My Ten Seconds of Fame

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I work for a Christian radio network, one of the largest in the country.

I hesitate to name it because, though raised in a Christian home, I spent an awful lot of time wandering around blind and lost, did a lot of crazy and not very spiritual stuff and don’t want my current employer’s reputation sullied or marred by the mistakes of my past. I wouldn’t want to be let go either, although I suppose that wouldn’t happen unless I suddenly resorted to those old ways someday while on the clock. Not that there are any perfect people working anywhere, I just think that here we’re probably held to a higher standard. Yet unfortunately, even now, I’m still not there yet.

But that’s not the point of this essay.

In fact, although I’ve worked in a lot of different places and d.j’d within the confines of a handful of contrasting formats in secular radio, playing Christian music and working in a Christian radio outlet was never on my radar. It was neither my ambition nor desire.  However, God must really have a wonderful sense of humor because that’s exactly where He’s put me and where I’m at now.

I never planned to stay here though. This was just another stop in a long and varied broadcast career; a stepping stone on my way to somewhere or something else. Someplace better. But I guess the joke’s still on me, because during 2010 I became a ten year employee. Ten years on the job. In the transient world of radio, that just doesn’t happen; it certainly doesn’t happen very often. But I’ve spent a decade of my life at this place. Amazing.

But who’d a thought? I didn’t, anyway.

When I was hired in March of 2000, the original position, though in programming, was a support job and in the background. Not my first choice. I was a jock; I’d always been on the air. However, out of work for six months and without a lot of prospects in the fire, beggars can’t be choosers. And when I saw the job description on the website, though the guys who hired me didn’t seem to be begging for me in particular to fill the opening, it sure read like maybe they were.

They were looking for someone with at least five years’ experience, could write copy, could do production, run the board, announce and had overseeing experience. Umm, that’d be me, me, me, me, me and me. I’d done all that stuff.  It was like somebody had designed the perfect job for me.

Maybe someone had…

Anyway, when I was hired, they called me a programming assistant. That’s what the title said on the business cards they gave me. But the position seems to have always been in flux. It never stayed the same very long, and just when I’d get comfortable in a certain role, they’d increase the work load, or move me into a different role- all under that same catch all of a programming assistant. I didn’t care, though. I was always busy and the checks always cleared. (There’ve been a few places I worked where that simple transaction wasn’t always a given. The ol’ don’t-cash-this-till-Monday- or until you hear otherwise mode of doing business).

During my first five years, at various points I’d edited phone calls for air play, produced sweepers for air play, filled in on the air, oversaw the weekend crew, and wrote copy for spots and the monthly magazine the ministry published until recently. But then I was moved into a completely different position, the one I'm in currently, and, except for sales, the last department I ever saw myself working in, in radio. I’m doing traffic and continuity; or scheduling spots for the network and the 200 or so affiliates that carry us.

In some ways, the work isn’t quite as taxing, but in other ways it’s been really, really hard on me too. For over 20 years, my vocational identity was shaped and defined by what I did on the air. It’s why I got into radio in the first place. But though I’ve come to accept that my role at this large radio network is never going to be what it was when I was in commercial radio, I always thought I’d remain in the higher visibility end of the business; if not on the air then producing things that played on the air. However, now I’m basically just doing data entry.

I shouldn’t say just data entry, though, because there’s a lot of it, it’s super important to what we do and important that someone competent is doing it. They trust me to hold up my end, and, after five years of it, so far, so good. However, never a stand-out jock, just one that people knew from being on the radio every day, as an ex-jock, I can’t deny that my ego (such as it is) has taken a bit of a punch to the gut. It hasn’t been the easiest of transitions stepping into a role that isn’t exactly in the forefront of why people turn on the radio, and performing tasks that hardly anybody even notices- unless you make a mistake somewhere. Then you get noticed; but not in such a good way.

However, I still work in programming, I’m still in radio and I still get paid for it. Which, even in a roundabout way, is exactly what I set out to do all those years ago. So what if I’m doing something I didn’t necessarily sign up for?  You can’t always get to do what you want, to paraphrase the old song. More often than not, stagnation is bad, change is good and the only guarantee life comes with is that, sooner or later, it will end. Once more, though, none of that stuff is the point of this essay. However for point of record, it does establish that I’ve been working at the same place for ten years. And this past Friday those of us who met that criteria, were briefly honored during out yearly Employee Recognition Banquet.

And, at last; that’s the point of the essay.

I’ve known for weeks this night was coming. And I’ve been to enough of these functions to know I’d probably have to go up on stage at some point and receive a plaque. Which is all cool; our company does this stuff up really nice and makes a nice presentation out of it. They treat everyone well, but on these special nights they make a bit of a fuss over the milestone employees- the five, ten, fifteen year and beyond team members. So it's no surprise what was going to happen. It’s just that, for the past six weeks, I’ve been dreading it.

