I worked on Dad's vest today and it's almost finished. He's a lot more grateful about it than Bob is about his.I want to meet the Beatles! And not just for a few minutes - for life. To be their friend and have them come visit me when they come here, especially George. But Vincent is more in my reach. I like him. He's so smart and cute. Boy! What a doll!I want so much to meet him, but I can't even get up the nerve to say "Hello". But I smile - at his back.
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Was I ever that naive? Here's proof. I stopped believing in Santa when I was seven (reluctantly -- my mother told me the truth because she decided I was old enough). But at 15-nearly-16 I could daydream that somehow, someday, I would meet the Beatles. Not only would I meet them, but they would instantly recognize the coolness that had escaped the notice of my entire high school.
The experts say that teenager's celebrity crushes are an important bridge between romantic fantasies and real relationships. At the emotional level, there was little difference between my longing for George and my longing for Vincent, except for the daily agony of passing Vincent in the hall.
Ah, the vests! I made vests for Christmas for my father and brother. Actually, I bought the pattern and fabric and wrapped those up for Christmas, and worked on them during January. Bob's was a double-breasted dark blue wool; I think it reversed to tan corduroy, but memory is hazy. (And there's no point in asking Bob; he's further gone than I am!) Dad's was a red plaid single-breasted style -- I even fitted it on him, matched the plaids and did welt pockets. Sewing was one of the few things I did with absolute confidence, and usually did well. There was something absolutely magical about taking a flat piece of fabric and transforming it into a three-dimensional object.
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