Childhood idols

Who was your childhood idol?

Twenty-five years ago, I loved Debbie Gibson. I have vivid memories of listening to her debut album “Out of the Blue” on vinyl in my friend Jodi’s basement. Jodi and I played that record over and over and over again until we learned every word to every song. I can still visualize the album cover: a teenage Debbie Gibson wearing a striped shirt and ripped jeans (she even drew a smiley face on her exposed knee!), sitting next to an oversize white teddy bear wearing a watch. To my seven-year-old self, she was the epitome of cool.

I was a huge fan of her second album, “Electric Youth,” and even owned her Electric Youth perfume by Revlon. Sadly, I don’t recall stuffing my Caboodle with any of her Natural Wonder cosmetics. (Did you?)

Although my adoration for the 80s pop icon began to wane around middle school, Debbie Gibson’s music and style left an indelible impression on me as a little girl. In fact, I didn’t realize how important a role she played until this past Friday when, at 33 years old, I finally had the opportunity to meet my childhood idol…

For my birthday, JB and I went with friends to see “Don’t Stop Believing: Songs from the ’80s,” an Omaha Symphony concert featuring some former “Star Search” winner named Sam Harris (never heard of him) and… Debbie Gibson. I had wanted to do something totally random to celebrate my big day, and what could be more random than watching two 80s pop stars perform with a full orchestra?

Debbie Gibson was only stage for about 40 minutes, maybe less, which included a duet with Sam to close the show, but the highlight for me was when she sat at the keyboard and began playing “Foolish Beat.” To my great surprise, I still knew all of the words. “Foolish Beat” transitioned into “Lost in Your Eyes,” and I kept on singing along. Suddenly, I was that little girl in Jodi’s basement again.

When the show ended, somebody announced that Sam Harris would be signing autographs in the lobby, so we stopped by the table on the off-chance that Debbie Gibson would also be there. AND SHE WAS. Now, I don’t easily get star-struck, but waiting in line to meet her, I had butterflies in my stomach. It was honestly a bit ridiculous how anxious I felt to meet somebody I hadn’t idolized since I was a tween. “What should I say to her?” I nervously asked JB, as the line in front of us grew shorter and shorter.

When we were finally face-to-face, I rambled on like an idiot as she signed my ticket stub: “Hi, today’s my birthday and I’m from NJ and I used to listen to your record in my friend’s basement when I was like seven years old and I was such a huge fan of yours growing up and I’m so excited to meet you and I’d love to take a picture with you.”

JB assured me that I didn’t actually sound as crazy as I feared I might have, although I did accidentally grab her ass when getting into position for a photo. (In my defense, her purple sequin dress had an open back, and I didn’t want to be creepy and place my clammy hand on her bare, bony skin, so I was feeling around for a piece of fabric to touch instead.)

Meeting Debbie Gibson made turning 33 a little bit less painful than I imagined because, at least for the evening, I felt like a kid again. A kid with few worries, big dreams, and an optimistic anything-can-happen attitude.

Now, please excuse me as I go sing along to Debbie Gibson videos on YouTube.

{definition via dictionary.com}