I just answered three more letters meant for you, because having the same name and an agent apparently is enough to convince your fans that I am you.
Even convinces some publishers, because that's where the most recent batch came from. The publisher just stuck them into an envelope and forwarded them to me.
You have some pretty amazing and loyal fans, and you have touched their hearts. The three to whom I had to say I wasn't you were a ten-year-old girl who wanted you to drop by her music recital; a seventy-year-old woman who is a long-time and ardent fan; and a young woman who writes songs, and who sent you a picture of herself and one of her cat. She wanted you to send the picture of the cat back, by the way.
I have gotten mail like this for years, and some of the stories included are as poignant as any I've ever heard.
I expect you've heard a lot more, but I feel like a voyeur reading these. And until I open them, I'm not sure if they come from one of your many fans, or one of my considerably-lesser number of such. If they start with, "Dear Steve, I've always loved your music ..." then I don't need to read any farther, but sometimes they don't mention that until half a page down.
Steve, I'd be most pleased if you'd set up a paper mail address, or an email address where your fans can send you stuff. I mean, I appreciate a stuffed toy or a bar of chocolate as much as the next guy, but they aren't sending these to me.
If you want to drop me a line and let me know where to forward these missives, I'll keep it private, but they are your fans, and you should give them a venue where they can reach you. Goes with the gig, doesn't it? Lord knows how many of us who share the name are getting material intended for you.
Do the right thing, hey?
(The other) Steve Perry