"Have you seen my childhood?" sings Michael Jackson.
I've been seeing my childhood all day long.
It's been center stage, starting in the morning as I thumbed through boxes of photos, searching for the best ones to include in my grandfather's photo montage at Monday's funeral. It was center stage as we sat with the funeral director for two hours, and again back at my mother's house when I checked my email to see that Farrah Fawcett died.
And it was center stage as I pulled into the driveway late this afternoon and came into the house.
"Did you see this?" said The Dean, turning his laptop towards me. I caught a glimpse of the MSNBC page. MICHAEL JACKSON RUSHED TO HOSPITAL.
"Oh wow," I said, somewhat dismissively, liking this latest news to the episode where his hair caught on fire during the filming of a Pepsi commercial.
"They're saying he's dead," The Dean said.
This is one of those moments, I thought. One of those, where were you when ... ? moments. Pay attention.
We rarely watch the news with the kids present. Hell, we rarely watch the news, period. But for major news events like this, there's still the need - at least for us - to watch CNN, MSNBC. We decided to turn it on anyway, even with the kids in the room.
They will remember this, too, I thought, just as I remember being their same age and hearing about Elvis' death.
And, what, I remember, will they remember? I don't mean about Michael. I mean, who in their generation has this cache? Who will they be watching nonstop footage of in 30 years, The Jonas Brothers?
This day has been a surreal passing of an era for me, with helping my mom make arrangements for my grandfather to learning of Farrah to being glued to the television and laptop for seven hours of Michael Jackson coverage. Mentally piecing together the remnants of a childhood.
Have you seen my childhood?
I'm searching for that wonder
In my youth
Stories to share
The dreams I would dare
Watch me fly ...