The Dove Awards Were My Nightmare

From the time I was in a training bra and multicolored braces, I knew I would attend the Dove Awards. I had this crystal ring holder in my bedroom and every year when the awards came on, I'd act out my role. I assumed, of course, that I would be a Dove winner, not just an audience member. I'd stand in front of my bedpost and thank everyone that helped me win that tenth Dove... God, my mom, my dad, my wonderful husband and our 4 perfect children, and Amy Grant - my bestest friend in the whole world who - of course - helped me write every song on my new platinum album.

It didn't quite work out that way.

Still, I did realize my dream of going to the Doves. It was 1999, I was 20 years old and not yet engaged to my husband, who came to Nashville with me for the event. Even though we had nosebleed seats, it was the highlight of my life... even though Amy wasn't scheduled to perform that year. If I ran into her washing her hands in the bathroom, that would be fine by me.

I picked out an outfit that was God-awful. I still have it, actually. I wore open-toed shoes but it was rainy and freezing. I thought I looked awesome - Reba, if you're reading this, you should have slapped me. Anyway, a few things happened along the way to make the day not-so-wonderful.

The day before the Doves, I went with my friends to see Avalon in concert. They were taping it for a show - don't ask me which one, it was 12 years ago. My friends were completely in love with Avalon and knew them on a first-name basis. I knew two of their songs and didn't really care. I wore the aforementioned open-toed shoes, thinking I was the queen of style. I was supposed to meet a big producer there, someone I had corresponded with at length about my music. I thought for sure the shoes would get me a record deal or something, I don't know. What I didn't realize was that concert tapings go on forever. I was in heals and my toes were frozen. There were no seats, we were all standing. They had to record several of the songs a zillion times to get them right. Everyone in the audience was thrilled, except for me. I was pissed. I was in pain. I hated stinking Avalon. When the show was over, my friends HAD to go up and talk to the dudes in the group. I found a folding chair and sulked.

The next day, my feet were cramped up in little balls and I was in agony. My calves hurt, too. I really, REALLY hated Avalon by that point. Plus... now I know this isn't something you really discuss publicly but it is such a big part of my story... I developed my first-ever... uh... we'll just call it a "girly infection." My feet hurt. My crotch was on fire. But it was Dove night and nothing - N.O.T.H.I.N.G - was going to keep me from my dream night!

There was one thing nobody had told me about award shows - DON'T COME EARLY. I don't remember how long the Doves went on for. Six hours? Eight days? It's hard to recall all these years later. The first few hours of the Doves consist of nothing anyone cares about... unless you're the person nominated or that person's grandmother. They give out awards for makeup artists, record technicians, the guy who cleans the toilets at the end of the night, the small Asian immigrant responsible for wiping Steve Taylor's nose...

To make matters worse, we ended up sitting with the family of one of the guys in the band Burlap to Cashmere. It was kinda cool at first. I had their album. (What happened to them anyway???) I liked their stuff. Sure. But it became a total nuisance, as Burlap was nominated for everything under the sun that year... with other bands we liked more. What were we gonna do?? We didn't want to be rude. So every time Burlap was announced as a nominee, no matter who they were up against, we felt compelled to jump out of our seats and cheer wildly like they were our own flesh and blood. When they lost, we acted like we had just seen a puppy get hit by a car. It was the least we could do. I mean, they did travel all the way from New York.

Of course, I spent about 25% of the entire evening in my seat because my "lady problem" was so bad I couldn't sit still. I spent a lot of time in the bathroom praying for mercy while my favorite Christian singers meandered in and out to pee and check for spinach in their teeth. I didn't think it would be appropriate to shove my hand under someone's stall and ask for an autograph. So I sat - and scratched - and cried.

I was also dismayed to discover that 1)commercial breaks were frequent and lasted about as long as a human pregnancy, 2)Naomi Judd was hosting, and 3) most of the artists only sang quarter-songs. Now, really. Quarter-songs? You don't hear quarter-songs on the Grammys. There I am, all psyched up for Steven Curtis Chapman, and he goes "SADDLE UP YOUR HORSES!" and walks away. WHAT IS THAT?!? Naomi Judd... arg. We won't go into her. I've met her many times and she rubs me the wrong way, enough said. And as for the commercial breaks... how much popcorn can you really buy? It was so boring we were practically playing Hang Man on the back of our programs.

After the 2-week awards ceremony, I was sicker than a dog. Lady problems, foot problems, plus my throat hurt and my glands were swollen. I wanted to go back to my friend's house where she was staying, but NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO she HAD to go to the after-parties. Screw the after-parties. The only party I wanted was sponsored by Aleve and Diflucan. So she loaned Scott and I her jeep and honestly... I don't remember a thing after that. I crashed and burned. (Literally and figuratively... but that's a little gross, so I'll stop.)

Know what? I never watched the Doves ever again after that. Ever. I doubt I ever will. Unless I'm nominated someday.

Do they give out Doves to authors? Pin It