My Teen Idol by Sharon O'Donnell

Sometimes things we’ve dreamed about since we were kids can come true, even if you have to wait until middle age -- or later -- for it to happen. Back in the late ‘90s, I had a life-time dream come true when I finally met the teen idol I’d grown up adoring back in the early seventies. There I was at a concert in Myrtle Beach, a 37-year-old married mother of two, my hands shaking with nervousness because I was about to meet Bobby Sherman, the popular singer and actor when I was a pre-teen. I had read about the Teen idol concert featuring Bobby, the Monkees’ Davy Jones, and Peter Noone of Herman’s Hermits on Bobby’s website.
I was new to the Internet at the time and was a bit skeptical of using it until my husband Kevin told me, in hopes of encouraging me to use it, “Hey, I bet there’s even a Bobby Sherman site on there.” A few minutes later, a color photo of Bobby appeared on our computer screen accompanied by the sounds of “Little Woman”, his first hit song. I was immediately transported to my childhood, to the days of going swimming in the outdoor pool at Pullen Park and listening to Bobby’s records over and over with my best friend, Tina. To the days when the Vietnam War filled the nightly news, when drugs and casual sex were becoming ‘hip’; yet, I was protected from it all, cocooned in an innocence that is what childhood should be. My friends and I were aware of the current events, but we did not feel threatened by them. We felt safe, lost in a world of bike riding, spelling tests, and Bobby Sherman songs. He made being good ‘cool’; he was never arrested or in and out of rehab or even said cuss words on stage. I admired Bobby, a guy who in his 20s was suddenly catapulted to fame and fortune but kept a level head and was a good role model to his impressionable fans. As I scanned through the Bobby web page, I read letters from other fans, all remarkably expressing this same feeling: that somehow we wouldn’t have grown up the way we did, become the people we are, if Bobby Sherman had been a different sort of teen idol. I also found out that Bobby was volunteering as a trained emergency medical technician in Los Angeles – something he still does today at the age of 68 -- proving what his fans knew all along: he truly cares about people.
And then I saw the announcement of the Teen Idol Tour concert, and I knew I had to be there. I was destined to see this website and find out about the concert three hours away. My older sister Mary went along for moral support. I managed to obtain a couple of backstage passes to meet Bobby before the concert. Though I had met other famous people before, I had never felt this level of excitement. I think that’s because I had wanted to meet Bobby for so, so long; it was the culmination of a childhood dream.
When I was seven, I sent fan letters to Bobby but knew he couldn’t possibly read them since he received 30,000 letters a week. Then I had an idea I thought was ingenious at the time: knowing that Santa Claus went to everybody’s house, I wrote Bobby a letter and left it on the coffee table beside Santa’s milk and cookies along with a note asking Santa to deliver it (I also left one for Elvis Presley and ‘Rob’ on “My Three Sons”). Of course the letter was never delivered. So when I went to meet Bobby in Myrtle Beach, I took along a copy of that letter plus a newspaper column I wrote once about how grateful I was to Bobby for being such a wholesome teen idol and role model. I had both of these framed, side by side.
As my sister Mary and I waited backstage before the concert, the memories danced in my mind. There was the time in second grade when my mother took Tina and me to Bobby’s concert at Memorial Auditorium in Raleigh. He walked on stage, singing “Hey Mister Sun”, smiling and waving the peace sign while thousands of girls screamed at the top of their lungs. I sat in the balcony in stunned silence, waving the peace sign back to him and not quite believing that Bobby Sherman from the pages of Tiger Beat and the “Here Come the Brides” show was there on stage in front of me. (My mother let us ‘splurge’ and get the $2 color poster of Bobby instead of the $1 black & white.) And when the music stopped and the stage was empty, I remember I felt empty, too, because I knew he would never even know I had been there in the balcony.
