I am decidedly unmusical. I can’t sing. I don’t listen to music. And, despite my mother’s best efforts in giving me piano lessons, I have absolutely no musical talent.
But the Bonanza theme… ah, the Bonanza theme. I bought the sheet music and learned to play it. I would then play and sing at the top of my lungs. Remembering that our living room was right on top of the store where mom and dad were trying to make a living for us, I have to hope that sound – like heat – travels up. If not, we may have found the reason for my mother’s migraines.
But I don’t care. Little Joe was my puberty. He helped me to know what all those urges were. It’s not like my parents or the nuns were going to tell me. So thanks, Little Joe. Because of you, I became a woman.