I try really hard not to let the inevitability of aging bother me. I pride myself on being one of those people for whom age really is just a number, not a barrier to my ideas, activities or dreams. But one of the sure fire signs of getting older is the way you mourn the losses you experience. It goes beyond ordinary sadness at the loss of a person, it also becomes grief from remembering a long-forgotten piece of your life. Each loss makes the memories flood back. You remember the person you were before, and a little piece of your history dies along with the loss of what made you remember it.
Today, I lost some key pieces of my childhood with the deaths of actress Farrah Fawcett and musician and entertainment icon Michael Jackson. It may seem silly to some people that I associate childhood memories with celebrities, but I am a child of mass media. There was already a television in every home when I was born, so pop cultural phenomenons were an integral part of the landscape. I came of age in a world hard wired for celebrity culture. And these people were two of the biggest celebrities around in my young life. Each in their own way, their legacies shaped who I am today.
Farrah had her heyday just as I was entering puberty, which was a curse in a couple of ways. Having naturally curly hair did not lend itself well to the famous feathered hairdo. As my mother can attest, I spent HOURS trying to get every hair in the right position to replicate that famous look. I would wash it at night, and pin it down flat, then sleep on it to make sure it stayed flat. But since I tossed and turned (and still do) in my sleep, I had to get up early the next morning and use a curling iron to feather it in place, finished off with a can of hairspray. That worked until my gym class 2nd period, when the first hint of sweat sent everything back curling it's own god-given direction, leaving me looking NOTHING like Farrah.
As if battling crazy hair wasn't enough, every pre-teen boy I was starting to notice had that famous red bathing suit poster of Farrah on their wall. Even as a (relatively speaking) skinny kid, no way was I measuring up to that! I was doomed! Farrah was like the head cheerleader, the most popular girl in school, and the most interesting person in the world rolled into one. I was never going to be her, but I still rooted for her when she was jumping out of a moving car on Charlie's Angels. Because you can be beautiful and bad-ass at the same time.
Michael Jackson was EVERYWHERE through my entire young adulthood. From 8th grade until I graduated from college, there was at least one significant Michael Jackson song I associate with every year of my life. Most years, there was more than one. He changed MTV forever, made me want to be someones P.Y.T., and inspired me to copy entire dance routines! And don't even get me started on how many Halloweens, theme nights, dances and events referenced his fashion choices. I think I still have a sparkly glove somewhere....
Michael's music made you feel young, and hopeful, and happy. You can't listen to any of it without wanting to MOVE somehow. Because love him or hate him, that's what Michael Jackson did - he moved people. And though I will never understand the tortured and tragic figure he became later in his life, I believe that inspirational artist still lived on in him, just sadly hidden.
I feel sorry for kids coming up now that didn't know the Farrah and Michael I did. They have been raised only on the run-down, burned out, damaged versions. But I remember when they shone like stars, and a part of me will always keep those versions alive.
Rest in peace, my friends.
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