One day Taylor introduced me to Oprah Winfrey and I became secretly addicted to the TV program The Oprah Winfrey Show. I suppose admitting my powerlessness about Oprah was a first step, but for years I was in denial; I was a man and I was watching Oprah. Except for my daughters, my secret remained buried in the closet. Like a great many addictions it began innocently enough: with experimentation.
Often after school at 4 p.m. Taylor would turn on the tube to the Empress of Empathy, pop some popcorn, and bring out the butter spray; it was the no-cal butter spray, the I Can’t Believe it’s not Butter spray in the yellow plastic bottle that she sprayed as liberally as the county trucks spraying for mosquitoes. Beside the popcorn bowl would be the ever present Diet Coke. One family member would later wonder if the soft drink contributed to Taylor’s brain tumor, but we discounted that theory.
One day Taylor asked me to join her and a bonding was begun: I watched The Oprah Winfrey Show with my daughter, a box of tissue, strategically placed on the coffee table between us. One never knew when Oprah would tug at one’s heartstrings with a segment about starving autistic disabled children from Appalachia who had become orphans due to a mine disaster in which their father died and their mother subsequently died a day later of grief associated with the loss of her husband. So a tissue box was always at the ready in our house.
As I said, Oprah addiction wasn’t the type of thing that a man easily admitted, but the programs were fascinating and later when Taylor was undergoing chemotherapy at St. Mary’s Hospital, I would sit in the chair beside her hospital bed and click on Oprah for her and for myself. When her sisters were with her in the hospital they would watch Oprah with her as well. One hour of someone else’s suffering could be strangely therapeutic to a young girl on chemotherapy. Look, just for today, someone else has it bad as well. Misery does indeed love company. Why do we rubberneck at highway accidents? Why do we slow down? Isn’t a part of us saying, “there but for the grace of God go I”?
For Taylor the power of Oprah’s program was truly remarkable. I rarely watch the program anymore; not that I’ve joined Oprah Anonymous or anything; my reason for watching the program wasn’t Oprah, it was Taylor and sharing time with her. With Taylor gone, well, so was my desire and my reason to watch the Queen of Talk Shows.
In retrospect, the programs all seem to blend in my mind except the ones where Oprah gave away this or that. I don’t believe Taylor was still alive when Tom Cruise did his famous couch hurdle, but for a couple of years we followed the issues and the dysfunction of many of the guests and even caught local attorney, Willie Gary, as he and his wife were introduced in Oprah’s audience. Gee, I knew a guy who was on Oprah’s show, I could say. Ironic I suppose that Willie Gary would also be featured on 60 Minutes as well as Taylor. Funny too, that the three people from Stuart who had been featured on 60 Minutes were people I knew. I even taught with Barbara Webb whose dentist injected her with the AIDS virus. Mrs. Webb made the “Stopwatch Show” as well.
Today Oprah is a short stop on an occasional remote control “channel surf.” Oh, once in a while, the Oprah addiction will have its way, and I’ll watch an entire episode, but missing is Taylor’s call of, “Hey, Dad, Oprah’s coming on.” Watching Oprah is not the same without Taylor. Sometimes after a few minutes of Oprah a lump comes to my throat that I think Oprah’s viewers would understand.