Cops, Robbers and Bunnies

We all know God could have stopped Adam and Eve from eating the forbidden fruit. But He didn’t. Free will. 

Choice is a tricky thing; Adam and Eve missed their full potential because of it. I know I’m not the only one who can relate.

In second grade I wrote a story about a bunny that my teacher submitted to a publisher. I remember the principal and teacher waiting for me in the hall. I thought I was in trouble.

Instead, they said the publisher wanted to turn my story into a book. “They want you to write about what happens to the bunny after he goes in his hole,” my teacher said excitedly.

I froze. Pitch black darkness, that’s what happens. Maybe the bunny dies down there. 

“I don’t know what happens,” I said. Second grade and already paralyzed by the fear of failure.

Years later as a TV crime reporter, I’d graduated from writing about bunnies to writing about burglars and bank robbers. The networks soon came calling.

“We have a position for you,” said Joan at CBS New York. Instantly, I was back in second grade. 

Pitch black darkness. Maybe the bunny dies. 

“I just started my job," I said. It’s too cold there.” Lame excuses.

“You have to write about it,” my friend Maria urged, “It's relevant. Overcoming fear is part of the process." 

Deal with it, she insists, "because something big is coming for you. I can feel it.”

So maybe destiny is more grace than choice - offering courage to overcome fear. Destiny. Free will. Opportunity. This time I will say yes.

Oh, and what was the bunny doing in his hole?  Dancing, of course.

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Running Away

Maria Peterson Photography

Once when I was about seven years old, I ran away from home. Took my bike. And my little brother. Didn't occur to me we'd need food. or water. or money. 

I had found a place for us to live - an old, abandoned gym near our house. One of the windows was busted out and we could slip in through there. 

Didn't occur to me it was breaking and entering.

We made it to the building five blocks away before our older sister chased us down on her bike. "You're in big trouble," she declared triumphantly. 

The gig was up 30 minutes later.  

Funny thing is I really thought we'd be gone forever. Just me. My bike. And my little brother.

Lately I've felt like running away...one of those seasons where everything within is  screams for change. Movement. Breakthrough. 

Yet life feels confined. Limited. Stifled by lack of opportunity to fully engage the creative self.

Problem is when you're an adult, running away isn't nearly as simple as when you're seven and all you want is a bike and a companion. Adulthood complicates things. What about my apartment? My job? Where will I sleep? Is it really running away if the Facebook universe can find me?

So instead of running away, I wait for the vision to come to pass. Try not to despise the small beginnings. Cling to Faith. Being sure of what I hope for and certain of what I do not see. 

Besides, I don't think my brother would go for breaking and entering anymore.

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Honor

Dear Hero,

I remember the first time I saw the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C. I scanned the thousands of names. put my hand out. touched the smooth, cold granite. cried tears of relief at the miracle that your name is not written there. 

I'm so grateful you came home from the battlefield.

I can't imagine the sacrifices you've made for me to grow up free; in a country where I as a black woman can vote, drive a car, worship - freedoms I've tried not to take for granted.

When I was a kid, you would take me with you when you trained the Army recruits. You saw that I had courage (reckless at times!) and let me train alongside the soldiers.  Rock climbing, flying in helicopters, learning to handle a weapon...

Remember the day I fell rappelling? All you could do was watch as my body slammed into the rocks until the safety rope pulled taut. Miraculously, not one broken bone. You've been like that safety rope - pulling taut when I stumble but never stopping me from climbing.

After the 9/11 terrorist attacks, I asked what you would say if you had to address the nation. You answered, "God bless the USA." 

You've fought the good fight and today you would still die for this country. Major, you are an amazing man.

Happy Veteran's Day, Dad,
Your Butterfly

(2008 to my father who fought for our freedom for more than two decades and would re-enlist now in his '70's...if the military would let him.)

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Red Carpets & Cattle Calls

Cattle call audition - about as far from the red carpet as talent can get in Hollywood. Wisegeek calls it, "an audition in which hundreds or even thousands of performers vie for roles. The chances of winning a major role through a cattle call are notoriously slim."

I stood in line with dozens of actors and models crammed into the poorly-ventilated waiting room for a shot at a national print campaign - and a big payday. 

Knowing most of us would get cut in the first round, waiting almost didn't seem worth the cost of the Sunset Boulevard parking garage.  

Some actors left rather than sit around for hours.

This is the first time I've experienced the LA cattle call. As I debated whether to stay or not, a word popped into my head: perseverance.

"Someone's going to book this gig," I thought, "Someone who perseveres."

So I pulled out my phone, clicked on Facebook and waited for my few seconds in front of the camera. Number 1104.

It's been said Hollywood kills far more dreams than it brings to life. I'm not so sure about that. I wonder if it's just that far more dreamers quit than persevere.

"Success seems to be largely a matter of hanging on after others have let go." 
~William Feather

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Sure, Honey, I can Ride a Bull

Wedded bliss. Exchanging keys to each others'  hearts.  Everything's fresh and new. Feels like the honeymoon will last forever. 

Until deception kicks in. 