Even though there was nothing to it.

I wouldn’t have to say anything or do anything unnatural- just walk up on stage, pick up my award and walk off. Easy as cake. And I was dreading it. I guess I didn’t want to do it because as far back as I can remember, anytime little Rocket was put in the spotlight it was always a very difficult thing to handle. I’d do anything to avoid it- which, I know, seems very counter-intuitive since just three paragraphs ago I was lamenting my lack of current, and likely future, broadcast visibility. Oy; sometimes I’m so inconsistent.

 

But as a kid, I was expected to be seen, not heard, shine, don’t bring attention to myself, yet look good nonetheless. And whatever “look good’ meant, I never got there without some sort of fight or argument with someone bigger and older. Even when it was just relatives or cousins coming over, there was this underlying ‘expectation’ to live up to something. And whatever it was, I’m not sure I ever quite met it, at least not without a lot of shouting and in-fighting. Though I always had fun with my cousins, the lead-up to their arrival was not something I generally looked forward to.

So I hated being singled out for anything. It never meant anything good.

In school, unless we had desk assignments, I'd always try and sit in the back of the room so the teacher wouldn’t notice me, or spot me easily. That didn’t always work out so well though because no matter where you sat, the teacher always had your name written down on a seating chart which, whenever the threat of being called on in class came around, left me pretty much with no place to escape. Though I usually knew the answers, I also knew I’d have to stand and deliver and everyone would be looking at me. It terrified me. On those days I could feel my knees shake until either my turn had passed or the teacher had moved on to something else. I hated getting called on.

I wasn’t in a lot of school productions either, because I was shy and wouldn’t volunteer, even though when I got roped into them, I usually did okay. Or okay enough that it wasn’t the worst experience ever, or the end of the world. But because of the inner terrors of having to be “out there” it was an experience I couldn’t enjoy. I think that's really too bad because I probably jipped myself out of having a good time. I was fine when it was over, but by then, the enjoyment factor had decreased significantly, and then it was too late to savor the experience.

Then there were the dreads that accompanied getting new clothes or a haircut, because- again- the other kids would notice and pay more attention to me than I wanted or was used to. The guys would make wise about my ears getting lowered or laugh because I was wearing something different than my Snoopy sweatshirt or holy jeans. Though the teasing was usually mild- much less than I feared- and I was in familiar surroundings and among friends, on those days I felt as out of place and alienated as if I’d just got in from the other side of the planet. It was awful.

But in high school I played freshman baseball, and JV and varsity soccer in front of crowds. Okay, these “crowds“ were generally a group of  not less than 15 not more than 50. They didn’t bother me, though. I usually ignored them, concentrating on the game. And I played hockey in front of small gatherings too. Shoot, there were close to a hundred people at my only All-Star game. That didn’t bother me either. I guess the team atmosphere, the safety in numbers thing, muted the fear of failure. Or at least block it out. Except for striking out (which was more than a rare occurrence) unless I really screwed something up, in a team game it’d be hard to spot me much at all, so I wasn’t all that concerned about the few souls who showed up to watch me play. My focus was the game.

Yet all that aside, generally scared to death of my own shadow, of being noticed or having people pay any attention to me at all, what profession do I choose? Why, of course, broadcasting. Talk on the radio to thousands of people for 4 to 5 hours every day. Naturally. It’s a perfect fit. Just what any vocational counselor would recommend, and exactly what any other self-conscious bashful boy does, right? 

Ummmm…..wild guess? Probably not.

But against my own not-so-better-judgment, as well as all odds, and once I got past the fear and got the hang of it, truth be told it was actually pretty easy. I was in a small room and by myself most of the time. Nobody could see me. From there it became all theater of the mind. Nobody knew what I looked like so I couldn’t possibly be a disappointment – unless Mom was around. Or I had to do something out in public. That part was scary. So I limited those opportunities or would only do them on Halloween when I could go in costume. Left alone or incognito, I can do great things. Having to actually show myself, well, I always perceived that as a recipe for failure or humiliation.

But here’s a dirty little secret. Even under those conditions, I didn’t fail. I wasn't humiliated. When I met listeners, they seemed to like me. At least when they said, Oh, you don’t look at all like you sound”, they generally meant it as a compliment. That was my take, anyway. They seemed to have been accepting me at face value. Friends in and out of my profession accepted me at face value, too. Almost everything I set out to do or accomplish in my career, I’ve been blessed to have done it successfully; even with this face, this voice and this persona. So I should enjoy a little recognition now and then, shouldn’t I?

