I'm a put on a show kinda girl

I watched the JonBenet Ramsey documentary and have some thoughts.

I started this post right after watching the latest Netflix special on JonBenet’s death (which came out in November, 2024) but then got oddly nervous about posting an opinion piece. And that’s what this is, just my opinion as a person on Substack (not as an attorney and I hate myself for having to post this disclaimer because lawyers are the worst and being one is annoying but this is not a legal opinion, and I don’t represent anyone connected with the case).

The judgment that the Ramseys faced over the beauty pageants was so “of the time”. We stood in our righteous indignation, wanting them to swing for dressing JonBenet like that.

Now that we’ve evolved, this judgement feels so completely off-base. Being in beauty pageants isn’t evidence of a crime or abuse. It’s probably just evidence that her parents loved and supported her.

And JonBenet’s love of the stage really reminded me of my upbringing. Which is why I’m weighing in on a topic that’s been over-discussed.

I’m guilty of pointing the finger at John and Patsy. And then later at Burke, her bother. Which isn’t my fault - the media made me do it.

We’ve all seen the photos of JonBenet on stage in gowns, tutus, and various costumes. We’ve all heard the pundits and chatter about how Patsy was trying to live vicariously through her child. We’ve all read the articles chastising the parents for allowing their child to be put on display in “sexy” outfits (if you think a child is “sexy” in any outfit, you may be a pedophile).

The undercurrent of all of this is blame. They either did it, or they allowed it to happen. Whether or not they were present for her death, putting her in the public eye in tiny shorts and bedazzled bra tops was criminal. What did they expect? Nothing good can from dressing your daughter like an adult and strutting her around on stage. But JonBenet wasn’t a prized pig at the fair, being led to slaughter against her will and without her knowledge. By all accounts, the pageants were her one true love.

I was 11 when she was murdered. Every news program covered it. My parents watched in rapt attention, like the rest of the world, as videos of JonBenet played across the screen and journalists announced the parents as the guilty party. We bought in. We thought they did it.

In the latest documentary, John Ramsey talks a lot about the beauty pageants and their motivation to put JonBenet on stage. It’s also covered in this People Magazine article.

Her dad is quoted in that article, saying that JonBenet just “loved doing that stuff.” She was extroverted and enjoyed being on stage. She was also taking piano lessons, on a soccer team, and was going to start rock climbing classes in January, just weeks after her death. If you zoom out, the Ramseys just sound like parents who supported their children and had the means to give them whatever they wanted. Maybe we’re all just jealous.

Because listen, I can relate. I am a “put on a show” kinda girl (to quote my hero, Britney Spears). My parents have hours of home videos of me putting on various productions. From stories about a pony named Miracle, to impromptu dance recitals in my living room, I was happiest when I was performing.

3 years old

My favorite example of this is a home video that Kellbell was taking of Ian. We’re probably 5 (Ian) and 3 (me). Ian’s playing in the backyard with G.I. Joes, asking my mom to watch.

“I’m watching, honey,” Kellbell says. I allow her focus to be on Ian for about five seconds before butting in.

“Mommy, I want to tell you a story about Miracle,” I say smiling up at the camera. I then instruct her where to film me, demand that she check that the camera is in fact on (she was known to film entire vacations without flipping the switch), and then I begin a rapturous short story about a pony for a good few minutes until abruptly declaring that I have to go potty. Kellbell is heard cracking up. Ian is completely forgotten. As god intended.

But that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

When I was around four, I had my first big dance recital. Our instructor lined us up single file and I led us all out onto the stage. We did our cute little tap number in a pink leotard and matching tutu. The song finished and everyone left the stage, again going single file. Everyone but me. I stood on the edge of the stage and waved at the audience, taking in their laughter and applause. My dance teacher had to come and pull me off stage. It was like a drug. I’ve been addicted to attention since that day.

I couldn’t get enough. Dance recitals only happened twice a year and Kellbell was an unreliable narrator of my life, what with her mediocre film skills, so I had to look elsewhere to feed my addiction.