So my fake/actor husband, Dwayne, and I were auditioning for this national commercial and the casting director made us swear we weren't allergic to the product. 

My husband was probably lying.

Dwayne confessed to me that he's been dishonest before in auditions. One role he booked called for swimming in the ocean but the director decided to shoot Dwayne's scenes in a boat instead. 

Lucky for Dwayne. The truth is Sugar Daddy Dwayne can't even dog paddle. 

I asked Dwayne what he would have done if the director had wanted him to swim. 

"Well, no way I was jumping in the water!"  he said.  

He didn't even have an excuse ready, like he spotted a shark in the water.

Yes, people make up stuff on resumes. Happens all the time. Even though the potential to get caught is pretty high for actors, we still say,  "Sure, I ride [check one: ___skateboards, ___motorcycles, ___bulls] like a pro."

What if Dwayne and I book this gig but he has a seizure because it turns out he IS allergic to the product? We'll BOTH get fired because we were hired as a COUPLE.

So my advice, husbands and wives?  Don't lie. Don't cheat. Safeguard the keys to each other's hearts. Learn to swim. Forget bull riding.

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Mercy

I wanted to be honest in my blog so some posts like this one deal with violence, sex, drugs.

Second Chances
I'm trying to remember the name of that TV show about a girl who encounters God in the people she meets. Something like that happened to me recently.

I was at a Hollywood lounge to meet a friend and ran into a guy who'd tried to pick me up the first time we'd met - clumsily fueled by too much booze.

He was apologetic this time so we started talking. He thought that given my background as a crime reporter, I might be interested in helping him write new parole legislation.

"You honestly believe most criminals can be rehabilitated?" I challenged. 

"You don't?" he countered.

Jaded as it may seem, there's only one story I covered where I felt the criminal deserved another chance...

why did you kill that kid?
It was my first time inside a prison. I felt vulnerable stripping off my coat, purse and jewelry in front of security guards. Sounds of clanging metal bars.  Inmates cat-calling as guards led us to a cell for supervised visits.

My photographer and I were shooting a sweeps series about juvenile crime.  Prison officials had agreed to let us interview one of the state's youngest inmates ever to be sentenced as an adult.

Guards brought him to the room in leg and arm shackles. I was shocked. He couldn't have weighed more than 120 pounds.  He looked about 14.

We didn't have much time so I got straight to the point, talking the street language we both understood. 

"What gang?" I asked. 

"Crips," he said.

"Why'd you kill that kid?" I asked. 

"'Cuz he shot my dog," he answered.

I didn't have any more questions.  We both got it. His unspoken words had told the whole story:  That kid killed the only thing that was mine. 

Street justice.

I stayed in touch with Anthony the next few years on the pretense he was a valuable source into the gangs I covered. Really, we were becoming friends.

One of Anthony's drawings about his life in prison

Anthony would draw to pass the time in prison. Sketches of cops handcuffing a boy. A pregnant girlfriend. Christ on a cross. A tearful boy becoming a man behind barbed wire fences.  

Images of his life. 

My stories with Anthony caught the attention of a college that thought he could qualify for a long-distance program for artists. Anthony gave me some drawings to say thank you.

making peace
Years later I wonder if I failed Anthony. I'd been one of his only advocates. When I quit the crime beat, I quit on him in a way. Sure, he owed something for the life he took but..."he shot my dog..."

"You have to make peace with your past," the man's voice broke into my thoughts. "Most of us who deal with criminals have to accept the fact that justice isn't always clear."

I think that man was Mercy. He was telling me it's ok not to know if Anthony deserved to live or die for his crime. Mercy doesn't even the score. Mercy clears the scorecard and forgives the past.

Anthony, I hope you made it.

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Popping Pills

Heath Ledger 1979 - 2008. Photo:  FanPop

Got quite a greeting from a childhood friend I hadn't seen in years. "I heard you'd become a drug addict," Julie told me.

Despite some pretty self-destructive behavior growing up, heaven must have assigned an army of angels to keep me from popping or injecting all the drugs I've been offered.
I've worked at TV stations across the country - yet I've never seen as much drug abuse as in LA, especially the prescription kind.

This Hollywood exec I know is a walking pharmaceutical ad: stress meds, anti-depressants, diet pills, sleeping pills...one accidental OD away from death.
She told me she wants off all the pills but can't cope without them. Once when she left a prescription vial on her desk, I wrote down the doctor's name. You know, in case she died. And there was an investigation...

I've lost track of her but hear through the grapevine she's doing alright.
The desire to escape. Most of us get it. So did Heath Ledger. Michael Jackson. Anna Nicole Smith. River Phoenix. Chris Farley. Kurt Cobain -  artists forever silenced by drugs. Anna Nicole once told a reporter, "Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior and will always be." I hope she's finally found the peace no pill can offer.

By the way, Julie, the closest I've come to being a drug addict was auditioning to play one in the movie, Rent.  They didn't cast me.  Guess the director felt I wasn't really believable as a crackhead since I edited out all the foul language.

And thanks for the angel army, God.

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