I don’t usually watch Oprah usually because I don’t get home in time to tune into her show.
But today I came home early from my chiropractic appointment in order to vegetate before I had to go out yet again for the evening.
I tuned into Oprah
and to my surprise and delight Shaun Cassidy appeared on the television screen.
Flashback! I’m not yet ten years old and I knew…I KNEW Shaun was special. One listen to “Da Doo Ron Ron” and I was instantly in love. I never owned any of his records (yes RECORDS not 8 tracks or tape cassettes or CD’s) but my older sister did. I still know all of the words to “Hey Deanie” and “Let’s Rock and Roll” even after all these years.
My sisters and I used to perform in the unfinished basement of our home. The only electrical outlet available to plug my mother’s old record player into was one that was built into the light socket in the ceiling. Sometimes it must not have been grounded because often when touching the arm and needle of the player we’d get a shock and the lights in the entire house would dim.
But pain of death wasn’t enough to stop us from crooning along with our heart-throb.
And, for your future reference, skipping ropes make very effective microphones.
Sometimes my sisters and I would choreograph dance moves, pretty darn impressive considering we only had “farm TV” which consisted of two channels and MTV only came on for one hour on Fridays. We had a minuscule amount of resources for choreography ideas to say the least.
I still remember the poster of Shaun that came with his “Born Late” album. He was dressed in white, sweater draped casually around his shoulders, sitting at a white grand piano. My sister pinned it reverently above her bed.
It was the time of “Tiger Beat” and “Teen” magazines both regular purchases with my eleven dollar a month allowance.
I remember them as days of lighthearted, innocent infatuation. A time when one record made a young girl happy for months and months. I wish I could still get as excited over the recording artists that exist nowadays. Sure, I appreciate and enjoy music. Sometimes it even gets me through a brutal day of cleaning house with less grumping and whining. But I don’t get all tingley and hyperventilative like I did when I was ten and I heard my teen idol perform.
Mind you, if I ever see my childhood obsession Rick Springfield perform on Oprah in the near future, you may just have to break out the smelling salts!