I’m just a daydream believer

By: 
Miriam Nelson
mnelson@newmedia-wi.com

Like most women my age, I will admit to and even brag about my preteen crushes. Nothing got my 9-year-old heart racing faster than the Monkees.

Blazing the trail for future boy bands, that group of funny, sweet and irreverent boys provided hours of entertainment for my girlfriends and me.

Davy, the cute one with that adorable English accent, was my favorite. Every girl was sure she was the one for him, and I was not immune to his charms. He was also the shortest one. Not having yet hit my growth spurt, subconsciously I probably knew I’d barely reach 5-foot-2 and set my sights on someone who would be easy to hug.

I wonder now if that first girl crush on him later fueled my desire to spend a college semester in London. As I recall, I was rather disappointed that most of the men I met there had neither the charm nor the good looks of my beloved Davy. I should have figured out then that fantasy and reality rarely meet.

Mickey was the wild and crazy one who still had enough goodness in him that you could imagine taking him home to meet your parents. I loved the rowdy songs he sang. I seem to gravitate to those head-banging, shimmy-shaking, rocking-and-a-rolling numbers whenever karaoke beckons me. You have been warned!

Whereas I imagined a life with Davy would be romantic and sweet, a life with Mickey would never be boring, and I was sure I would enjoy the ride.

Peter was the little puppy everyone wanted to take care of because he didn’t appear to be capable of handling life on his own. But then again, even though he always got into some sort of predicament, he always landed on his feet. That probably made him more of a cat with nine lives than a dumb but cute and lovable little puppy.

Mike — what can you really say about him? I have to believe the costumers stuck him in a stocking cap to make him more appealing to those of us in the Midwest. The fact that he was more in the background fit into the familiar reticent figures who populate this area. I’m guessing now they needed a look and demeanor that would appeal to the flyover states.

Looking back, I see I should have being suspicious of someone who would wear a wool cap in the California sun. He was a hard one to swoon over. I’m guessing his job was just to make the others look more appealing by comparison. My apologies to the gals who liked him!

Ultimately, my heart went to Bobby Sherman. How fickle young love can be.

Still, I was saddened to hear last week of Peter Tork’s passing. He never had my heart, but I’m thankful for the hours of entertainment and fond memories.