Throughout this last school year, I missed out on something that happened at regular intervals, on Sunday nights.
Those nights were usually spent finishing assignments I’d said I’d do all weekend but ended up going out and imbibing instead. Sunday nights were vowing to be organized, picking out the next day’s outfits, preparing a healthy lunch that wouldn’t leave me desperate and starving by 3:00 p.m. Sunday nights were my renewal, my accomplishment.
But, like I said, I had missed ot on something that only now, by the gracious goodness of reruns, am fully appreciating.
It’s called Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Every Sunday night me and my Kleenex Box curl up. I try and hold in my crying until at least 20 minutes into the show, knowing there’s more to come. I don’t want to use up all my crying at the beginning and miss out on crying alongside the lucky homeowners who are also crying at the end.
For those of you unfamiliar with the show, the format is as such: Family desperately in need and heartwarmingly good are nominated to have their home rebuilt because they cannot afford it, but it is needed. Sometimes it’s a family so poor because of illness, sometimes it’s people who’ve always ben poor but who give everything to helping their fellow man. Either way, their stories make me cry. Then Ty Pennington of Trading Spaces fame amasses a design team, and the help of almost every resident of the town hosting the family receiving the home makeover. We watch them demolish the old house, build a new one, and then they bring the family back from some dream vacation to come and investigate their new, palatial home complete with fancy new furniture. Then I cry more and the people on TV cry more, and I’m filled with a feeling of, “I want to DO something.”
I never feel bad crying to this show. Although I don’t like to cry alone so I usually call one of my best friends who introduced me to the show and cry with them. And don’t feel bad, because it’s not crying out of a sense of helplessness or tragedy. It’s crying at how beautiful these helpful people are, how grateful they are for something so elementary that I and many others take for granted. It’s crying watching thousands of people amass with smiles to help people they don’t even know. It’s beautiful.
I obviously finish up with some crumply, damp Kleenexes around me and a drive to renovate. Of course, my bank account is smaller than that of ABC Television, and so I cannot afford to makeover the broke down house downtown that is used as a women’s shelter.
But who’s to say I can’t help out in another, more cost-effective way? Can I indeed become a volunteer? I am no longer a student who devoutly commits free hours to papers, assignment and barhops. Now I have a 9-5, evening and weekend freedom. I could volunteer, couldn’t I?
Hopefully I wouldn’t cry every time. Maybe with a few more episodes of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition I will be desensitized to those things that make me cry. Although, I really hope that never happens. I like my Sunday night cry.

Labels: TV