True You (6 page)

When I was a teen, Mother suggested I give ballet another chance, this time with a private male instructor. At the end of a lesson, he put his hands on my face and got extremely close to me. I thought he was going to kiss me, and I turned away. It was creepy. I told Mother, who stopped the lessons right then and there.

Mother, bless her heart, was always trying to make a lady of me. At the same time she was fiercely protective. Joseph, on the hand, was more interested in activating my career. If it weren’t for him, I would never have received national attention for something I did on my own.

On the set of
Good Times
.

M
y acting career began on a serious note when my father got a call from the office of television producer Norman Lear, inquiring about my availability for a situation comedy.

In the mid-1970s, Norman Lear was the king of television. He had created
All in the Family
and
Maude
, among other shows.
Good Times
was a spin-off from
Maude
and at this point, 1977, was starring Ja’Net DuBois. Lear was looking for a young girl to play Ja’Net’s foster child, Penny. According to the script, the child had endured physical abuse at the hands of her biological mother.

I knew none of this when Mother and I arrived at the production office. I didn’t know who Lear was, and I didn’t understand how significant it was that he himself was conducting the audition.

Lear began by chatting amiably with me. I sensed that he was a nice man. Then he asked me a question that threw me.

“Janet,” he said, “are you able to cry?”

I thought that was a strange question.

“Everyone can cry, Mr. Lear,” I said.

“But can you cry on cue, Janet? Can you cry when I ask you to?”

“I’m not sure,” I answered honestly.

“Let me give you an example,” he said. “Let’s say you bought me a gift, a beautiful blue tie, that you think is perfect for me. You’re absolutely convinced that this gift will thrill me. You’ve picked it out because it matches my eyes. You can’t wait to give to me. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

“Now,” Lear continued, “hand me this tie. Go ahead and hand it to me.”

I handed him an invisible tie.

He responded by saying, “How could you give me such an ugly tie? I don’t like it.”

Right then and there, tears slowly started to run down my face.

“But I bought it for you,” I said. “It matches your eyes.”

“I don’t want it.”

My tears kept flowing. I felt genuinely hurt. I couldn’t hold back my true feelings.

“Good,” Lear said, now smiling. “Very good.”

I wiped my eyes.

“That will be all, Janet,” he said. “We’ll be in touch with you.”

I knew how auditions worked—you either got a callback or not. I normally presumed the worst.

Mother and I got up and left the room. When we reached the hallway, she kissed me on the cheek and said, “You did fine, baby.”

“Do you think I can have Malibu Barbie now?” I asked.

“Not yet,” Mother said.

Before we left the building, though, Lear called us back. When we reentered the office, he sat us down and said it simply. “Janet was so good we’ve decided to call off the other auditions. Your daughter has the part. Congratulations.”

“What do you say about that, Janet?” Mother said.

“Thank you, Mr. Lear,” I said.

I felt happy all over, but I also felt moved to ask Mother the question all over again. “Do you think I can have Malibu Barbie now?”

“Yes, baby,” she said. And from Lear’s Tandem Productions office we made a beeline to Toys ‘R’ Us, where I raced down the aisle and grabbed the whole package—the tent, the pool, the dream house, and, of course, Miss Barbie herself.

It’s ironic that while I was buying a Barbie dream house, the character that I was cast to play in
Good Times,
Penny, was living a nightmare. She was going through horrible times. She was an abused and beaten child who suffered terribly at the hands of her mother. Her mother burned her with an iron and broke her arm. I was asked to play someone who, although smiling and sweet on the outside, had an interior life of extreme fear and pain.

To help me through the process, I leaned on my real-life siblings. On those first shows, I wore Randy’s jeans because they fit me better than my own. La Toya helped me learn my lines, and so did my Mike, who was just about to go off to New York and film
The Wiz
. During rehearsals, I wouldn’t cry. I don’t know why. I just blocked the feelings. Maybe they were too much for me. When it came time to tape, though, the tears flowed. I felt what I needed to feel. I felt how much Penny needed to be loved.

I felt love from the cast of
Good Times
, who became a second family to me. However, I was still uncomfortable with the process. I hated the table readings. That’s when we were asked to read the scripts out loud. I didn’t think of myself as a good reader. I’d stumble over words. I’d feel everyone’s eyes focused on me.

I was also told that I was overweight and immediately needed to slim down. In the very first episode, the wardrobe department told me they had to bind my breasts. Where the decision came from, I will never know. So now it was not just my butt; it was my chest, too. I was in constant discomfort and lacked self-assurance.

The other young actresses that I knew in passing appeared to be self-composed. At the studio next to ours, two girls—Valerie Bertinelli and Mackenzie Phillips—were doing
One Day at a Time
. They seemed to know what they were doing. I wasn’t sure that I did. Today I understand that Valerie and Mackenzie were fighting battles of their own.

But I did it anyway. I acted. I pretended. I kept up a grinding work schedule. I missed my family like crazy—Mike, who was making
The Wiz;
my other siblings, who were always recording. Meanwhile, I was working on this TV show nine to five.

Nonetheless, I was grateful for the part and the opportunity to act. I also derived satisfaction out of being on time and doing my work. My mom was supportive and loving. My brothers, whom I had once watched as cartoon characters on TV, said that they now liked watching me.

As a result of my success on
Good Times,
I was beginning to develop a small amount of self-esteem. I had accomplished something on my own, apart from my family. I had proven that I could act. The problem, though, is that the self-esteem was overwhelmed by self-doubt. I still did not see myself as attractive or especially talented. I figured I had gotten a lucky break. Because acting at the beginning didn’t seem especially difficult, I couldn’t give myself much credit for being good at it. In fact, I could hardly give myself credit for anything.

Yes, I was disciplined. Yes, I was being recognized. Yes, I was operating in the difficult realm of show business. But deep inside, did I feel uniquely blessed? Did I feel truly worthy?

The feeling that comes when you know the true you—a
true you that is strong, sincere, beautiful, and unquestionably valuable—was a long ways off. Before I could embrace that feeling, there was a world of lessons to be learned. And maybe because I see myself as a slow learner, none of the lessons were easy.

Yes, I was disciplined. Yes,
I was being recognized.
Yes, I was operating in
the difficult realm of show
business. But deep inside
did I feel uniquely blessed?
Did I feel truly worthy?
 

My father, Joseph Jackson, is a man who truly is old-school. People may not understand him, but I know he loves me and my family.

O
ur family was all about discipline. My parents saw discipline as the key to survival and success. I never once rebelled against the notion of hard work, practice, and rigorous rehearsal. I didn’t always like it—after all, I was a kid—but watching my brothers do it and seeing the results, the message was clear: no discipline, no achievement.

When it came time to get up in the morning and head to the set of
Good Times,
I was out of bed before the alarm clock rang. I was dressed. I was prompt. I was programmed. I embraced my family’s sense of unyielding discipline. I am the product of that discipline and cannot envision my life without it.