Opening Letter: Summer Lovin’ Had Me a Blast! 

by Val White

When I was growing up, I was a bit of an enigma to my family.

Sure, we were artistic. My mom was a painter and designer, my grandfather a honky-tonk guitarist, and my cousins could harmonize to gospel like nobody’s business. But while their creativity found expression in churches and Sunday morning melodies, mine came through jazz hands and curtain calls.

Old MGM musicals were my religion. Singing, dancing, making up choreography to imaginary musical numbers in my head—I was in love with the stage long before I ever saw one. No one really got it. And truthfully, no one really got me.

There was one musical, though, that broke through:
Grease.

The movie hit during my mom’s high school days, so it had that nostalgic sparkle for her. I remember listening to the soundtrack in the car on the way to school, the cassette tape spinning as we bounced down dirt roads on a remote Florida farm.

One day, a heavy rainstorm had flooded the roads. My mom drove us into what turned out to be a washed-out patch of road, and suddenly—like a scene right out of a disaster movie—our car was stuck and the floorboards began filling with floodwater.

As we climbed out, I turned around to see our cassette tape of Grease—my beloved soundtrack—floating atop the muddy water like a tiny vinyl lifeboat. I was devastated.

But like all great musicals, there was a second act.

Years later, I found my theatre people and finally felt like I’d found my tribe. One night at dinner after a movie, my friend Chris and I spontaneously broke into “Summer Lovin’” at the table. Encouraged by the other diners, it turned into a full-blown performance.

A few weeks later while bowling, someone from a nearby lane leaned over and asked,
“Excuse me… were you singing at that restaurant the other night?”
My friends called out, “Val! It’s your turn!”
I turned dramatically and said, “Hold up—I’m talking to fans.”

Fast forward to my time teaching at the Youth Academy of Dramatic Arts in L.A.—I took the stage once again as Danny Zuko, performing “Greased Lightning” at a faculty concert.

And just the other night, cooking with Adam in the kitchen on my birthday, “Summer Lovin’” came on a shuffled playlist. Suddenly we were dancing around the kitchen island, spatulas as microphones, tossing ingredients into bowls like backup dancers in an Act II finale.

It’s funny, the way certain songs become the soundtrack to your life.
Summer Lovin’ has been with me through it all—muddy road drama, late-night karaoke, found families, love, reinvention.

And yes, as the lyric goes,
I really did have me a blast.