Naturally, I turned to lip sync competitions. As one does. I know - you saw that one coming didn’t you? For those of you who were not living in small-town America in the 1990’s, you might not know that lip syncing was all the rage for a time. And I was the tiny queen of this obscure competition circuit in the central Washington region. I know. I know. A big deal.

Scotty, me and Kellbell

I designed my costumes (which Kellbell then sewed for me), made up my own choreography, and then put on a fucking show! I was Dolly Parton singing White Limousine, with balloons stuffed in my shirt for tits and Ian as my indentured servant/limo driver (as god intended). I was Belle from Beauty and the Beast for the Little Miss Cashmere Pageant, where I got second place, narrowly losing to Crystal Laffranchi (I have not forgiven those judges).

In a local competition put on by the Sunny FM radio program, I performed Wilson Phillips’ 1990 hit: The Dream is Still Alive. I practiced for hours and hours on my choreography, hitting my marks. Then I’d go into my room and lip sync the song over and over again, perfecting where and how to project the emotions of the song. I was six.

I won the audience choice award at the competition. After I was done, the announcer came on stage and said, “I couldn’t even go to the bathroom by myself when I was in kindergarten! Give it up for Lindsey!” As Lady Gaga once said, I live for the applause. Applause. Applause.

But my most memorable performance was to Gloria Estefan’s Conga. You know the one.

Come on, shake your body, baby
Do the conga
I know you can't control yourself any longer

I was probably 7 or 8 years old when I started performing that piece. I did it multiple times because it was such a winner. I was accumulating trophies. It was my masterpiece. From the homemade flamingo skirt (curtesy of Kellbell) to the way I turned and twirled and moved to the beat, tiny hips doing the salsa. It would only be described as “sexy” if you’re a fucking creep.

I can’t find my lip sync photos but here is a drawing I did in first grade after the prompt, “how do you see yourself” (on stage, duh)

My lip sync trophy collection is in a box somewhere, but I can close my eyes and conjure the high I got from those performances. Being told over and over again how cute and dynamic you are can really boost one’s confidence. I even auditioned for a commercial, in front of agents, around this time. I didn’t get the part and we never tried again. It’s one of the many regrets I’ve accumulated in my 40 years on this planet.

This phase of my life, from three to eighteen (because I kept this attention-hungry shit up throughout high school), was driven my me. My parents weren’t “stage parents”, waiting in the wings to correct my choreography or making me practice. This was all me.

Which is what John and Patsy always maintained: JonBenet loved being in these pageants. She probably had a blast with her mom, choosing outfits, putting on makeup, singing and dancing. And winning.

Once I knew what it was like to win one of these talent shows, it was all over. I wanted more and more. Like an adorable, miniature dope fiend, I’d found my drug and was all strung out on it.

The difference is that I wasn’t being directly judged on beauty. I was never in “beauty pageants”. But two things on this to note: (1) aren’t we all being judged on our beauty all the time? and (2) if I had known kid beauty pageants existed, I’d have been up Kellbell’s ass to get me on that stage.

Hopefully we’ve all evolved since the 90’s and we’re less quick to judge the reactions or decisions of grieving loved ones. Most of us now know that we can’t take things out of context and call it evidence.

More musings

JonBenet was a gorgeous little girl whose parents loved her enough to foster her enjoyment of performance and the arts. We should all be so lucky. I was. And I’m forever grateful for those opportunities, early in life, to showcase my immense talent. Not everyone gets to live their dreams.

Storytelling, through dance, singing, lip syncing and theater, has always been my jam. And now you all, dear readers, are allowing me to keep up my attention-seeking ways. I appreciates you, but that’s not all I appreciates about you (Letterkenny reference for those cool enough to have watched that show. Go Canada).

Remember, stay difficult and always question authority.

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IN OTHER NEWS:

Rubina Susanne Weidenbach, Queen of Stellstone, first of her name, is running for Canine Queen in this Spring’s upcoming Apple Blossom Pageant. Please, I beg you, pretty please with a cherry on top be my best friend and VOTE FOR RUBY! PLEASE OH MY GOD DO IT.