Puppy Love By Andrew Broadley My mum has always been a terrible singer and dancer. When she was in school and a part of the open choir, her singing was so bad the school held auditions to find the cause of the bad singing and subsequently kicked her out once she had been discovered. It’s a tragically sad story, and you feel bad for siding with the school, but she really is horrific. When I would walk home from school in the afternoon sun and I would round the bend along the river I would see the large
mid '70s ranch slider wide open. The familiar jingle of the Breeze radio station would be bellowing from within. Although in her 40s Mum preferred to play her music in the same vein as you would imagine her teenage daughter to: doors open, volume up loud and singing to herself, imagining some alternative world where the song applied to her made up narrative. As I would come through the open ranch slider I would yell over the music. But Mum paid no attention to that. She would grab me by my wrists and whisk me into her arms swaying awkwardly off beat to the music. She would continue to sway and sing off key despite my protests and whenever I
told her to stop or turn it down she would simply yell back: “How was school?” Whenever I think of these moments there is one song that comes to mind. And they called it puppy love Oh I guess they'll never know How a young heart, how it really feels And why I love her so Puppy Love is about a first love. An early love. Immature, inexperienced, but full of wonder
