Soundtrack of My Life

21 Apr

I’ll never forget when I found out Arthur Lee died. I was in my office, when I worked for the City, and got a call from my friend who told me she’d seen it on CNN. I had the distinct displeasure of calling my mom to tell her the love of her life was dead.

When Michael Jackson died, I was in my office at the Red Cross. Everyone on social media was linking to TMZ. I was shocked. I was pregnant with Michaela and remember playing his music nonstop for days, hoping that the baby in my belly would appreciate the good tunes.

I heard David Bowie died while on a school site visit. As I drove back to my office, I turned on the radio and listened to the tributes pour in and to his great music. I wasn’t ever a huge Bowie fan, but there was something about his death that touched me deeply.

And now Prince is dead. I was at work — maybe I should retire, so that rock stars may live? — and saw a tweet about it. “NOT PRINCE, TOO,” I posted on Facebook. Alas. Prince, too.

These men supplied the soundtrack to my childhood. Like all kids in the 80s, my brother and I were huge fans of Michael Jackson and Prince. So was my mom. We would play “rock and roll star,” singing and dancing until we collapsed.¬†Whether we were copying the zombie dance from “Thriller;” pretending we had red shoes while we danced the blues, a la 80s Bowie; dreaming of “orange skies, carnivals and cotton candy, and you;” or wiggling our fingers down our face as a pantomime of doves crying… These¬†are among the fondest memories of my life.

The men are gone but their music remains. For that, I am grateful.

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