Last night I saw the Review article about the death of David Cyrus Page. Over forty years ago I and six of my younger siblings were on that show. (The youngest was an infant so she missed out.) Just like other locally-made programs across the country it was a place where kids would be kids but with lots of people watching. So it was not unusual to see someone picking their nose, scratching their butt, and pulling, pushing or hitting a sibling. There were two memorable events from our visit that stuck with me over the years.
One of my sisters had a black eye courtesy of the youngest brother. Remember the wooden toy with the wooden pegs and hammer? You hammer the pegs through to the other side, flip it over and hammer them back. He nailed her with that wooden hammer. Of course, Captain Cy had to ask how she got the black eye. "My brother hit me with a hammer," was the reply. He moved on the to next child.
All the kids there were given a piece of bubble gum and we had a contest to see who could blow the biggest bubble. I won but I was loudly accused of cheating by two of my brothers who said I had two pieces of gum--which I did. Regardless, I was brought up front and center to show off my bubble blowing prowess. Seeing a TV camera pointed right at me with Captain Cy at my side patiently encouraging me and with my brothers in the background complaining about my cheating, I choked. I couldn't blow a bubble to save my life.
At least I didn't pick my nose.
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