I did have a brief flirtation with Frankie Valli, thanks to my sister's Four Seasons albums. Frankie even has the distinction of having been my first concert.
But I was too young at 11 to fully appreciate the meaning of "true love."
By 13, however, Mandy hit the air waves and I was smitten.
I spent my teen years in thrall to Barry's ballads, playing records over and over until I knew all the words to every song.
With a bent toward the melancholy even then, Barry spoke to the desperate sadness in my heart.
And he was cute, regardless of what my dad said about his nose. I could even pretend that, just maybe, he was tall enough.
Sigh.
True confession: I pretended to be sick to skip a high school band concert so I could stay home and watch one of his TV specials.
Sorry, Mom.
My freshman year of college I camped out over Labor Day weekend to buy tickets to see him live for the first time. For me to go camping willingly, with people I hardly even knew, in the rain, no less, shows how deeply I loved him.
Time went on and I must admit the flames abated. Oh, I still loved Barry, but I didn't love Barry any more.
But Barry still held a special place in my heart. I took a very dubious boyfriend (now husband) to a Barry Manilow concert and even he, who tended to favor Bob Dillan and Bonnie Raitt, was favorably impressed.
Years passed for both of us, Barry and I; he continued to make music while I focused, apparently, on making children.
The last time I saw Barry in person was at the Iowa State Fair in 1993. It was a great show, as always, though I realized my feelings for Barry would never again be quite the same.
Now, Barry is 70 and I am 51.
Where did all those years go?
This may be his last concert and I have to be there.
I'll always love Barry's music, but now I tend to see him, and us, through the lens of nostalgia.
Barry, you were my first love.
Thank you for all the music that spoke to my heart.
I can't wait to see you One Last Time.
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