The first time I ever watched American Idol was the year Ruben won. I attributed my tears during the finale to the fact that I was laid up in a hospital bed, six months pregnant with twins. (As a side note, we almost named Owen "Ryan," but Ryan Seacrest made me rethink that decision.)
Six years later, I can't really blame my kids anymore, so I just have to accept it: American Idol makes me cry. Not every episode, mind you, just the finale.
I can't help it. There's something about seeing a person realize their dreams -- regardless of if they later look back and regret the whole thing, or if they never put out a decent record, or if they're just in love with celebrity -- there's something about that moment when the single thing that they wanted more than anything becomes theirs.
I don't know, maybe it's just a manifestation of my childhood desire to be a singer. Or I'm just sappy. But I love it. Not all the product placement and horrible song choices and cheesy guest appearances, just the part where you can see that flicker in their eyes and you know their lives are changed. Who knew American Idol had such depth?
Lest you think I drank the whole pitcher of Kool-aid, I do want to point out that during the part of "We are the Champions" when all the eliminated contestants emerged through the smoke, all I could think about was the song near the end of "Les Miserables" when all the ghosts come out singing. Creepy.
But congrats, Kris! I voted for you...in my mind.
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