Just last week I had talked with my kids about him. I’m not sure how the conversation came about but I remember telling them the closest I will ever likely come to being a true fan girl of anybody’s—it’s him. If he died suddenly for some reason, I would likely be upset.
Just last week.
Then, I got the text from a friend this week.
“Prince is dead.”
When driving around if one of his songs came on the radio, we turned the volume up. Every. Single. Time. No lie. He’s playing half time at the Super Bowl? Squeeeaalll!!! Crank that TV up baby! Honey I can’t [do anything] because Prince is a guest on this show right now. I even told my daughter when she hit 5’2″ that she was as tall as Prince.
I can’t explain it. Truly I can’t. I have never been like this about anyone but him.
I’m sure it has to do with the fact that the album Purple Rain came out when I was in high school. Not only did I get the album and watch the movie, I went to his concert. Easily the best concert I have ever gone to. What an entertainer, what a night. How could such a tiny man have such huge talent? He slayed that guitar. I have been a giddy fan ever since.
Obviously I didn’t know him personally, but for me, he was nothing but fun. He was also a little naughty — ok, sometimes very naughty — and bluesy and soulful. It seemed as if he put on his bad boy persona with a wink and a smile. I couldn’t help but sing along with him.
But, mostly my memory of Prince and his music is wrapped up in some really good times with my friends. Good times dancing and singing. Good times hanging out. Good times laughing. Good times sharing his music with my kids. Sheer joy in a moment, in a memory. A pause in the stress and busyness of life as I remember being young and carefree.
I wish I could hold my lighter up for an encore one more time.