Twelve years prior to the Myrtle Beach concert, I actually talked to Bobby on the phone after I had sent his manager some material I had written, and Bobby called to say thank you and that he liked my writing. I’ll never forget the day I came back from lunch to my PR job to find the pink phone message slip on my desk; ‘Bobby Sherman called’ it read. ‘Said he’d call back’. Which he did. When the receptionist realized it was THE Bobby Sherman she just about had to be resuscitated since she had been a big fan, too. Bobby asked me to send him some more of my writing, which I did occasionally, and once he sent me an autographed postcard. He also had given me his mailing address and I'd sometimes send him a Christmas card with photos of my sons.
So as I stood in a small back stage room of the Palace Theatre in Myrtle Beach, waiting with some other thrilled fans to finally meet Bobby, I wondered what I should say to perhaps trigger his memory about our past contact or if I should just start from scratch and introduce myself. I decided to start from scratch since he probably wouldn’t remember me at all. Suddenly, the door to the room opened and in stepped Bobby, dressed in a black shirt and silver pants (strategically tight silver pants, I might add), looking handsome and much younger than his 55 years. I backed up a bit, wanting to be the last fan to meet him, thinking I would have more time with him that way. But he took one look at me and stopped in his tracks.
“I know you,” Bobby said, looking perplexed, trying to figure out how he knew me.
“You do?” I asked, surprised. “I didn’t know if you’d remember or not, but we’ve corresponded before.”
He smiled and nodded in recognition. “I’ve read some of your articles,” he
replied.
I turned to Mary, who was nervously taking pictures of Bobby and me. “He
remembers!” I squealed, sounding like a starry-eyed groupie more by the moment. Bobby put his arms around my waist and hugged me. Crap, I realized I was taller than he was, and I suddenly felt like an Amazon oaf. I bent my knees so that I’d appear shorter in the photos, although later when I saw the photos, I looked like I had severe posture problems. Oh well. It was still a fabulous moment. If I had only known back in 1971 that one day this would happen.
Later, he made his entrance through the audience of screaming women, stopping to sign autographs on outstretched album covers. He passed by me and smiled. “Have a great show!” I yelled.
He reached over and briefly held my hand. “Thanks, Sharon,” he said. As he launched into one of his hit songs, I felt like I was seven years old again. But this time, I wasn’t sitting in the balcony. And this time, Bobby Sherman knew my name – if only for a night.
Mary, who is eight years older than I am, was never a Bobby fan because her peers were into The Grass Roots and The Doors and Robert Redford. But when I asked her on the drive home, what had been the best part of the trip, which had also included relaxing by the pool and great restaurants, she didn’t hesitate. “Bobby Sherman!” she shouted truthfully, grinning. Ah, yes, a convert.
As the years went by, I still sometimes sent a Christmas card to the address Bobby had so kindly given me in 1986, but I wasn't sure if it was still viable or not since it had been so long and I hadn't heard back from him in a while. But when my childhood friend Tina's 50th birthday approached early this month, I decided to write to the address and ask him a favor: to email or call my friend Tina, a fellow Bobby Sherman fan, for her 50th birthday. I sent the letter, and then didn't think any more about it because I really didn't think the letter would actually reach him. About a week later on Tina's birthday, I was at a movie when my phone vibrated, and I saw I had a text -- probably from one of my sons I thought. Then I noticed it was from Tina. It read, "OMG -- Bobby Sherman!! How do you pull such things off? Best present ever, girlfriend. I'm telling everybody!" I was so excited that Tina had finally received the phone call from Bobby that we used to dream about. And what a guy for following through for me!
My Bobby Sherman lunch box and my issues of Tiger Beat magazine are long gone; but, the memories he gave me are invaluable. In today’s world, the term ‘teen idol’ has been replaced by ‘sex symbol’, a shallow term that doesn’t measure up to the first. It doesn’t bring to mind the same depth of devotion of fans, the same extent of excitement. Bobby was quoted on the web site years ago, saying there aren’t any ‘teen idols’ any more because today’s pre-pubescent girls are too blasé about such things. He said, “Nowadays, you go from birth to puberty – there’s nothing in between.” The same is true for the female celebrities my sons hear about – Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears. I think of how much I learned during that ‘in between’ time, about myself and about life; and, I ache for all those young people out there rushing to grow up.

