Life lessons will be missed as Oprah ends show
It’s not unusual for my fiance to walk into our living room and find me sobbing on our couch. Tears streaming, shoulders shaking, tissues soaking. He used to rush to my side and ask what happened, with urgency in his eyes and vengeance in his voice. But that was early on in our five-year relationship. These days the guy knows better.
He simply looks at the TV, shakes his head and says, “God, I hate Oprah.”
Yes, I realize a woman with an Oprah obsession is a cliche. And, yes, I realize my fiance isn’t alone in his contempt for a true American treasure. Do I care about either? Not one bit.
I certainly won’t care this coming Wednesday, when I’ll sit on our living room couch wearing a black veil, holding a rosary and crying the ugliest of ugly cries as “The Oprah Winfrey Show” dies and goes to TV heaven.
Where is that exactly? Well, it certainly isn’t in a jail cell with Jerry, Elaine, Kramer and George. Nor is it in a diner with the troubled Soprano family. I’d say it’s somewhere far above the clouds through which Capt. Pierce’s helicopter flew as he discovered Hunnicut didn’t forget to leave him a goodbye note.
What will happen Wednesday will mark a first in TV history because the show stands in a class all its own. To simply refer to it as a talk show would be an injustice. As a genre, talk shows bring to mind a haze of big red glasses, broken noses and paternity tests. Even the second most respectable talk show host in history, Phil Donahue, only proved he could win a microphone marathon.
Oprah, on the other hand, has changed lives. She has turned obscure books into New York Times best-sellers, Hurricane Katrina victims into dream-home dwellers, impoverished African girls into academic scholars and, yes, she’s also turned audience’s polite smiles into My Favorite Things hoots and hollers.
I can’t say I’ve faithfully watched all 25 seasons. Certain events — such as third through 12th grade — got in the way. Those weren’t the show’s best days, anyway.
“The Oprah Winfrey Show” consists of two eras. The first era being that of white supremacist guests, a new concept called the makeover, cigarette-smoking celebrities and Skinny Oprah dragging a wagon full of fluctuating fat behind her.
The second era belongs to Drs. Phil and Oz, audience members checking under their chairs the moment they’re seated, the Oprah Book Club and Skinny Oprah dragging Bob Greene behind her.
It’s the second era that made the show and its host legendary. Without the change from eye-popping to simply eye-opening, we wouldn’t set our DVRs, buy the books, donate to the causes, heed the experts’ advice, or feel the victims’ pain – all with a box of tissues handy.
The subject matter doesn’t seem to make a difference. Oprah can shout “You get a car!” a record number of times, talk to an optimistic woman whose beautiful face was destroyed in a car accident or surprise Justin Timberlake’s most unsuspecting fans and it all has the same effect on me that slicing onions while watching “Sophie’s Choice” would have on any woman.
What can I say? Making dreams come true gets me. Finding deeper meaning in tragedies gets me. And, getting something in an entirely different way really gets me.
Oprah fans know this as an “aha moment.” It’s the moment at which our brain finds that rare hidden door and opens a lovely new perspective. It could be caused by a young girl saying her favorite memory of her late mother wasn’t a trip to Disneyland, but laughing with her over a late-night bowl of Cheerios. Or, it could be Oprah’s favorite definition of forgiveness: “Giving up the hope that the past could be any different.”
Yeah, I’m one of those. I start way too many sentences with “Oprah says.” Even though I’ve never uttered the word “vajay-jay” to him, I’m pretty sure my fiance goes to his safe place when he hears those words. I can’t help it, though. She imparts such wisdom and “when you know better, you do better.”
I’m going to miss the chicken soup sound bites. But, I’ll also miss Oprah unconvincingly acting like she knows the lyrics to the songs her guests perform. Or, checking herself in the monitor and quickly correcting her posture. And, who wouldn’t miss guessing whether her Christian Louboutin shoes that day are a gift from Jerry Seinfeld’s brown-nosing wife or not.
I’ll get over that stuff. It’s the void of steadily flowing wisdom, life lessons and enlightenment that might lead me to create the Oprah Fans Anonymous support group.
And, no fans can’t just watch her new network, OWN, and call it good. It’s like the junior high friend who moved to a new neighborhood and pinky swore things wouldn’t change. But, the new digs, new friends and new mall made sure they did.
An anti-Oprah friend of mine recently went through a divorce and used my shoulder to cry on a couple of times. We had some long talks, one of which ended with her telling me — with sincere surprise — what great advice I give.
“It’s not me,” I told her. “It’s Oprah!”
She laughed and shook her head. I think that’s what anti-Oprah people do when they experience their first aha moment.
Contact reporter Xazmin Garza at xgarza@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0477.