I’m on the Chinatown Bus to Philadelphia. We’re idling at 88 E Broadway. Behind a bodega window under the Manhattan Bridge, I see that JonBenet Ramsey’s face still glosses the cover of The National Enquirer. There must be new developments in her murder investigation. It’s been over a decade and they still haven’t closed her case. In the seat next to mine, I have February’s Rolling Stone. Britney Spears is on the cover. Under her name is the subtitle “Inside an American Tragedy.” The reporter comes within a hair’s breadth of accusing Britney’s Mom of sowing the seeds of her daughter’s destruction by grooming her to be a baby-doll sex kitten like JonBenet. The tragic destinies of Tween and pre-Tween beauty queens have spawned the publication of tracts like Celia Rivenbank’s Stop Dressing Your Six Year Old like a Skank (2006), which argue that Little Miss Sunshine-type competitions hurt little girls.

Lucky for her, my sister Kathy was able to sidestep a Little Miss Sunshine fate when she was 8 years old. It was the Junior Miss Wildwood Park Pageant, 1970. There was the runway competition, where all the pretty little girls got to show off their pretty little dresses. Then there was the talent contest. (The story goes that Kathy brought the house down, using gerbils and hamsters in her juggling act, but I wasn’t born in time to substantiate that claim.) Then there was the swimsuit competition. (Yes, a swimsuit competition for girls under the age of 10. Where are fire and brimstone when you need them?)

Kathy’s swimsuit had a big picture of Snoopy on it. For the judges, the sheer adorableness of Kathy’s ensemble was enough to bring her neck-and-neck with her leggy, 9-year-old rival, Jennifer Mulchay. Jennifer was the strawberry-blonde monarch of the popular clique. Early that school year, Sister Rachel had awarded her the coveted privilege of getting to go outside and clap the blackboard erasers clean every afternoon. Kathy was the redheaded hellion whom Sister Rachel had damn near suspended that Monday for screaming “shit-goddammit” after spelling “G-R-A-C-I-O-U-S” wrong in a spelling bee. Later that same day, Kathy bloodied Derek Dudkowski’s nose in a fight he picked with her in the parking lot after school. Even with boy’s blood on her knuckles, though, Kathy stood in line for the final rounds of Junior Miss Wildwood Park, confident that Jennifer Mulchay would walk away as runner-up at best.

Yet fate had stationed Jennifer right in front of Kathy in the pageant lineup. Both of them could hear Mr. Mamowser’s voice from backstage as he introduced the girl in front of them. Jennifer tossed her strawberry-blonde mane over her shoulder and turned to my sister, “So, Kathy, they’re about to ask us what we want to be when we grow up. Do you know what you’re gonna say?”

“Pssh,” Kathy brushed her fingernails off on the shoulder strap of her Snoopy bathing suit, “I got this pageant in the bag.”

Jennifer jumped up and down, “Really, Kathy? What are you gonna tell ‘em?”

Kathy took one step back and raised her right eyebrow, “I ain’t tellin’ you.”

Jennifer clasped her hands in prayer, “Please, Kathy!”

Kathy took one step forward, left hand on hip, right index finger in Jennifer’s face, “If I tell you, you just gonna run off with my idea. And, sorry, I ain’t goin’ down that way.”

“No, Kathy,” Jennifer pleaded, “Never in a million years would I do that. I swear.”

Kathy looked her up and down, “Wanna cross your heart on that?” Jennifer crossed an X over her heart. Kathy took a second to weigh her decision, but finally, in a huff, dropped all defenses, “A’ight, Jennifer. I’m a tell everyone, ‘I wanna be a Nurse, so I can…Help People.’” With an inward nod to her own genius, Kathy looked dead in the eye of her rival.

Jennifer gathered herself back to sobriety and tisked, “Great idea, Kathy.” Mr. Mamowser’s voice came over the speakers, “And next up, we have Jennifer Mulchay.” Jennifer strode out on to the proscenium stage like a show-horse. After a short string of ceremonial banter, Mr. Mamowser said, “So, Jennifer, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Jennifer took a half-second to glance backstage at my sister. Then, she turned to the panel of judges, flashed some pearly whites and said, “I want to be a Nurse so I can help people.”

The audience gave Jennifer an orgasmic round of applause. Mr. Mamowser choked up, “That, that’s…just swell, Jennifer.” Kathy stood behind the velvet curtain like an uninsured homeowner watching her mansion burn down. (Exit Jennifer, stage right.)

Mr. Mamowser announced the next contestant, “And now, here’s little Kathy Smith.” Kathy kept still as any mortal in the final grip of Death. Mr. Mamowser cooed to her, “Now, Kathy Smith, you weren’t this shy during your highly original juggling act. You come right back out here now. Show us what you got!” Kathy took two steps back and tried to beat it out the alley door, but, out of nowhere, a pair of adult hands intercepted her and pushed her into public view.

Kathy lumbered up to Mr. Mamowser like a dinosaur on its last legs through a tar pit. Mr. Mamowser spoke into the microphone, “So, little Kathy Smith!” Footlights glared on to Kathy’s face as she looked every which way for an escape hatch. Then Mr. Mamowser asked her the same question he’d asked every other little girl: “What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?”

All eyes could see Kathy’s baby fat starting to rumple under her bathing suit like an oil slick in the wake of a speeding Semi. She’d banked everything on that Nurse answer. There was no Plan B. She heard the crowd stirring. Mr. Mamowser asked again: “Kathy, for the last time, what do you want to be when you grow up?” She looked down at her Snoopy bathing suit and said, “Um…a dog.”

The audience chuckled right along with Mr. Mamowser. “A dog?,” Mr. Mamowser asked, “Why in the world would you want to be a dog?”

He stuck the microphone back in Kathy’s face. She gave him the best back-pocket response she could: “Um…I wouldn’t have to wear any clothes.”

In the din of laughter rip-roaring through the audience, Kathy’s field of vision tunneled straight into my father’s tomato-red face, which he covered with his hands as he sunk from his chair to the floor. While Kathy’s response might well win a little girl the “Little Miss Sunshine” title in this day and age, it cost her the rhinestone crown at Wildwood Park, 1970, which Mr. Mamowser placed no less than fifteen minutes later on Jennifer Mulchay’s strawberry-blonde head.

After sweeping the swimsuit competition, Kathy’s decision to trust her enemy had put an end to her pageant career. She didn’t even make runner-up that night, not even close. And, 38 years later, she’s still trying to figure out what she wants to be when she grows up. Yet she takes comfort in the fact that the only thing Jennifer Mulcahy is reigning in these days are before-and-after shots on Jenny Craig commercials, which clearly show that she has at least 60 pounds of baby fat left to lose.