The Turn of a Page
Lexie Matthews
American Idol Fan
My four-year-old son cuddled closer to me. It was afternoon nap time, and he had asked me to lie with him as he fell asleep. He always wanted me to be close while he slept. I was tired, too. My husband’s random tirade the night before had made sleeping in the house impossible once again.
I had learned long ago that the only way to survive was to become invisible. I had learned to hide my real self away so that my husband’s angry words and actions no longer hurt me. After a while, I became invisible even to myself.
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My son drifted off quickly. He hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night before either. As his soft breath became even and I knew he was deep in the cherished peace of slumber, I saw a rare opportunity to temporarily bring myself out of the shadows.
I retrieved Clay Aiken’s autobiography from the bottom of a drawer where I had carefully hidden it. My husband had told me that I wasn’t allowed to read Clay’s book. He hadn’t given me a reason, but the less of a reason he had, the louder he yelled, and I knew not to argue.
As I opened the book, a wave of relief washed over me. I wasn’t completely invisible just yet. There was still a spark that gave me the confidence to defy orders—if only for a few precious moments. I sighed in silence and opened the book to a random page.
As I read Clay’s words that told of the abuse he and his mother suffered at the hands of his biological father, I nearly stopped breathing. I began to tremble as he shared the account of the strength his mother had to find in order to leave the man who had oppressed her and her son for so long—and how that act of strength helped Clay to become the man that he grew into, that wonderful young man who has inspired millions with his own strong and gentle spirit.
I shut the book quietly so as not to wake my son, sleeping so innocently beside me. As he lay in the refuge of his dreams, I looked into his beautiful face. In that face, I saw two futures laid out before him, one dramatically different than the other. And in that moment, before his nap had ended, I had made up my mind. Like Clay’s mother, I would find the strength to make a better life for the two of us.
The next morning, while my husband still slept, I quietly and triumphantly packed a few of our belongings into my car. I buckled my son into his seat, took a deep breath, and started the journey toward our chosen future.
Several months after our escape, my son and I celebrated our newfound freedom by attending a Clay Aiken concert. Tears streamed down my face as I held my son’s hand and we watched Clay perform. But these were no longer tears of fear or sadness or hopelessness, but rather tears of gratitude—gratitude for this man who will never know how the turn of a page changed our lives forever.
Reprinted by permission of Lexie Matthews (c) 2007 from Chicken Soup for the American Idol Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, and Debra Poneman. In order to protect the rights of the copyright holder, no portion of this publication may be reproduced without prior written consent. All rights reserved.
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Tau’s Story
Carrie Underwood
American Idol, Season 4
I have always been grateful to American Idol for all the amazing things that have happened in my life over the last two years, but I’ve never been more grateful for anything than having been allowed to be a part of Idol Gives Back.
It was a hot, muggy day when we visited a South African clinic. Tau was four years old and enjoying his time playing with the toys on the floor of the clinic waiting room. His mother and grandmother were with him, watching him fit the letters onto a brightly colored foam puzzle. They seemed so proud of him and made a fuss every time he completed the alphabet. He seemed like a typical young child in his overalls and lime-green shirt, only perhaps a bit shy—and sad.
Though he was only four, I believe he knew that being there wasn’t a good thing.
The situation in this South African clinic is one that far too many children and families have to experience.
I tried to talk with Tau. I asked him his name and how old he was, the typical conversation one has with a small child. I smiled as I spoke to him, and he smiled back, seeming only a little nervous.
The nurse walked in and called Tau’s name. We all got up to follow her. We were led to a small white room with one window and diagrams on the walls. There was a table in the center that held alcohol, cotton swabs, small metal tools, and other doctors’ instruments. Close to the edge of the table were two little packages lying side by side.
When we sat down, the doctor explained what she was about to do. Tau nodded when she told him that she was going to prick his finger. He seemed confident and calm, but the doctor was worried that he would cry and make the task difficult, so she asked the boy’s mother to comfort him as she took the various objects out of their sterile packages.
Tau didn’t move a muscle as the doctor pricked his tiny index finger. There were two small, square plastic test plates. The tests were very much like pregnancy tests, and the doctor was looking at lines. A certain number of lines would mean the test was negative, while another number would mean it was positive. The results, she said, would appear in about ten minutes.
Those ten minutes seemed like an eternity.
Again, I tried to talk to Tau. I told him what a good job he did and what a brave little boy he was. He smiled and shook his head no when I asked him if it hurt. He held the bandage over his finger. He seemed proud of himself for being so brave and enduring such a mighty pain.
When the ten minutes were up, the doctor looked at the tests, then back at all of us waiting patiently for the results. Without hesitation, she delivered the difficult news: this tiny, sweet, young boy was HIV-positive.
The doctor explained that he should start his medications right away and would need to come back for frequent follow-up visits. She explained that it was very possible for Tau to live a normal life. But I could feel my heart break.
I could only imagine what his family must have been feeling.
To think that this precious little boy did nothing wrong. He was kind, smart, and so adorable. Yet, he had this virus that could potentially cause him so much suffering and even end his life long before his time.
We left the clinic that day lost in our own thoughts. The boy and his family had to deal with this horrible news. And I began to think about my life and the great fortune I’ve had.
Like Tau, I have done nothing to deserve the things that I have stumbled upon in my life. The only difference is that I get the chance to have a full life.
Neither one of us did anything right or wrong. It’s just the hands we each were dealt.
The purpose of our trip was for us to visit the poorest areas of South Africa and give back to these people. Hopefully, we changed many of their lives for the better.
Because of my time with Tau, his family, and all the beautiful people of South Africa, my life has been changed forever. I now appreciate each day I have on this Earth so much more.
I never imagined when I agreed to go and “give back” that I would receive infinitely more than I could ever have given.
Reprinted by permission of Carrie Underwood (c) 2007 from Chicken Soup for the American Idol Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, and Debra Poneman. In order to protect the rights of the copyright holder, no portion of this publication may be reproduced without prior written consent. All rights reserved.
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