Our Version Of American Idol

When I went through some dark times of the whole "chemo thing," there were a few television shows I enjoyed--Simon Cowell on American Idol and Judge Judy. Both shared some things in common--their abrasive natures and their control of a situation. Maybe the last factor was what I craved at the time, because my life was anything but the example of control.

I had no notion of any concept of permanence, and because of all the uncertainty, I suffered horrible panic attacks: a thing I occasionally felt before the fight with cancer, but nothing like what I experienced during this time.

One evening, while watching American Idol and enjoying Simon's insults, there was the classic number of mostly poor singers, who went for this whole final note thing. Suddenly we heard piano in our other room, and then we heard Jack singing and playing, just like he had watched and heard on television. That year, and each season they do something that ends up going to far and coming off as really silly by the conclusion, judges emphasized "the big note."

It's the one that approaches something primal, something glass shattering, something that makes your eyes moisten with tears. If nothing else, it's the compassion you feel for someone making appearing as a fool on national TV.

For our Jack, however, it is a cherished memory, a moment that defined him as an individual he still seems to be. Few days go by that he doesn't do something that makes me smile.

And each of my grandchildren do things like this that make me smile too, like Tommy's annoying sound he makes to tease me or his welcoming me with his dinosaur toys in the front window, like Anna's ballerina steps, like Sammy's growls. And by the way, Tommy did that too.

They are all things that make each grandchild an individual. It's what makes life so much fun.