And They Called it Puppy Love

Y'know, guys, squealy fangirl is part of my tagline for a reason.

In my long career as a single gal, I dated a couple guys who weren’t musicians. But I didn’t like it.

As it is with many girls, my passion for musicians began with teen idols. Long before The Jonas Brothers, long before Hanson, long before New Kids on the Block and The Backstreet Boys, there were the Osmonds. More specifically, there was Donny Osmond. Donny Osmond – that sweet and innocent puppy-eyed safe haven for pre-adolescent dreams. I listened to his albums over and over, usually with the album cover propped up in my direct line of vision so that my enjoyment could be visual as well as aural - so that I could look into his too-dreamy-to-be-true eyes when he assured me that ours was not a puppy love.


Donny was my favorite. It was his poster that I kissed goodnight every night. But I wasn’t completely faithful. I also loved Tony DeFranco.

And David Cassidy.

You probably get the idea. If ‘16’ or ‘TigerBeat’ was writing about them, and they had dark hair, dreamy eyes and a nice smile, they were ok by me. Countless hours were spent with girlfriends giggling and dreaming and discussing the merits of these fabricated idols.

I will never forget one year – at the height of my obsession with all things Osmond – the Osmond brothers were playing at the Allentown Fair on the same night that I was attending the Allentown Fair. Money had not been budgeted for the concert and I was given a firm and inarguable ‘no’. As we were leaving the fair, the boys took the stage. The sound of pre-pubescent girls who were not me rose and filled the air with its sweet inexplicable angst on that late summer night. I broke away from my parents and pressed my ear against the fence. I was crying and squealing as if I had a front row seat. I was breathing Donny air! As I was dragged away, tears streaming down my face, I reached pitifully, hopefully towards that fence. “Don’t be so dramatic.” My mother warned. Dramatic? I was just getting warmed up.

When I returned to school a few weeks later I was asked to write the requisite “What I Did on My Summer Vacation” paper. It is one of only a small handful of papers I wrote as a student that I clearly remember. It was titled, “The Night I Heard THEM Sing (Almost)”. You can imagine.

I grew out of that stage, as most girls do, eventually becoming ashamed of it – reluctant to admit it ever happened – a Judas denying my teeny-bopper gods. He might have been a little bit rock and roll, but I was ALL rock and roll. 100% certified teeny-bopper free. Yet I clearly remember being at another outdoor festival several years later. The radio was playing over the loudspeakers and they mentioned that Donny Osmond had gotten married. I was over him. I was cool now. Donny Osmond sucked. Except – between you and me? My heart sunk a little in that moment. Married. He was somebody’s husband. There was no longer the potential for our eyes to meet and just - know... That moment was when the era REALLY ended. That was, perhaps, the very moment when I realized that we really were all going to grow up. For all my grown-up posing, I didn’t really like that idea at all.

I'm still not so sure I do.



* - I didn't really have a David Cassidy calendar in 2006. But if there's a nice one available for 2010, you were all just given a great gift buying tip... My birthday is in September. ;-) Thanks in advance.

** - I wrote this entire post wearing purple socks. Donny would've wanted it that way.