Editor's Note: This column originally appeared in The Maine Edge on March 21, 2012 and is reprinted here with permission.
By Katy England
I learned fairly early on that I never really wanted to be famous. Not really famous anyway. Not thousands of screaming fans shouting at me, sending me weird stuff in the mail, or stopping me on the street. And no, the small, mostly social notoriety that comes from writing for this lovely publication doesn't count (If it wasn't for the marvels of Facebook, many people probably wouldn't be able to pick me out of a lineup).
But I'm a rock star now. And a stand up comic. But mostly, I'm a clown.
Believe me, I'm a little surprised myself. I didn't even notice at first. Because you tend to roll with the punches, you don't pay attention to the little things. It was called to my attention when I was singing one of my girls a lullaby. As we finish the last feed, I bring them up and they each get their own song – or if we have help, all three get one at the same time. She had her eyes glued on my face, a huge grin, and she reached out to grab my thumbs. That's when my husband pointed out that she was behaving like a star-struck fan being singled out by the lead singer of her favorite band.
I was famous.
At some point, my children will figure out that the songs I make up or classic tunes I mutilate to fit their names into, are silly. There will come a day when the rude noises I make that cause them to belly laugh will embarrass them. They won't guffaw when I twirl and dance with them. They won't giggle when they bounce on my knee. But it's not this day. They're dancing with the stars, they're watching stand-up gold, they are being sung to by a rock star.
Who needs fame?
The best part is, I'm not alone. The internet is chock full of videos of other parents who have done similar things to elicit belly laughs, grins and guffaws from their offspring. If watching the video of the kid losing it over his dad ripping up credit card statements (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RP4abiHdQpc ) doesn't make you grin, then you're living a sad life.
Kids give you all the benefits of fame, with few of the drawbacks. I don't have to sign autographs. And the weird stuff I get from them, I kind of knew about going into this gig. And who cares? When I sing my patented “Good Morning” song they laugh and grin and act like I'm the hottest ticket in the world. And half the time I can't even make my own verses rhyme.
You will also find yourself doing some of the weirdest, silliest stuff just to get a smile. One of my beans gets a huge kick out of me shaking my head quickly from side to side. It's fun for the first couple of times, till you start to get dizzy. But do I stop? No! She's laughing! A laughing kid is like crack; you need more. And more. And threats of drool and spit-up be damned, you will dangle them within inches of your face just to make them grin.
I once created an entire interpretive dance to go along with Paul Simon's “You can Call me Al.” My husband is still mad that the camcorder batteries were dead.
So, the masses can keep their American Idols, Next Top Models and Dancing Stars. My fans need me.
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