I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
February 11, 2006
>I was four when I first heard The Voice.
It swirled out of the speakers of my mom’s Oldsmobile like a balmy breeze, making my toes curl with pleasure.
”Sailing takes me awayyyyy to where I’ve always heard it could beeee…”
“Who’s singing that, Mommy?” I asked, struggling up from my reverie and dangling my arms over the two front seats.
“That’s a man named Christopher Cross,” she said. “We have the record at home if you like it.”
“I like it a lot!” I giggled, before settling back in the plush backseat and half-closing my eyes against the late November sunlight.
Christopher Cross. Christopher. Cross. Even his name was gorgeous. I imagined a tall, handsome man, not unlike my Dream Wedding Ken doll. Christopher Cross would marry me one day and write a song called I Love Lucinda! I grinned and hugged myself.
When we got home, I demanded that my mom find the “Sailing” 45 and put it on the turntable. I listened to the beautiful voice of Christopher Cross over and over and dreamed of sailing with him in a big wooden boat on a Technicolor sea.
My love affair with Christopher Cross continued for a week or so until one day, I heard The Voice coming from the television as I played in the den.
“It’s not far down to paradise, at least it’s not to me…”
Eagerly I ran to the TV cabinet. Finally, I would get a good look at my future husband! At first, all I saw was stock video of a beach and crashing waves. Then suddenly, a man appeared. A… a…. fat man. A fat, balding man. He was mouthing the words to my soul mate’s anthem.
“Daddy?” I said softly, backing away from the television. “Who’s that?”
”Well, it looks like Christopher Cross,” my dad said, looking up impatiently from his newspaper. “Don’t you listen to that song all the time?”
”That’s Christopher Cross?” I whimpered, before turning and fleeing for the safety of my bedroom.
As I lay on my bed gasping for breath, I struggled with the enormity of my discovery. In fact, I still struggle with it to this day. I couldn’t have known then that I would never fully recover from my first romantic double Cross, but I did learn a few lessons I’d carry with me for the rest of my life. First, don’t give a man too much credit for the lovely things that come out of his mouth. Second, love is most definitely not blind.
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