I take an exercise class most mornings here at the old folks’ home.. The music is geared to the time the participants were in junior high or high school.

I sing along to a lot of the songs, to the obvious annoyance of those standing near me. I just can’t help myself. Wake up, Little Suzie, wake up.

And most mornings I remember the sweet boys I danced with to a particular song. Fast dancing was fun back then and these days it peps me up to work out a little harder. Slow dancing was the only excuse we had to snuggle in close in those days. Only the lonely, dum dum dum dummy do ah, know the way I feel tonight. Sometimes those ones make me melancholy. I can almost smell the classic Old Spice.

One in particular, Dusty Springfield, Son of a Preacher Man touches me like nothing else. It brings me right back to that first time I was in love. Actually, it was really the only time. He died young. The only one who could ever reach me was the son of a preacher man. The only one who could ever teach me was the son of a preacher man. Yes he was. Yes he
was. Oh, oh, yes he was.