I dunno because Friday night, as I waited through two hours of eating and entertainment and music and mingling, I wanted to be anywhere but there. Negatively anticipating hearing my name called to go up on stage, I felt my heart racing at about a mile a minute and I wanted to race home.

Earlier in the day, though, I’d been given the opportunity to opt-out. I didn’t necessarily have to go up and receive my award. They’d just give it to me at my desk next week. It was an offer almost too good to pass up. But for some reason, I declined. I guess, citing a chance to get “out of my comfort zone” I talked myself into walking that last mile. But as it got closer to 9 pm, I was beginning to regret making that choice. 

The auditorium was huge, and with all the regional employees in town as well for this special evening, the place was packed. I don’t know how many people for sure but I’m guessing there were 4-500 in attendance. Or 800 to a thousand eyes.  And they’d all be looking at me- and laughing- and mocking, just like I thought as a little boy. Of course it wasn't true. Never has been. But it’s what I was thinking as I mentally counted down the minutes until my group would be recognized.

Fortunately- and don't tell anyone- during the course of the evening, I’d been self-medicating. Just in case. Alcohol wasn’t being served, but I brought along one of my anti-depressants, a med that always makes me feel, if nothing else, kind of drowsy. Drowsy equals calm and calm is what I needed to be when it was time to head to the stage area. I took that upon arrival, and then later, half a Benadryl. And as time went on, the two meds working together began to render me mellow enough to, hopefully, get through what was coming.

And I guess it worked. Or something did because as I joined the other ten people celebrating ten years of service, calm came over me. But it wasn’t the calm produced by the medicine. I could tell. This was different because more than calm, I felt at peace- the peace that passes all understanding. Instantly I knew it’d been stupid to take my pills- all they’d done was dull my senses- and instantly I knew someone had been praying for me. And I knew it’d been someone, because in the chaos of just getting through the evening without throwing up I knew it hadn’t been me.

So who was it? The people at our table- all friends who knew I’d been this close to weenieing out? Maybe the lovely Amy. Or maybe it was just God Himself covering me with his reassuring presence because whatever effect the meds had had on me, it was gone. And I knew it. I was fully alert and aware of everything going on around me. I felt relaxed and okay. My pulse was normal and I was ready. And it had nothing to do with the medication but everything to do with Jesus. Then the time came. Six weeks of worrying about the future and this night, had at last come down to now. My name was called. I went up, got my plaque shook a few hands.

And then, literally, I sprinted off the stage.

Though we’d all been instructed to walk, like hurrying to catch up with a departing bus, I ran. I forgot all about how calm I was and how God was right there with me, and darted right off the stage. Must've looked ridiculous, too. I ran like a dinosaur was after me. Like I’d been caught stealing. Like I’d just peed my pants. And then it was over. I didn't hear if anyone applauded. I don’t remember who I talked to on stage, I don’t even remember being up there. All I know is, it was over.

I got some high fives on the way back to my table, but it was over. My ten seconds in the sun had come and gone and like all the other great moments and events in my life, I’d worried about it so much, I missed it. Oh I was there. I wasn't mocked or spat on, jeered, judged or had any other horrible thing I'd imagined happen. But as with just about everything else for me that seemed hard, when the time came to face and overcome it, though I did it, it all happened so fast I missed the moment. Or missed being in the moment. For sure I missed much of the significance.

But that will come. Writing about it helps. Getting feedback from others will help.

And though the fear factor robbed me of recalling much of what I "accomplished" Friday night, it doesn't always have to be that way. Though its true I don’t want to do any more of these out-of-the-box things, I think I need to; at least, every once and awhile.

Friday night should have been fun. But it wasn’t that way until it was almost over. And I don’t think that’s how God intends life to be. As far back as I can remember, though, that’s how I’ve been doing it; I’ve been doing life backwards. It shouldn’t be that way. And I don't want to do that anymore.  Besides the plaque I took home Friday night, going forward I want to try and take a little different attitude with me, too- that life’s not always going to be a party, but when you’re at one, it’s okay to act like it. Duh.

As I get later into my life and career, these times to be in the spotlight are going to be fewer and farther between. I should treasure them. I want to treasure them! I don’t want to get to the end of my life and only then realize there was gain with some of that pain. I want to remember some pleasure came with it, too; that there was joy. That it was fun!

So I want to thank the Academy….actually I want to thank God and my employer for treating me to a moment in the sun Friday night, a moment to feel special, a moment to feel important. I needed that. Everybody needs that. And , not to sound selfish, but even if these things tend to terrify me or I feel unworthy of them, I hope there’s more of them to come. Not just in my career, but every day.  That’d be awesome. Yet even if there aren't, I had this one.

And, as it turns out, this one was pretty cool...at least, from what I've been told.