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My first celebrity crush was Christie Brinkley. “National Lampoon’s Vacation” in ‘83 — that red Ferrari — her skinny-dipping scene — c’mon, I’m only human.
A few years later, when that rat-fink Billy Joel stole her from me, I thought two things: First, I gotta learn how to play the piano! Then, when they had a baby girl, I remember feeling bad for their kid. Her parents’ skill sets were so dramatically different, and it’s always a crapshoot how all that genetic material will mix together.
WhatifshelookslikeBillyandsingslikeChristie?
Imean,ifyourMomisaworld-famoussupermodel,wouldn’titbeawfulifeveryonealwaysremindedyouhowmuchyoulooklikeyourDad?
(Fortherecord,theirreal-lifedaughterseemstobealovelyandtalentedyounglady.)
Bottomline?It’stoughbeingakidwithcelebrityparents.Beforeyouevenhitpuberty,everyone’sjudgingyou(and/ormockingyou),puttingyouinasituationyouneveraskedtobein.
Andit’seventougherwhentheparentsarepoliticalcelebrities.Now,notonlymustyouworryaboutthegossip-mongersandceleb-stalkers,butyouhavethewholedynamicofpoliticalinterlopers
