Love That Bob

 "When did you know you were heterosexual?"

It's not a question I'm (or other hetero males) often asked. But it's my understanding it is often asked of homosexual men. Just part of the hang ups of modern day America. 

Look, I don't really care about the sexual business of other men, or women. Or those identifying somewhere in between. It's one of those things that is frankly none of my business. Nevertheless I decided to pose the question to myself. 

And I think I'm pretty sure I know the answer.

I knew I was heterosexual when I was 6 years old. Maybe even earlier. And I can safely trace my preferences back to the appropriately-named star of stage and screen, Bob Cummings. A man, who oddly enough, was married 5 times.

Many of you are too young to remember this, but Mr. Cummings had a black and white TV show on in the early 60's. In it, he played a Hugh Hefner type photographer who shot pin up girls at his upscale studio. It was Playboy After Dark, only in the mornings. And I distinctively recall the times when I would set myself in front of the TV for what was to be a titillating 30 minutes of innuendo-laced humor. All of which went right over my toddler head. 

The pin up models, with their supernatural pointy boobs, on the other hand, did not escape my attention.

Suffice it to say, at 6 years old I had no idea what was going one down there. And I certainly wasn't going to ask my mother, "Why am I feeling all tingly?" 

It felt like I was given a tablet of InstaWood™.

Had I been the slightest bit smart or even entrepreneurial, I might have thought, "I wish there were a way to capture these 30 minutes of lasciviousness and put them on some kind of recording tape and devise a machine that would allow me to watch the shows over and over again until the tape wore itself out."

But alas, I was just a numbskull 6 year old kid that knew for certain, "I play for Bob's team and like the ladies as much as he does in the photo pictured above."

Years later, my orientation became even clearer when my mother brought home a Herb Albert album. I went steady with that cover for about two years...

At 8 years old I developed an unnatural hankering for whipped cream. And a still unexplainable tingly feeling that made my corduroy pants squeak even louder.

It all culminated, when I made it a weekly ritual to sit myself down in front of the TV for the airing of I Dream of Jeannie, featuring the ultimate blonde shiksa queen, Barbara Eden. 

I'm picturing my parents discussing my unusual fascination of (and devotion to) this silly little sitcom situated in Cape Canaveral.

"Al, I think little Richie might want to become an astronaut."

"Isabel, this has got nothing to do with a love of outer space. Trust me." 

And not that there's anything wrong with playing for the other team, but I'm pretty sure Al (whose younger brother bore the burden of 1950's homophobia) breathed a sigh of relief.