At ten years old, I fell madly, deeply, passionately in love for the first time.
The moment I saw Elvis Presley on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1956, my heart nearly burst in my chest. I felt amazing twinges in places I never knew I had.
My mother complained that he was "dirty" because of the way he moved. I wasn't sure what she meant but I certainly liked Elvis's brand of dirty. He sang "Don't Be Cruel" and "You Ain't Nuthin' But a Hound Dog" (containing such profoundly meaningful lyrics I nearly cried).
I used every dime of my allowance to purchase 45 records so I could listen to Elvis over and over and over again. I dreamed about Elvis and I wanted to marry him. I stole money out of my mother's purse and bought movie magazines that had Elvis on the cover. I saw all his movies more than once. I knew if I were to actually meet Elvis, I would faint dead away, (and not be faking).
I was obsessed with Elvis. He was in my thoughts, day and night. I was sure I would love him forever. And I did love him for at least two years, maybe two and half years. It's sad, but fervent as young love can be, it can also be somewhat fickle.
By the time I was 13, Elvis was history. Oh I still "liked" his music, but I no longer thought about having his children.
Oddly enough, my mother developed a major crush on Elvis just about the time I was through with him. Mom and her sister, my aunt, actually went to Graceland in Memphis just to look inside the fence. My mother even liked him when he wore the sparkly jumpsuits and played Las Vegas.
I really sometimes wondered about her sanity.