This Morning I Woke Up With This Feeling

Twelve. Such a delicate age. You're betwixt and between spunky adolescence and boy-crazy teenagery. You're what they now call a preteen, but in 1970, that term didn't exist. At least I don't think it did. What did exist, for those of us gals on the precipice, was David Cassidy. He was the perfect fill-in after my lengthy Davy Jones phase. "The Monkees" ended in 1968. Then came "The Partridge Family" in 1970, based on a real singing family called The Cowsills. Two of the Cowsill brothers, John and Barry, actually went to Camp Akela with my brother and me, and John became friends with them. The day John Cowsill showed up at my house was almost too much for me to handle. Of course, I was too shy to say anything.  I think I managed to squeak out "hi." When "The Partridge Family" came along, we felt a personal connection. John and I never missed an episode, what with the singing and the dancing, the guitar and keyboard playing, the all-round silliness. We spent our entire childhoods performing in our living room for our parents and grandparents. Sadly, no talent scouts ever showed up, but we could so relate! David Cassidy was a little too perfect, looks-wise, a little too goyisha, for a full-on SJG crush, but I adored him just the same. Tracking his life post-pretend Partridge perfection was a sad reminder of how hard it can be to peak too early and not know how to navigate whatever comes next. Intermittent success, failed marriages and troubled times awaited him. But no matter what he endured and overcame, he always seemed like a pretty sweet guy to me. So thank you, David Cassidy, for the way you looked in those bell bottoms, and the way you sang "I Think I Love You." I may have hoped you were singing to me, but that's just betwixt and between us.