This piece of writing was originally published on October 26, 2007. My son was eleven at the time and I was free to write about myself and him. The blog is now defunct, out of his teenage request to not have Mum ruin his life, at least online. I'm reposting again for the holiday season.
He Does What?!
I’m about to make a confession, a confession about a secret desire. No
one, not my parents or my best friends, not even my husband knows. I
have an unbelievable decades-old crush on Rod Stewart. Right about now,
my mother is saying "WHO?" my sisters are saying, "EEEWWW!" and my
husband is saying, "WHY?" This is why no one knows and now every one
knows.
I’ve
had a longstanding thing about Mr. Stewart that began with the
first time I heard "Maggie May." That voice! THAT HAIR! (You may have
already noted the follicle similarity between Mr. Stewart and my own online avatar.)
Mom
and Dad kept a tight control over the stereo and LP expenditures in our
house while I was growing up. Basically, the choices boiled down to
their way or the highway. While I lived with the Partridge Family, Neil
Sedaka, Barry Manilow and Billy Joel, I loved the Rolling Stones,
Fleetwood Mac, and Queen, and I lusted after Rod Stewart. I dared not
bring any of these bad boys of rock and roll anywhere near my mother’s
Ethan Allen living room, but I never stopped drinking in every song
played on the radio.
I stopped dead when Rod was played over the
airwaves. I was capable of no sane thought or action. His British
accented growl could make "sardines and toast" sound like something
naughty. I would continue to pour milk into over flowing glasses. I
would mow over Mom’s flowers. I would walk into telephone poles. I was
incapable of any coordinated movement when that whiskey soaked gravelly
voice flowed from the radio right into my soul.
No one noticed that I
had an uncontrolled desire for this man. It was covered by a teenage
awkwardness that began at the age of nine and ended at thirty-five. I
had glasses, a bad haircut, chronic sinus drip, and a passion for
reading which pretty much sealed up my social life and ensured that my
parents left me very much alone. I was, however, skinny, real
skinny, model skinny, but this was only a temporary tease for my
adolescent ego. I knew, by looking at family photos, that I was headed to become an apple dumpling with cellulite.
Despite all the
outward negatives, I did have one vivid imagination. In my mind, some
day, some how…I would get to see Rod Stewart in concert and he might
even look out to my section of the stadium and…and…
As I grew
older, these fantasies grew older. They involved alcohol, cigarettes,
velvet, and a tawdry lifestyle that I could never bring myself to
attain. But in my mind, I would still gladly give my body, cellulite and
all, if only….
Now fast forward to the present, I don’t think of
Rod Stewart much any more, but every now and then, his songs are
played on "oldies" radio. Such sin, Rod Stewart played on oldies radio. A quiet
blush still crosses my face with "Tonight’s the Night" and I still love
the name Maggie. Losing ten pounds will always result is a riotous
round of "Do you Think I’m Sexy" shouted into my hairbrush as I gyrate
about the bedroom dodging shoes and piles of laundry. But it has all
ended today, in the post. It was a crushing blow.
My son’s "Model
Railroader Magazine" arrived today. "Hey Mom, do you know Rod Stewart?"
I’m thinking I’ve got to sing more quietly in the shower. "Hey, MOM! Did
you hear me? Do you know Rod Stewart?"
"I know of him, Matt." I said,
truthfully.
"Guess what! He’s a model railroader, just like me!"
"HE
DOES WHAT?!", I screamed. My fantasy life crumbled as I stood in the
driveway staring at a feature article about my favorite sex symbol’s
hobby. For God sakes, he even takes his paints and glue on tour with
him. The champagne, the smoky lounges, the bear skin rug, the entire
fantasy is now lying at my feet like so much spilled rail bed ballast.
It’s all replaced by an image of an English eccentric in a railroad cap
painting age and tarnish over miniature plastic buildings.
"I’m
proud to be a railway modeler. It means more to me to be on the cover
of Model Railroader than to be on the cover of a music magazine" - Rod
Stewart, Model Railroader, December 2007
Rod, sweetheart, you are in my heart and in my soul, but why did you have to end it this way?