THIS IS AN ADAPTATION OF THE SLIDESHOW I HAVE PERFORMED TWICE FOR MORTIFIED IN WASHINGTON, D.C.

“…

Hi, I’m SM Shrake. Between the ages of 10 and 14, which was in the early ’80s, I was the world’s youngest male Barbra Streisand fan. And quite probably the only pre-teen boy in the world who collected Barbra Streisand memorabilia as his only hobby.

I remember how the obsession started. My parents owned “The Barbra Streisand Album,” her debut. I couldn’t help noticing Barbra Streisand bore a striking resemblance to my own mother. So I immediately felt a bond with her.

I would go down to the basement on a perfect spring day, throw on a Barbra Streisand album, put on the big headphones, sit on the floor in front of the entertainment center and sing along with Barbra!

I also collected every piece of Streisand memorabilia I could get my hands on, and decorated my bedroom exclusively in Streisandiana. I raked leaves, shoveled snow and mowed lawns, among other odd jobs, to earn the bucks to pay for my Streisand memorabilia addiction. My dad would drive me to all the local flea markets, used-book stores and Hollywood memorabilia expos — the ones that weren’t reachable by me on bike or foot. I would spend hours among musty piles of magazines scanning the pages for mentions of Barbra Streisand.

Looking back, my dad was extraordinarily patient with his little Barbra-Streisand-fan son, wasn’t he? I guess he just figured “boys will be boys.”

This is me in my bedroom when I was about 12. You can’t see it too well, but at left I have the name BARBRA taped to my closet door in bubble letters, and those are images of La Streisand on the wall.

Here is my real Christmas list from 1983:

I read every Streisand biography, memorizing her life story. Here’s an overdue notice from the library for “The Greatest Star,” a bio I checked out with my mom’s library card.

I watched all of Barbra’s old movies and TV specials and took note of how she acted, so that I could act out her expressive hand gestures and facial expressions.

I went through my “What’s Up, Doc?” phase, in which I wanted to grow my hair long and dye it honey-blond, get a tan, wear a floppy hat and pursue someone like Ryan O’Neal around San Francisco.

And of course I went through my “Yentl” phase, where I wanted to be a girl who must dress as a boy to attend yeshiva school in what is now Poland.

Here’s a closeup of the drawing that was taped to my closet door in the bedroom photo.

When I was 12 I had a “Reincarnation” costume party, just like Barbra did in the movie “The Way We Were”, and I dressed up like Harpo Marx, just as Barbra’s character did, and held the honky horn under my chin just like she did. Notice I did have male friends, but none of them collected Streisand stuff, weirdly enough.

You better believe I sent letters, lots of letters; joined all the Barbra Streisand fan clubs, sent her fan letters. Defended her from her critics. Here is a letter I wrote to columnist Bob Talbert of the Detroit Free Press, who had dared to criticize my idol, and therefore me:

But I was soon to grow out of my Barbra Streisand infatuation. It was time to put away childish things, to grow up…

Here’s my journal entry from 1-19-89:

Having always been something of a hero worshiper, I sometimes find myself emulating others. Over Christmas break, I saw the movie documentary “Marlene,” about my latest hero, Marlene Dietrich. I was always a little fascinated by her, since I saw her in a moviebook my parents had. The caption said “By far the most exotic of Hollywood’s creations, a glamour star of the 1930s whose image remains eternally haunting.” Will I ever be haunting? The fact that I’m German too makes her seem like an androgynously symbolic piece of me.

Sorry, Barbra. I’ve met someone new.