Shortly after we moved to Connecticut, I discovered ice cream. My father loved it as much as I did. At least once a week, and often more, we would get in the car and drive to the nearby Friendly’s, an east coast restaurant chain. He would order two scoops of coffee ice cream, and I would get chocolate ice cream on a sugar cone with chocolate sprinkles. We’d often take the ice cream back to the car and eat it together in a comfortable silence.

When I got my first record player, a plastic, white and black General Electric glorified toy, my father, who was starting to gain a few pounds with the regular ice cream excursions, made me an attractive offer. “You can get one record album a week if we give up Friendly’s.”

One record album a week. Tempting. But giving up ice cream so shortly after I had discovered it was unthinkable. After a minute of careful consideration, I said, “I’ll keep the ice cream trips to Friendly’s.” I was gambling on the fact that I might get an occasional record album too. My first record was Elton John’s “Don’t Shoot Me I’m Only the Piano Player.”

And then my musical taste began to go down hill. I became infatuated with Shaun Cassidy. When we moved to the Stoner Drive house, I had my own bedroom, where I placed a life size poster of Shaun Cassidy on my wall. I would climb up on a chair every night and give him a good night kiss on the cheek. And if I was feeling randy, I would give him a peck on the lips, when no one was looking.

Now that I look back on this, I’m thinking these might have been the first indications of my future as a lesbian. Shaun Cassidy did look an awful lot like a lesbian in his youth. You can hardly tell him and Kristy McNichol apart in this photo.