I fell in love for the first time when I was twelve. It was an unlikely match and I fell hard; my parents surely would have forbidden us to be together had they known about it. I was an eighth grader, after all, in love with a grown man. (The scandal!) But how could I not love him? He was handsome, charming, and smart, not to mention the finest neurosurgeon in Port Charles. He was General Hospital’s Dr. Noah Drake, played by Australian heartthrob Rick Springfield.
I obsessed over Rick Springfield long before he became an eighties superstar. The dark hair, the sexy eyes, the stolen kisses with Nurse Bobbie Spencer (who was clearly not good enough for him) … it was all too much for my fourteen-year-old heart to take in. His pining for “Jessie’s Girl” sealed the deal on my love because it proved he was the sensitive soul I always dreamed him to be.
Back in 1983, I (perhaps a little creepily) declared myself Rick’s number one fan to anyone who would listen. I knew every word to every song on Working Class Dog; I scoured every teen magazine for interviews; I watched MTV constantly waiting for just one more viewing of “Jessie’s Girl.” I even knew his favorite colors—pink and purple—which I proudly pulled together in a purple shirt/hot pink skirt/purple legwarmer ensemble when I sat on the eighth row at his concert in my hometown.
Sadly, Rick’s star faded not long after it rose, though he does have some interesting gigs lined up these days. He’s headlining a Carnival Cruise and he’s even scored a holiday celebration on ice. Well played, Rick; I’ll add ice-skating to your list of talents I admire.
Though Clive Owen, George Clooney, and James McAvoy claim my heart now, every once in a while I think of Rick and find myself wondering, “Where can I find a man like that?”
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