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My sister sent me a link to the Susan Boyle’s “I Have a Dream” performance on Britain’s Got Talent.

I am really happy for her. It would be interesting to know the backstory because people just don’t learn to sing like that in the shower.

BUT… as I watched it, I couldn’t help being bothered, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Not bothered with Ms. Boyle or her performance. But bothered with the whole tenor of the show and the media attention she is now getting. It wasn’t until this morning that I identified what is bothering me has everything to do with this question:

Why is Susan Boyle such a sensation?

Her performance was good, and she is very talented. But it wasn’t a perfect performance and lacked in some subtle ways (emotional range, consistent vocal quality, and flat delivery in some parts). Don’t get me wrong, I thought is was great overall, especially considering the nerves she must have been feeling and the fact is was an audition.

When you cut through everything else, however, the reason she is a sensation has everything to do with the way she looks.

I’ll bet there were more than a handful of people who auditioned for Britain’s Got Talent that were every bit as good talent-wise as Ms. Boyle. The reason they are not a sensation today is because they look “normal.” There is an unspoken assumption that a weird, less-attractive person cannot have talent.

When we see somebody who is less attractive, admits she has never been kissed, and is quirky personality-wise, we assume she is untalented. Case in point, observe the judges reaction during the performance. They were stupefied. The non-Simon male judge admitted he thought she was going to suck. He said he had never been so surprised. Why would he be surprised that a person who is trying out for Britain’s Got Talent would actually be talented? Because the judge had already decided she wouldn’t be any good based solely on what she looked like and her quirky personality.

The Savior said: “Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgment” (John 7:4). Moreover, the Savior further explained the principle when He said: “[S]ee that ye do not judge wrongfully; for with that same judgment which ye judge ye shall also be judged.” (Moroni 7:18). See also “Judge Not” and Judging.

Why should we judge a person’s worth be based solely on what the person looks like? To be fair, at least the BGT judges allowed Ms. Boyle to perform. (The cynic in me doubts the altruism, however. The producers know that the embarrassment factor draws viewers like bees to honey.)

I find this all this post performance attention incredibly condescending. She is a sensation because she is a quirky, less attractive woman (who lives with cats) that just happens to be incredibly talented. Again, the assumption being who would have ever guessed that a quirky, less attractive woman (who lives with cats) could be talented?

Subject: The Best Christmas of my Life
Author Unknown

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1921. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn’t been enough money to buy me the rifle that I’d wanted so bad that year for Christmas. We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn’t in much of a mood to read scriptures. But Pa didn’t get the Bible, instead he bundled up and went outside. Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard.

“Come on, Matt,” he said. “Bundle up good, it’s cold out tonight.” I was really upset then. Not only wasn’t I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one’s feet when he’d told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn’t know what. Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn’t going to be a short, quick little job. I could tell. We never hitched up the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him.
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This came as an email forward, but pretty much sums up my feelings regarding lights on the house.

His wife had been on his case to get the Christmas lights up for a couple of weeks.

They are up now and for some reason she will not talk to him – go figure.

This morning I was awakened to Ava screaming for Mom at 6:15. The rule for Grace is that she stay in her bed until 7 am. We figure that if she has nothing better to do, she will go back to sleep. This morning, Ava was bugging me and I got up to close our bedroom door to drown out some of the noise.

I got out of bed and to the door only to see the girl’s bedroom door wide open and the blinds open as well. Grrrrrrr…. I stormed down the hall, getting my temper under control and walked into the room to find Grace already with her green church dress on and trying to figure out how to put on her socks. She had pulled out everything she needed for church, including shoes and was getting ready.

I told her she had to get the dress off and go back to bed. I could see in her face that her feelings had been hurt, and she tried to choke back the tears that were destined to come as soon as I left the room or within 20 seconds, whichever came first. Rather than have her bawling in the same room as Ava (because let’s face it: I hadn’t come to my facilities yet and thought there was still hope for Ava to go back to sleep), I told her she could go downstairs and play quietly.

“Ok Dada,” Grace responded with a smile, arms around my neck, and kiss. I went back to bed. It was 6:16 and Sunday is my only day to sleep past 6 am. She went downstairs.

I crawled back into bed and had one of those epiphany/guilt replays in my mind. It occurred to me that the last thing on Grace’s sweet little mind was waking up Ava or being bad (in fact, she had intentionally tried to be really quiet, which translates to pony in the house, not elephant). She was trying do something nice for mom and dad by getting ready for church all by herself, in an effort for our approval.

I felt bad about misreading her motives and knee-jerking to the situation without putting myself in her shoes. Admittedly, it is hard to put yourself in the shoes of a 4 year old: to reason how they reason and to perceive the circumstances and environment they way they perceive and value the environment and circumstances. So often, my perception of the situation is skewed by my personal view of the circumstances and situation that without taking the time to think about why Grace is getting ready for church at 6:15, opening shutters even earlier, and trying to be quiet (after all, Ava wokeher up), that my reaction is inappropriate once her perspective is taken into account.

So, tired as I was, I got myself out of bed, marched down stairs, and apologized to my little girl for misreading the situation:

“You were just trying to make mom and dad proud of you weren’t you.”

“Yes dada.”

“I love you, Grace.”

“I love you too, dada.”

Eating crow at 6:17 am was enough to get that extra fifeteen minutes of sleep I wanted.