The Ledger

By Patricia McClellan

There was a time when I was a full-blown reality TV junkie.

I’m not talking about casually catching an episode now and then. I planned my evenings around complete strangers making terrible life choices. Without reality TV, my television would’ve been nothing more than an expensive piece of furniture.

Reality TV was like watching a train wreck. You knew you shouldn’t look, but somehow you just couldn’t tear your eyes away. Every episode promised another disaster, and there I sat in my recliner, hollering advice at people who couldn’t hear me and wouldn’t have taken it if they could.

I got way too invested in folks I’d never met. I worried over Housewives getting facelifts like I was listed as their emergency contact. I rooted for the underdog on Big Brother and fussed at the bullies like they were sitting in my own living room. I’m convinced my neighbors thought I was hosting the Veto competition myself.

Monday nights belonged to the folks on Lizard Lick Towing. Nothing amazed me more than watching someone act completely shocked that their car was being repossessed…after skipping six months of payments. The audacity!

Then there were the fearless Cajuns on Swamp People. They’d be wrestling a twelve-foot alligator while I was clutching my sweet tea and yelling, “Ask the cameraman to help!” Apparently, cameramen have a strict “film first, rescue later” policy.

And don’t get me started on Toddlers & Tiaras. Somewhere along the way, toddlers started wearing more makeup than Dolly Parton on a Saturday night. Their mamas insisted it was the child’s dream, Bless their hearts.

Looking back, I miss television that entertained us without making us cringe. We had Opie learning hard lessons, Lucy and Ethel trying to keep up in the candy factory, and families who solved problems without throwing furniture or flipping tables.

My daddy wouldn’t let me watch Laugh-In because Goldie Hawn danced in a bikini. If he could’ve seen what passes for entertainment today, he’d have apologized, handed me the remote, and said, “Turn Goldie back on.”

I still think reality TV should’ve stayed on some producer’s drawing board. But if I’m being honest, every now and then I still slow down for that television train wreck.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I just heard a train run off the tracks in my living room. Now where did I leave my remote?