Happy to finally tell secret

Some weeks, parenting is a rough storm in heavy seas.

Last week, it was a cruise in warm waters.

That's what happens when your daughter ends up on "Jeopardy."

The syndicated game show has been a staple at our house for as long as I can remember. It would be an exaggeration to say we watch it every night. It's not on every night. But we do usually catch it 3-5 nights a week.

Like most folks who watch the show, we shout out answers, many of them wrong, some of them wild guesses, and some of them right.

As Sally told The CR's Rachelle Haughn, she took the "Jeopardy" on-line test as a way of challenging me to do the same.

From a Dad standpoint, it's incredibly flattering that she would think I'd do well on the test; but I know my limitations, and I've never particularly wanted to be on national TV.

Besides, my wife and I knew that any of our daughters would do better in competition than we would. Their wits are sharper, their knowledge runs deeper, and they're likely to be quicker with that doggoned buzzer.

So we weren't surprised last year when Sally was invited to go to Chicago to audition for the program.

She did so on her own nickel. (In fact, "the contestant did it on his or her own nickel" might be the "Jeopardy" motto.)

When you take the on-line test, the computer response is sort of "don't call us, we'll call you." You don't get any indication how well you scored. Your labors just get dumped into a database, and you're told that you might get an e-mail.

Sally got that e-mail, did the auditions, then was told that she might - or might not - get a phone call.

Early this year, the phone call came.

And, while we were delighted as a family that she was going to be on the show, I immediately began wondering about the newspaper implications of all this.

How should we play the story? How would the newsroom staff want to play the story since the boss's daughter was involved?

And - most importantly - how would we handle the issue of secrecy?

"Jeopardy" participants sign a pledge to keep details of the competition secret, but there's an exception for immediate family. So Sally was off the hook. She could let me know the day of the taping how well she had done, but then I had a problem of my own.

After all, for more than 30 years, I've been in the business of telling stuff to the public. Keeping secrets isn't exactly in my nature.

I pondered all that when Connie and Sally made the trek to Southern California for the taping back in February.

And while they were there, I vacillated back and forth.

Sure, I wanted her to be a champion. I knew that she could be a champion. (She had humbled me enough times around the TV set at home.)

But I was afraid that if she were a champion, even for a single day, that anyone could have read that fact on my face. Any attempts at secrecy would have been futile.

As it turned out - as those who watched know - the results were directly in the middle: She performed at a championship level, dazzled folks with her poise, taught Alex Trebek the chicken dance, led most of the game, but didn't take the championship.

In some ways, that's the perfect outcome.

So, now we're cruising in one of the sweet spots of parenting.

At the moment, I can tell you, it's a real good feeling to be Mom and Dad.

Proud, happy, and we no longer have to keep a secret.[[In-content Ad]]