American idols*

A while back, I watched a program on television that made me cry. It was the week of the “American Idol” finals. This show was about the rejects – the worst singers to have entered the tryouts. It was meant to be comical, and it was, because these people were just awful singers! But somehow, these contestants had never been told how terrible they really were. They had the planned stylish maneuvers, the cool costumes, and the big dreams of being the next nationwide celebrity. Nobody had told them, however, the brutal, honest truth that they just could not sing at all. The judges, upon hearing them, held nothing back, and were in fact merciless and even sarcastic. “Whoever told you that you could sing lied to you,” one said. “I would rather hear a cow give birth than to hear you sing! Have pity on the world and do something else, ANYTHING else, with your life! You have NO TALENT for singing!”

Some of the contestants argued back that they indeed could sing. They were in denial of the most obvious fact. Some of them said that they were having a bad day or it just wasn’t the right song. They too were in denial. Some tried to take the news bravely, but said that their “dream will not die”, and they would work harder to become a good singer. The judges told them frankly that it could never happen, that a certain innate talent was missing, and that they might get better, but they would never be good, much less great. The judges were right.

What caused me to cry was not the dozens of contestants who were in denial, but the ones who accepted the truth when the judges told them that they were just horrible singers. There, in front of millions of viewers, their hearts were broken, their “talents” were ridiculed, and their dreams were dashed on the rocks. The unavoidable truth caved in on them and it was not a pretty sight. One very handsome young man literally fell to the floor, overcome with sorrow. Utterly devastated, he wailed loudly for more than a full minute. It seemed much longer. Sitting there, just watching it, I cried. If I hadn’t cried, I think I would have felt guilty for being entertained by this intrusion into his overwhelming grief.

I could go a lot of directions with this story. I could talk about the fact that TV appeals to the worst of our nature when it gets us to laugh AT, instead of WITH, other people. That is certainly true.

Or, I could talk about the fact that we all have limitations, areas in which we have no talent, and we need to admit that there are some things we will never be good at. Find out what you can do well and work at it. Find out what you can’t do, and let somebody else handle that. (This does not mean that you can get by with saying you have “no talent” to cut grass or wash dishes! I tried that excuse and it doesn’t work!)

I could comment on the unintended cruelty of the family and friends of these “singers”, friends who never had the courage to tell their “loved ones” the truth that they couldn’t sing a lick! It would have been kinder to tell them gently before they made fools of themselves!

But instead, I would like to make a different point by asking some important questions: Are Carrie and Kelly and Taylor and Reuben, and the other great singing talents on “American Idol”, actually better people than these embarrassed young ladies and gentlemen who couldn’t carry a note in a bucket? Are J. Lo and Brad, and all the other celebrities, better human beings than the rest of us? If someone is able to sing, or act, or look beautiful, or carry a bag of air across a line of chalk, or hit a small sphere with a big stick, or slam a round ball through a hoop, are they just worlds above the masses of “average” humanity?

While admiring and enjoying their talents, I for one am getting weary of the fawning. I don’t care what size pool Paris Hilton has, or how many diamonds Madonna has, or who Ben is engaged to now. and I don’t want to know who designed the dress or who fixed the hair, and no (trust me), I am not jealous!

But, I have some really good news for all of you who struggle to pay your bills, who have “bad hair” days, and who can’t seem to lose those pounds. I have good news for those who can’t slam-dunk a ball, and who will never see Hollywood. I have good news for the pizza delivery boy, the mom trying to get the kids ready for school, the man driving the same old pickup truck to work every day:

There is only one whose opinion really matters; only one who has the right and power and wisdom to be the judge of everyone, and to Him you are every bit as important as Cher or Liz, or Brad, or ‘Magic’, or Barry. And the last time I checked, He didn’t care much for idols.

 

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