The kid’s are reluctantly shuffling off to bed, I’m mopping the floor, and then, I hear it: That grating vibrato of a wanna-be soprano belting out the lyrics for the judges. That pitch, that amateurish sound, that is the hallmark of the show, is grating on my nerves.
I just spent an entire day with smaller people, that I love very much, who have auditioned parts of future roles they may or may not play when they’re all grown up. Everything from caped crusader, chef in a candy store, virtuoso on piano, the violin, (is my neck tense, or am I just gritting my teeth?) the science experiments, and the basketball shots that I am asked to lift my head up from the stove and watch. The sounding board for their frustrations, their aspirations, their hopes and their doubts has been, none other than, yours truly.
They are small men, testing out their lives, and this growth leads to mistakes, trials and tests. The cello and violin have been off-key, the homework is not always carefully read, the tests are not always graded with an A, and there is a pile of spilled sugar on the floor. Here, under my eyes and ears, they have the space to spread their wings and try.
Most nights, sibling rivalry, and a disparity of ages, leads to an evening wrapped in frustration as each child discovers his own limits, and comes to terms with the reality that what they imagine about themselves is not always in harmony with reality; well, for today, anyway.
My ear has been bent as a confidant, cheerleader, counselor and advocate for so many of their efforts. I pretend not to notice when the cello hurts my ear. I’ve been doing this denial dance all day long. We learn more from praise than by criticism.
Now that the kids are in bed, I am done with amateurs. I’m ready for nothing less than perfection. A clean floor, a clean counter, a perfect book, and well-written music to match. I do not want to, cannot, hear at the end of my day, the amateur wails of the hopefuls of American Idol. I cannot encourage one more person. I cannot turn my ear in denial when you are off-key. I have no tolerance left for goofs; I need perfection tonight. The kids will be awake, soon enough.
But what is even harder to take, is that look in your eyes at the end, when you wait for the judges to speak. Your entire lifetime of hope, hanging on their critique… Too much drama at the end of a very long day.
Hi, Susie,
Your post sums up perfectly why I’m not interested in American Idol either. Like you, at the end of a long day, I want something better, something inspiring, or something that will entice me to consider other times, places and possibilities.
Susie,
Very funny post. The show has amazing ratings so they must be doing something of interest to viewers. But really who has the time to watch all of that stuff. The producers of the show are making millions off of the talent contracts!