As much as I like to tell myself that I was not scarred by my childhood, I am occasionally reminded that I did reach the threshold of self-awareness during the 1970s. And that's why I had to cringe as I walked through the Staples in Yonkers today where the speakers were blaring You Don't Have to Be a Star, Baby by Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis Jr.

The silver-lining? Yet another song-memory association, hardlinked in my synapses from some 30 years. It was Christmas Day and we were all at Big Vin's. That song came on (either the radio or Vin's reel-to-reel -- it's a coin-toss which). Vinny sang: "You don't have to be a--" and he pointed to the top of his Christmas tree "--star, baby..." Since that day, I think that scene replayed in my mind every single time I heard that song.

And now that I check the clock I have to wonder: has the eagle landed?