When I Grow Up...by Liimu

As I watch my belly grow and my daughters sing and play, I find myself wondering what they will be when they grow up. My daughters all want to be movie stars or pop singers, dreams that will likely change over time. It was my dream, too, and in my case, the dream never quite died. There was a long period of time where I wondered why my life had to take the turns it did, and why I never had the chance to realize my potential as a superstar pop phenomenon. Today was perhaps the first day I really felt like my life has gone exactly the best way possible. Realizing that has changed me and has changed the way I think about my role with helping to guide my children as they pursue their dreams.

When I was in my early twenties, I was at the Hard Rock Café in Myrtle Beach with my mother when I noticed Wyclef Jean and his entourage entering and sitting at the table next to us. Wyclef Jean is one of the founding members of the Fugees and was responsible for launching the career of Destiny’s Child and one of that group’s fairly well-known and successful members…Beyoncé. I was a huge fan of Destiny’s Child and the Fugees and could not contain my excitement at being seated right next to someone responsible for the two hugely successful (and talented) groups. I leaped out of my chair and asked if I could take a picture with Wyclef. As my mom snapped the picture, I leaned in close to him and whispered, “Can you do for me what you did for Destiny’s Child?” To my surprise, Wyclef responded, “Can you sing?” Of course, I said, “Yes.” (For those of you who haven’t heard me sing, you can check out my performance on NBC television in 2007 with Patti Labelle on YouTube or my original music at www.reverbnation.com/liimu.)

Wyclef then asked me if I had a demo, which I didn’t, but I would have broken into song right then and there – no shame in my game – if my mom hadn’t begged me to stop bothering them. I have often wondered if that might have been the moment my career took off. I think I also began to fantasize about my children actually pursuing their own dreams of superstardom as a way to finish my own story the way it should have gone.

In truth, I now realize that my story went exactly the way it should have. Having gotten sober at the tender age of 24, I know that I was a complete Lindsay Lohan-style train wreck waiting to happen when I met Wyclef. If I had been thrust into the spotlight, there’s no guarantee that my sobriety could have stood the test. What’s more, would I have met my wonderful husband? Had my wonderful kids? I love the life I have today and nothing is more important to me than being a mom. As for money, I have enough. And fame? That was never the reason I wanted to sing to begin with. In fact, I don’t particularly like being gawked at the handful times it’s happened. So, would my life have been better if I had gone down the path that Christina Aguilera, Britney Spears, and Rihanna all went? From what I read in the tabloids, not so much. I like having a private life. I like being able to take my kids to the Santa at the mall and to Ruby Tuesday for dinner afterward.

But what about them? What if they want to pursue that life, which they very well may? I’m clear now that my role is to neither pull them back nor to push them forward. My role is to provide them with a strong foundation of love, support, and spirituality, to keep them tethered to the important things that matter, so that they can fly as high as they want to without ever having to worry about floating off into space like a leftover balloon from a backyard birthday party. If I do my job right, they can have whatever job they want and it will be equally successful, equally fulfilling and equally okay with me.

Friendship of a Lifetime by Robin Gorman Newman

Seth was off Tuesday for Election Day, and we had a playdate here with his best buddy Nathan.  It's been some time since they got together here, since over the summer, we hosted various playdates at our community pool.

His mom dropped him off, and they proceeded to first play upstairs, then gradually made their way to the basement.   There, Seth played Wii, and Nathan perused the spacious closets full of toys and entertained himself.  Things were going swimmingly for some time, until the both of them wound up in my home office proclaiming they were bored.  Seth was armed with his tool kit in hand, asking me what needed fixing in the house.  I wasn't keen on going that route for my little Bob the Builder and his willing assistant, so I had to think fast.

Bored?  How could they truly be bored?  We don't lack for toys and means of entertainment.  Perhaps they were actually in toy overload and couldn't focus?  It was all likely becoming one big blur of legos, megablocks, fire trucks, spy kits, space vehicles, power rangers, rescue heroes, game boys, etc.  You name it.

Recalling that I've learned to keep on hand in the pantry various mixes for cookies, muffins and brownies.....Seth has always loved to help in the kitchen....I quickly proposed we bake.  They jumped on the opportunity, and Duncan Hines chocolate chip cookies won out.  While fun, this took all of 15 minutes (not counting the oven and eating time).  Then what? 

Nathan loves to write (he knows I'm an author), and Seth likes to draw, so I proposed we create books.  Armed with stapler in hand, paper, etc., they sat down at the kitchen table (after licking off the cookie dough spoons), and put pen to paper.  After another 15 minutes, they were ready to move on.

