The Father of My Unborn Children



The face that started it all ...



It was the spring of 1985. Ter came home from the bookstore with a copy of Star Hits that she swore had leaped off the shelf at her. It wasn’t the magazine that had knocked her breathless. It was the photo on the cover.

I remember gaping, dumbfounded, while she stood quivering with artistic ecstasy at the prospect of painting that face, that face, that beautiful face. Finally, I found my voice.

“Isn’t that the guy from Duran Duran?”

Never mind that there were five guys in Duran Duran. Forevermore, John Taylor was “the guy” in our house and in our hearts. We scooped as much media we could: albums, posters, buttons, magazines, books of photos imported from Japan – you name it, we got it. We became fans of the band proper (especially Andy Taylor), but JT was the driving force. Ter painted four portraits of him over five years. And I wrote a thousand, two thousand, pages about characters who looked just like him. I’ve always modeled my heroes (and no few villains) after my idols, but JT spawned a litter, the most notable being my beloved Julian.

I’m fairly well convinced that without John, there would be no Jules.

My cast of available characters is no longer dominated by sultry six-footers with flowing dark hair and cheekbones to skate on, but the blueprint remains close to my heart for many reasons. Not only did he bring me joy with his music and inspiration with his very being, he brought me a poet. I “met” Nicole in the chat room at his now-defunct website in, I think, 1997. “Trust The Process” was a place to keep current with JT, but was also the forum where fans gathered to share, discuss and occasionally piss off others of our ilk. I ran with a pretty cool cyber-crowd for a while as a result. Though our lives eventually took varied paths in opposite directions, Nic has stayed with me and remains the best thing to have come from my time at TTP. I would not have her except for “the guy from Duran Duran”.

Ter and I threw birthday parties for him in the 80s. Thirty years later, the celebration is less extravagant. We’ll run a few videos and do some reminiscing. I’ll eat chocolate and blow a kiss at the portrait in my room. He’ll never know what he’s done for me, but that’s okay. I know, and that’s all that matters.

Happy birthday, JT.