| Memories of me - part II |
I remember the first time I ever felt the pangs of unrequited love. I was about nine years old and I had just seen a two part television movie: Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates, which starred a then unknown actor, Robin Askwith. Robin Askwith was a blonde, mop-topped British actor, who went on to star in such classics as Horror Hospital and bawdy romps beginning with the words: Confessions of a and the occasional Carry On movie. So much for my good judgement of men.
My next crush lasted for years. Decades, even. He was another British mop-topped lad, from Liverpool, by the name of James Paul McCartney. I loved his dark eyes and hair and his full, pouty lips. I kissed his face on countless Beatles album covers. I played all of the Beatles songs over and over until I had the lyrics and melodies to each one memorized. I just knew that one day, Paul and I were going to find each other.
 I was crushed when one night, as the family was watching a television special on the Beatles just after they had broken up, my father inadvertently broke it to me that Paul was married. I knew that John Lennon was married - who didn't? Yoko Ono was his personal shadow. But Paul? No! I was going to grow up and marry Paul. I had even sent him a letter telling him that I was a blonde haired, blue eyed 16 year old girl, and would he please send me an autographed photo? I was ten - maybe. And I had dark auburn hair and moss green eyes. I stretched the truth a bit in those days, but where Paul was concerned, you had to be a little bit mercenary.
Instead of an autographed photo, I was issued an invitation to join the Beatles Fan Club, which had not yet become defunct. I think it cost $2.50 to join. For my parent's money, I got some Beatles bio info (duplicates of things I already had, pretty much,) but, for Christmas 1970, they sent me the Beatles Christmas Album, which was a compilation of every Christmas message that the Beatles had issued to members of their fan club since 1963. Thank you Bettina and Frieda! Like any good ten year old does, I set about drawing in beards and moustaches in blue pen on the faces of the Fab Four on the album cover. It would be worth $1,000 now if I hadn't defaced it.
In the back of my mind, Paul always remained my ideal man. I read about what an incurable romantic he was, and how devoted to Linda he was. Every so often, I'd dream about him, and there was Linda, instructing me that if anything happened to her, I was to step in and be her replacement. I was even invited to their farm in Scotland. I always awoke from these dreams feeling lovely. This was my empyrean from which I wished never to leave.
One day, though, Linda did really die, and I felt devastated for Sir Paul. By this time, I was nearly 40 years old and Sir Paul was near to 60. Surely, though, for all of those dreams and all of those decades, it had to mean that the Universe was telling me something, wasn't it?
It meant that I moved in the wrong circles - that's what it meant, because Sir Paul remarried someone else shortly afterwards. I find it ironic, that when Paul was 30, I was too young for him, but when he was age 58, I was too old.
I never did develop any real crushes after Sir Paul. David Carradine as Kwai Chang Kane appealed for a little while in the '70's. And then Pierce Brosnan (mainly because he reminded me of Sir Paul) in the '80's. But adult admiration can not replace childhood crushes. And even though I adore men like Bruce Campbell and Johnny Depp, I've lost the nexus of my reveries.
I wound up marrying a Sydneysider, not a Liverpudlian. But they both have the same dark brown eyes, and, if my husband wasn't so grey now, the same very dark brown hair. They both have lovely full lips, and they share something else - a birthday. June 18th.
Coincidence? I think not. |
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Name: Melanie O.
Home: Durham, North Carolina, United States
About Me: Female, American health and beauty-conscious professional who has rekindled a childhood love of dolls.
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posted by Melanie O. at 
