The Death of My Childhood.

Mark your calendar, boys and girls. Today, November 8, 2007, marks the death of my childhood.

You see, before I fell madly in love with Suzanne Sena, and before I had ever written my first epic poem about Mary Katharine Ham, there was another woman in the center of my life.

A woman who I was convinced would "call me". A woman who I was determined to have "one way or another." A woman who taught me the virtues of acheiving "rapture".

I was 8, and that woman was Debbie Harry, lead singer of Blondie.

My friends, Debbie Harry turned 62 years old today.

62

Let that sink in. Let that wash over you.

I'm going to share a story with you in the extended entry. But for the main page, I'll just include this.

It's how I prefer to remember her.

Years ago, I lived in Germany.

My father was a member of the military, and we were stationed in Germany from the time i was 6 until I was 9. One summer, when I was eight years old, I went to a German Summer Camp for a month.

Unbeknowst to the people running the camp, a group of us used to sneak out and walk about a mile and a half through the woods at night. There was a biker bar, with a pinball machine and a jukebox.

And that summer, Blondie was huge. This biker's hangout was plastered with posters of Harry and her songs were always on.

I was convinced she was the coolest woman I had ever seen. And the bikers (who spoke little English) adopted these little 8 year old Americans who were trying to speak German. They actually watched out for us, and treated us like mascots. They would save the pinball machine for us to use, and they would throw a few pfennings in the jukebox for us when we were low on money.

It was more fun than any 8 year old should have been allowed to have. Had my parents known what I was doing, I'd have been grounded for years. But it was worth it.

Anyway, I came back from summer camp with a new passion: dirty biker gangbangs in filthy unisex restrooms Debbie Harry and Blondie.

I saved my allowance and bought every album I could. From 1978-1981, Debbie Harry was MY girl. I wanted to go to New York and hang out at CBGB's, even though I didn't know what a CBGB was. I just knew Blondie played there.

Well, like all early loves, my ardor for Debbie Harry soon faded. I still played the songs, but she faded from my consciousness.

And now...all these years later...she's 62.

She never did call me. I never did have her one way or another. We never acheived rapture.

I feel the poorer for it. And older. Much, much, older.

I mean, I'd still hit it and all. It IS Debbie Harry.

But the passion would be gone.

Such is the tragedy of time.

posted by Jack M. at 06:20 PM

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