I am a little embarrassed to admit it, but I enjoy watching the
Oscars. Not for the reasons my mother watches it
– who’s wearing what, who came with whom, and the whole red
carpet thing.
I am a little embarrassed to admit it, but I enjoy watching the Oscars. Not for the reasons my mother watches it – who’s wearing what, who came with whom, and the whole red carpet thing. I just enjoy witnessing that instant when a person experiences the greatest moment of his life.
I have written before about the nobility of the lives led by us “ordinary” people. The older a person gets, the more he realizes that life is about more than the aspirations we had in our youth. If we don’t walk on the moon, become president of the United States, or find a cure for cancer, we have not failed. Our successes and failures won’t make the papers, but they are often as courageous and heroic as great historic events.
Most of our accomplishments become apparent slowly over time such as the satisfaction we feel in providing for and raising a happy child, building a successful business, or watching charity work bring results to our community. But at the Academy Awards or now and then in sports, we can be there when someone’s dreams come true. We can share, however vicariously, the excitement and poignancy of someone’s greatest moment.
Most of us will never win the World Series with a two-out home run in the bottom of the ninth, but we can watch Joe Carter do it. We will not come out of nowhere against unimaginable odds to win the Masters at 46 years of age, but we can watch Jack Nicklaus do it. And we will not come from a small farm in South Africa to the other side of the world to win an Oscar, but we can watch Charlize Theron do it.
Our feelings about celebrities tend to distort these moments. This one we adore and deserves success, that one is a jerk and doesn’t. Through People magazine, we keep track of who is dating whom and how so-and-so overcame their drug problem. Why do we read this stuff? Why are we so fascinated by celebrity’s lives? I scoff at this fixation with celebrity, but I have to admit that picking up a People magazine is like watching a car wreck; it is hard to look away.
But every once in a while, there is a ballplayer or an actor who seems really nice, almost human. If you met him, you know you would be fast friends. He seems like a regular guy. Maybe he is overcoming some terrible setback like an injury or a long fall from favor in Hollywood. Then, in an instant, the ball he hit clears the center field fence, or his name is read from the card in the envelope, and for a second, all is right with the world. It’s a magic moment. If we can shed our shell of cynicism, we feel the poignancy and the immensity of the moment for that person.
I know what I said about our quiet noble lives, and I mean it, but wouldn’t it be sweet? Wouldn’t it be great to raise your Oscar while a room full of tuxes and gowns stood and applauded? Wouldn’t it be great to have the team swarm you as you stepped on home plate while 40,000 fans went nuts?
Oh, well, not this time around. It’s just not in the cards. Our triumphs will not happen in a dramatic instant nor be lit by a spotlight for the world to see. Our accomplishments will assemble slowly over a lifetime like sand on the beach, and they will be shared privately with our loved ones.
So, we turn on the Academy Award show. We shake our heads at the mindless pre-show interviews and brew ha-ha. But when a deserving person wins, and their life is dramatically confirmed, we get to share a little bit of the sweetness.
