My Real Memoir

I needed a reboot. I didn’t know the term yet because it was only 1972, and I wouldn’t own a computer for another decade. But computer programmers coined the term reboot that year in reference to having a computer “pull itself up by its own bootstraps.” And that was exactly what I was trying to do.

I had no mentors left. I was barely on speaking terms with my father. And I’d just learned that the other man who’d had the most impact on my life, my high school drama teacher, had had an affair with a student and abandoned his family for her. I was appalled! But I was disappointed in myself too. From my teens through my early twenties I’d envisioned myself on a sort of yellow brick road to fame. But it had turned out to be nothing more than painted rocks. There was no Oz.

The week I turned twenty-two, “Day by Day” from the musical Godspell became a radio hit. It’s lilting melody and words of devotion (“to see thee more clearly, love thee more dearly, follow thee more nearly”) awakened some inexplicable longing in me. It was as if I’d heard the anthem of my native land; it couldn’t be any more real than Oz, but I longed for it anyway.

My senior year was over. I should be flipping my tassel, but to graduate (and avoid swapping a mortarboard for an army helmet), I found out I needed six more class units. Meanwhile, my girlfriend Dar and I had been starved for privacy ever since I’d moved back in with Mommandad, so we’d started meeting at a cheap motel before classes. It felt just the way it sounded. But, to quote When Harry Met Sally, “Women need a reason to have sex, men just need a place.” Dar needed a reason. So I came up with a doozy:

“We’ll move to England (maybe that was my native land), become British citizens, get married, and break into theatre there!” (And Uncle Sam would never hand me that helmet.) Caught up in my enthusiasm, Dar said O.K.

Finally, a plan! I applied for a passport the next day, and started my first summer make-up class, The Renaissance Spirit, a blend of European history, art, and literature. I told Dar about all the cathedrals and palaces we’d visit when we moved to England!

But a month later she still didn’t have her passport. Why? “I’m not sure about us,” she admitted. So, crushed but hopeful, I agreed to postpone the big reboot and rent an apartment with her instead. “We’ll live together,” she explained, “and see.”

Deeply disappointed—again–I trudged into the last session of The Renaissance Spirit. A moment later, my dear friend Kathy, with whom I’d been taking the class, came in with a surprise visitor, the quirky-brilliant Paula, one of my all-time favorite people! Excitement at seeing her and a desperate need for emotional release must have primed me for what happened next.

The lecturer translated the lyrics to a French love song: “My devotion has no limits/Nothing you can do will stop me from loving you/Go ahead, defile my reputation/Tell lies about me/Just…” He paused for emphasis.

“…don’t step on my blue suede shoes,” Paula whispered.

I laughed the hardest I’ve ever laughed in my life. The entire lecture hall turned and watched as I slid out of my seat and writhed on the floor, gasping for air between guffaws.

Life would go on after all.

My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.