American Idol 5: A Pickler Post-Mortem

Since I'm a minister, I suppose I'm not supposed to like American Idol. I know that the entertainment business can be very cheesy and sleazy. I wouldn't want my kids in it. Yup, I wouldn't want my daughter singing Fancy on national TV, either. But I suddenly feel like I want to make a comment, before Kellie Pickler disappears into the morning mists of Albemarle.

I got set off on this article because I was horrified by some message board postings I read yesterday, slamming Pickler. The intensity of hostility is irrational. The denigration is morally wrong. I hate to break the news to some, but Pickler didn't get herself born a poor, white Southern blond just to irritate your cool urban selves.

I'm a native New Jerseyan. Our family lived in the capitol of South Carolina for ten years, and our extended family still lives in western North Carolina. It was a big cultural shock for me to move from the mean Northeast, where I grew up, down to the sunny South. I learned a lot of things.

I learned I really liked mustard-based BBQ sauce. The wax museum and Ripley's Believe It Or Not is part of the fun of Myrtle Beach. I found out about fire ants. I also learned that Southerners don't need to impress Northerners – they've got enough to be proud of on their own. And I learned that, as a Yankee, I was a bigoted snob.

Here's something else I learned: I learned that Southerners raise their girls differently from Northerners. For instance, a lot of little Southern girls wear hair-bows (and they look pretty in them, too). I saw girls playing just a little bit clueless, and acting kinda cute and pouty, and saw that it was thought of as normal and amusing. They just don't raise a lot of Avrils and Vowells down south (praise be). I doubt few of the girls in the Albemarle school system would know the word "minx" – Britishisms being a little light in the Carolina curriculum.

Maybe these are reasons why Kellie Pickler didn't bother me in the least. I recognize her. We knew a lot of girls like her. And frankly, I certainly liked her better than a bunch of sullen, smart-mouthed girls slouching around in baggy, all-black clothes. And should I remind folks that non-Southern girls have their cultural mannerisms, too?

Did I think she was the top, number-one best singer there? My personal opinion was no. But Kellie's nerves were doing her in. She was choking from self-criticism and anxiety, and I saw it snowball from one week to the next. I suppose that's why I felt for her.

No, I don't know Kellie Pickler. I'm a conservative preacher, and I wouldn't want my daughter dressed up in the Idol style (I admit it; if it was my little girl, I wouldn't weep with joy – I'd be gasping "Ack!" and hauling her off the stage). But I preach every single week. I know what it feels like to be scared. My parents abandoned me, too. So all of a sudden I'm feeling compassion for a kid young enough to be my daughter, who looks totally terrified in front of zillions of people. So sue me.

She was voted out last night. But Kellie should go out with her head held up. I feel somebody should tell her that she earned her way into that final six. Tens of thousands of others never made it past the auditions. She's a Southern girl from a small town in North Carolina. And, like Kermit being green, I hope she knows that it'll do fine, it's beautiful, and I hope it's what she wants to be.

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