I wasn't sure what to propose at this point....until a moment of inspiration.  The two of them started bantering back 'n forth about how they met.  I was so intrigued by their dynamic, that I whipped out my FLIP video camera (which I adore) and told them we were going to make a movie about the history of their friendship.  They've known each other since they were 4 (they're now 7), and theirs is a charming friendship.  I'd like to share it with you (see below).  And, I'd like to recommend that you consider filming your children interacting with their friends, etc.....and be spontaneous....some of the most precious moments can be captured at the drop of a hat, and I'm grateful to have preserved this time between them.  It doesn't always have to be a birthday or momentous occasion when we break out the video camera.

They both had a blast doing it.  And, it reminded me of my childhood friendship with Audrey, who is still a close friend today.  We both recently celebrated our 50th birthdays,  and we've been good friends since kindergarten.  There's nothing that truly compares to a childhood friend who knew you "then."  While I welcome new, empowering friendships, having a history with someone means a lot.  She knew me when I had childhood dreams.  She knew me when I learned to ride a bike.  She knew me when I felt unpopular in Kindergarten.  She knew my crushes on boys.  She knew my breakouts.  She knew when I first got my period. She knew my mom before she passed away, and I knew hers.  She knew the dynamic of my family as I was growing up.  We went to the same college (had different roomates).  We traveled overseas together.  We socialized as singles (she's still single). It's hard to believe decades have passed.  Lots of memories.  She's like an "aunt" to Seth, and I'm so glad they have that relationship.

As I watched Seth and Nathan, I wondered if their friendship will be one of longevity.  It would certainly be nice for both of them.  And, it would be cool to see how they mature and grow into the men they are meant to be.  Time goes fast, and they may not follow in each other's footsteps.  But, I'll always have the FLIP video of the day the two of them talked about how they came to be friends.  And, hopefully in years to come, they'll look back on it as well....smile....and be grateful they still have each other, as I do my special childhood friend.

http://sharing.theflip.com/session/e4abdfd33c45b36384aa19060d523fff/video/25799301 -- click link to watch video

From Peter Pan to Grown-Up by Cyma

We are what people would think of as a normal, loving family. My husband and I have established careers; we are well respected in our fields. My young adult children live on their own, in their own condos and have very ‘good’ jobs. They are both rising in their companies. My younger children are sweet, respectful, polite, smart and popular. Our dog and cats are well cared for. We have many friends. By all accounts, people like what they see. However, what remains hidden is this: In the last few weeks, I’ve gone from Peter Pan to Grown. Sssshhhhh. Don’t tell anyone. It’s a staggering change.

I’m now dealing with an older son who is a good soul with drop-dead good looks, but has recently gotten in trouble with the law. My older daughter has just revealed that she’s grappling, mightily, with some demons. My father, a brilliant doctor still working in his 80’s is now showing the first signs of dementia. My father-in-law has had repeated seizures and recently fell and broke his arm; my brother-in-law by marriage is dying of lung cancer. One of my oldest friends has been without a job for nearly one year. Another friend just had knee surgery. My physician’s assistant has beginning stage breast cancer. I have two friends who are getting divorced; another who after several marriages/relationships just found true love.

Right now, our family is beset with problems. I am sober with thought and filled with the enormous responsibilities as a daughter, mother, wife and friend. I am not exempt from issues; none of us are. I just don’t know how to deal with all of this.

Before children, I lived a singularly insular life. I laughed, loved, worked, played, but very little touched me. I escaped the trials of other people’s childhoods; staved off true love; let few people into my heart; and remained content in isolation. Now, I cannot do so. Gone are the days when I could work overtime to remove all the papers on my desk, expecting to start fresh (and clean) the next day.

I pray. I’m mindful. Still, I cannot grasp the pain that everyday life can bring; still cannot always immediately fathom why we are led here to struggle in so many different ways. It seems that no one is exempt from struggle and nearly everyone is grappling with pain.

