded path straight to the guillotine. My mother knew what this life entailed, and she entered willingly, fully expecting that we were all in on the big secret. That this journey can be a whirlwind of good fortune but we had better be prepared to accept the short straws that come along, too.
Not that I ever had a choice in the matter.
Do I sound bitter? Am I? Probably, a little.
I had to come to terms early in life with the idea that I may have fine clothes, and smart people around me teaching me important things, but I did not have a mother who met me at the door with chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven.
Not even once.
I’m the oldest child in this family of five. I love my sister and brother but because my mother was on this meteoric rise from the time we were little, there was some dysfunction planted long ago. Just like the sunflower that sprouts in late summer, you can bet it has grown tall and strong ever since. You wouldn’t know it just by looking at us. From the outside, you might just think we had it all.
While my mother’s career was exploding, my father’s was unwinding. They have been together a long time, the golden couple. Her opponents made a good case that she was nothing more than a sports wife who had benefited by national exposure and strong name recognition. In some circles, that stuck, but spend two minutes with her and you’ll see she is no slouch in the brains department, and by all means she is her own woman. She had a bunch of degrees hanging on the wall and had already logged long hours in a law firm when she first met my father. He was a few years older, had that whole professional athlete thing going on, and came at her with the kind of swagger only a few men can legitimately pull off. The rest, as they say, is history.
Theirs is a good kind of love, I suppose. They have each other’s backs all the time. When you get one, you get the other and God help you if you try to come between them. All these years later, they are still each other’s biggest fans.
Two of a kind, success stories crafted out of pure human will.
I remember being thrilled when my sister came along, then my brother after that. Kelby and Kass are just a year apart, so we are all pretty close in age. I love them both, but we are very different. On the other hand, maybe I’m the one who is different. In many ways, they’re actually a lot alike.
My dad had just about ripped his shoulder apart by the time he was forty, and thank God, he had the wisdom and humility to step aside while he was still whole. Somehow, he avoided giving in to that nauseating ego that keeps aging athletes in the game far past their expiration dates. He admitted toward the end it got harder to get up from beneath the bulk that had just pummeled him into the turf. He began to worry about the blitzes. He knew he was losing his touch. At just the right time, he hung it up. Once he retired, my parents built a sprawling but comfortable ranch on fifteen acres in a small town. After all the adulation, glitz and glamour they were ready to slow down and raise their kids.
Or so they said. In reality it didn’t slow down, not for long anyway. Political ambition has a funny way of turning into the elephant in the room. Once that world came calling on bended knee we were off and running again.
It’s not like we were ignored, or raised by a gaggle of nannies, or even homeschooled. Sure, they were busy but my parents were involved during those early years. They were authentic in their hope that we would see parts of the real world their wealth and fame might otherwise have buried from sight. They told us early and often that we all had a responsibility to live with dignity, respect others, appreciate what we had, and work for what we wanted.
It is because of my parents’ almost altruistic shove into Mrs. Dupont’s second grade class that I found my dearest friend. I consider it an act of fate because there would have been absolutely no conceivable way I would have met Lauren had I gone to any of those private elementary schools that kept girls in pigtails, plaid skirts, and bad attitudes for their entire adolescence.
Lauren was bold and brash, almost cocky if you can say that about a seven-year-old. She was as irresistible to me as a cold Popsicle on a hot summer day. In no time, we were inseparable.
Our small town was unable to keep her around for very long. Blessed with the voice of an angel, Lauren is one of the most naturally talented women I have ever known. She packed her bags, hopped on a plane, and headed to the West Coast the day after we graduated from high school. She had contacts rather than friends, and about enough cash on hand to rent some shitty East Hollywood apartment. She would call me every Tuesday, reverse the charges, and spill her guts in ninety seconds or less. She found a part time job in some trendy Melrose second-hand clothing store, so her afternoons were open for auditions. Soon enough, she was singing jingles for TV commercials and doing background vocals for up and coming bands. Her wings were spreading, but it was a grind, and Lauren had about as much patience as a junkie in a church pew. She struggled for a while, trying to stand out in a sea of equally talented, physically flawless competitors. Who actually got the part was a crapshoot because for the most part she was as interchangeable as the rest of them.
It was a vicious, twisted world that snuffed out too many dreams, but every now and again, the magical mix of opportunity and timing paid off. It happened right before her self-imposed Hollywood age limit was set to expire. Lauren made a promise to herself she would pack her bags and her ego if nothing significant had happened by the time she was twenty-five. About six months before that fated birthday arrived, Lauren’s agent got an interesting offer. The executive director of the longest running soap opera, A Life in Progress, caught a glimpse of Lauren’s demo reel and fell in love with her dark, stormy face and her deep, perfectly pitched voice. The part was meaty, much more challenging than Lauren had ever imagined, and she became a true soap star in no time, earning two Daytime Emmy nominations, a significant extension on her original contract, and a steady paycheck that kept her on the good side of the Hollywood sign.
Best
