I can still remember where I was when Elvis died. Well not when he actually died, but the weekend afterward. I was stuck in the back seat of a station wagon with 10 other girls traveling to Juliet Lowe’s home in Atlanta, GA with my 40 something Girl Scout leaders, who were of the age to have been teenager’s when Elvis was at his heyday. They were distraught to say the least, but it could have been as much about being in a station wagon (with paneling none the less) traveling with ten girls on a girl scout trip than over the death of the King, but at the time, it seemed like it was definitely the King they were mourning, because they played his music non-stop on their 8 track tape decks and we poor girls were left to listen to them sing along and cry with the King as he droned on and on about Blue Suede Shoes and Hound Dogs.
Earlier tonight, #2 came through and said, “Mom, I think Michael Jackson has died.” With that, an Icon from my childhood has pass on. It’s up to me to sing his songs and cry. Should I get a car load of kids together and travel for hours, while I make them listen to me sing Billy Jean on my Ipod?
Nope, I don’t think I am going to be mourning the King of Pop. I mourned the King of Rock and Roll. Besides, I am not sure where I’d get a station wagon these days, and I’m pretty sure my minivan won’t handle 10 kids and a road trip these days.