On most days, I don’t even know what to say to any of the people mentioned above. My admonishments and sadness about my son takes my breath away. My daughter’s struggles have just spilled over her solid, armored gates. My father doesn’t seem to see the recent changes in his demeanor. My father-in-law feels victimized; my brother-in-law and family don’t discuss feelings. My friends talk about staying in the present. What about me? I feel like I lived my whole life happily soaring above the clouds, which didn’t leave me much time for creating a solid foundation. I’m at a loss for how to cope, how to support and be supported.

I see what was missing in my life – commitments to loved ones; suffering over indisputable truths; riding the waves of innumerable crises – living each day as if it was my last. But here I am, very much alive and well and soberly contemplative about the state of affairs around me. I want to put these people and their circumstances into a locked box tucked under the corner shelf in the closet. But, the door remains wide open and the often ugly realities scream out like ghosts fresh from the grave.

I think this shall pass. It must pass. I try to live with my glass half-full; hold gratitude near to my heart; be thankful for my good life and fortunes. And breathe. If you have any suggestions, I’d love to hear them.

Independence -- by Laura Houston

My son Lyle started walking at 10 months. He’s an agile kid. Strong. Fast. Determined. He is physically advanced, and I have known this since I first felt his fluttering and then furious kicks during my pregnancy. His twin brother Wyatt has always been more contemplative, and not as anxious to crawl, walk, roll over or do much other than study things very, very carefully. But something changed at 14 months for Wyatt. He got tired of sitting and looking. He wanted to walk, and he wanted it badly. So he practiced. Obsessively. He took laps around our living room holding on to furniture to steady himself, and he calculated his moves carefully.

When we went to the park, I held Wyatt’s hand and let him walk with me, or I would put him against the fence so he could hold on and walk back and forth over the grass, sticks, bark and uneven terrain. He was thrilled with his developing skill, and it changed his personality, making him more confident, more determined, more joyful. However, as we practiced in the park sometimes the people watching would say to me, “You’ll be sorry once he starts walking, too. It just makes it harder when you have two of them to chase.”

And I would think to myself, “Really? I’m going to be sorry once he gains more independence and becomes a happier baby?” I have never understood how some parents can sacrifice what’s best for the child just to make things easier on them. I’m not talking about safety here. I don’t let my boys play in the kitchen even though they are desperate to get to any sharp, shiny object they can find in the cabinets. But when it comes to things like walking, running, climbing, and rough and tumble play, well, I’m all for it even though I have to referee more and watch more closely. Autonomy for anyone is good.

Since becoming a mother, I have lost a great deal of my independence. I miss being able to walk wherever I want to walk, and to go where I want to go when I want to go there. I mourn it every day when I am packing up the stroller with diapers, wipes, toys, water, snacks, sunscreen and every other accoutrement the boys might need on our journey out. I find the schlepping of baby stuff to be maddening. I hate that it takes me half an hour to get out the door some days just to go on a 15-minute errand. I miss my simple freedom dearly. I want my kids to have what I do not right now.

Parents of older children also dole out this nugget of wisdom to me: “Enjoy it while you can. It goes by so fast. In the blink of an eye. Next thing you know they’ll be in college.” And again I want to say, “Really? Because these past 14 months have lasted forever, and I can’t imagine in going any slower.” It’s true. Being the mother of twins means non-stop movement. Not-stop doing. Non-stop watching, listening….everything. I wouldn’t mind if it flew by sometimes.

That’s not to say I don’t love it. I do. I savor the moments because I know they don’t last. But I don’t want my boys to remain babies. I love watching them grow up and move away from needing me. Lyle won’t let me feed him any more with a spoon. Great. I’m OK with that even though I have prepare his oatmeal with less milk so it’s thick enough to roll into little balls he can pick them up and pop in his mouth. I’m OK with the additional baby proofing I have to do to keep them both safe. They’re growing independence does, indeed, create more work for me right now. But it won’t be more work down the line.

Parenting is hard work. It’s supposed to be. And it’s a sacrifice again and again and again, and I fall willingly into most of the time. I know it won’t last forever. I certainly do not want it to. I enjoy watching the boys learn things that may make my life more complex today if it means it will get easier tomorrow. That’s why every time I see the boys take a step closer to being independent, I see myself as getting closer to it, too. And I breathe just a little easier. Just a little.