Is My Dad The Next American Idol?

I can only imagine what it’s like to be a father. Much less a father of three. Much less a single father that also has to be the mother and yet, that’s my dad Ed.

My siblings and I were hit with reality rather young, but my dad has always had this youthful energy that brings us back to the ages we’re supposed to be, because kids shouldn’t have to worry about what mom’s drinking, or why dad had to come home early from his business trip. It was never fair, but it was the life we were thrown into and we’ve surely made the best of it.

Being the older daughter, I’ve always felt like I need to compensate for the lack of a mother-figure in my life. I often find myself acting like the ‘Karen’ society has so very strongly rejected, and while it takes a lot to pull me out of the void of having an absent mother, my dad is the kind of guy to blast the EDM radio station, and bust out dance moves that no man over 50 would dare to attempt.

One thing I’ve consistently done with him over the years—with pride— is go to the nail salon. This has always seemed like a real bonding activity with moms and daughters, and at first that really bothered me, but now I know who’s missing out. My dad’s toes are currently three different shades of gold, and he leaves for a motorcycle trip next week. His friends said they are signs of good luck, and I applaud him for finding the right men, who aren’t afraid of a little glitter.

Out of the soon to be twenty-one years of my life, one specific memory comes to mind when I think of my dad, because the experience is not one many have had the opportunity of pursuing, especially with their father by their side.

I’ve been a singer my whole life, and I’m fortunate to say that I’ve always had parents who support that, despite knowing how difficult it is to actually make it in the industry. I’ve come a long way being self-taught, but my dad never did have much problem with all the hours spent hammering down on the piano, playing God knows what. He was there for my first real performance on the last day of middle school, and I remember his tears as I finished and ran towards him, drugstore mascara running down my own cheeks. Over the years he surprised me with a grand piano, then a ukulele, a banjolele, microphones, recording software and everything imaginable to work really hard at what I love. When I was 17, I decided to audition for American Idol on a whim. My dad was all in, but he had his concerns for me. It was a big step to go from singing in your bedroom and the occasional talent show to potentially being on live television, in front of well-established musicians whose main job is to judge your every move. It wasn’t that my dad didn’t believe in me, but he knew how bad I was at taking criticism, and how fragile my heart was behind the brick wall of false confidence I had built growing up.

“Are you sure you’re ready for all that?” he asked me about a week before auditions.

“I think so. We can do it, right?” I had said, as though we’d be auditioning together.

The journey was long, and I can only assume very exhausting for someone who was there for support and not for their own ambitions. We woke up at 3:30 that morning. He didn’t complain. We stood in line for seven- or eight-hours total, and I remember him running to Starbucks to get me tea; he even ordered some for other people in line. Id like to say this was partially his maternal instincts taking action, but I think he just knows when people need to be reminded that they matter, and that they’re seen. He’s the extremely practical but nice-guy, the go-pro dad, the talkative one, the jokester, and the doer. I think that’s why doing something like this— putting myself out there like this— wasn’t all that scary.

I made it through the first round of producer-auditions. So we went to Denver, where I had to do it all over again, and so did he.

Did American Idol pay for our flight? No. Did they pay for our hotel? No. Did my dad ever tell me it was too much time and commitment? No. I can never truly hold a grudge because as out there as he can be, he’s always on my team.

After two more auditions and a trip to Idaho, I had a golden ticket and a roundtrip ticket to Hollywood, right next to my dad. I felt on top of the world for a few weeks, and we spoke of the intensity that came with this sort of situation. He listened to me for hours, giving me tips and advice, as someone who’s been in front of a handful of crowds, with absolutely zero singing experience. He was a music fanatic who could never quite remember the words, but it seemed that he memorized them right alongside me, enduring the sleepless nights and outfit planning that left me questioning how I wanted to be perceived and why I wanted to make something of myself in the first place. He never seized to remind me how proud he was to be my dad, regardless of my accomplishments.

Hollywood was a blur. It was the most intense, challenging, and rewarding week of my life, and my dad caught it all on camera. He followed closely behind, making friends with everyone he crossed paths with, taking notes on people for me and making sure my eye-makeup was even. He prayed with me before each round, laughed with me every spare moment we had, and failed at holding back tears as he watched me under stage lights, from way up in the nosebleeds of the Orpheum Theatre. When I made it through, he hugged me tight. When I was told that I would not be the next American Idol, he hugged me just the same.

We walked the pier the next day and tried on terribly cheap sunglasses, with pure joy for the whole experience. I know that at the time, I could not have done it alone, and I am thankful for the experience every day, because we both reminisce on it daily. I started playing shows shortly after, and my dad was right there beside me, calling wineries and checking my setlists. Almost four years later, and he still calls me before every show.

“Microphone? Chords? Stand?”

“Yes dad, don’t worry”.

*Forgets power chord*

And he’s off. My dad would speed back to our house, making double time and managing to have me up and running before the first fifteen minutes of my set. He’s just like that, always having my back. I get so aggravated sometimes by how much he wants me to succeed, sometimes more than I feel I want to or am ready for, but he pulls me out of every slump and thinks of the craziest of solutions, only made possible by someone like him. So that’s Ed. A motorcycle-riding, TikTok-recipe extraordinaire, music novice, knowledge-collecting man who works so hard to be a father, mother, and influence to all. He’s also a registered nurse so if you need saving, he’s your guy. That’s my dad.