A Little About Me

I’ve noticed as my “Black is the New Pink” blog gets more readership, a few people peek in on this blog.  As I stated in my last post about 2 months ago, I don’t write as often as I should here.  This is more of a private journal than a soapbox…but still, I put it out there for anyone to read.  Stupid perhaps…but that’s me.

Speaking about me, that’s what this post is about.  I figure if some of the BITNP readers happen to stumble in here, I might as well introduce myself…or at least as much as I’ll allow myself to do online.  Consider this post a special treat for being a little curious about the BITNP writer/founder.

As you may know by now, my name is Al.  I’m 49 years old, married (for over 15 years) and have two beautiful twin children…one boy and one girl, age 9.  I work as an engineer for a manufacturing company and have a pretty cookie-cutter life.  I learn more of how to be a parent every day of my life and realize that I’ll never be an expert.  I stay up late at night…mostly typing on BITNP or surfing on the web.  As a result, I get far too little sleep.  My company was just acquired by another, so while the future seems bright at work, there’s still always a little uncertainly.  I have the same worries as everyone…finances…kids…health.  And I have many of the same dreams.

About 5 years ago, I became aware of a dream of mine.  That dream is to be a writer.  I had begun this blog before that time, but decided to really start making an effort.  That lasted a few months.  (Losing motivation seems to be a flaw of mine.)  Still, I had a yearning to write, but my work/life schedule never seemed to offer an opportunity.  You’ll notice when opportunity struck as you review the history of this blog.  There were some months that I had several entries and other months where I had none at all.  I think what I lacked was focus.

Then my brother died.

My mom died back in 2005.  Her passing affected me very hard.  I fell into a bit of a depression from which I finally crawled out.  I think I was in denial during her illness…thinking that my mom would never leave.  When she did…well, she was gone and I wasn’t prepared.  I finally came to terms with it about two years later.  But in 2010, my brother’s melanoma came back.  He’d had it before, but none of us really took “skin cancer” all that serous.  (You should know by the BITNP blog that I take it VERY seriously now).  Anyhow, his passing didn’t affect me as much as did the months leading up to his death.  I can’t explain why I handled the two deaths differently, but I did.  And Jeff’s passing suddenly became that writing focus I needed.  In March 2011, “Black is the New Pink” was born.  The rest can be read there.

But I will tell you here that I can’t be any happier with how it’s going.  I never EVER expected to have over 17,000 page views…or over 900 “Likes” to the accompanying Facebook page.  My goal was never to reach a certain number, but how cool would it be to hit 1,000 by my first anniversary?

And THAT is the most amazing part.  I’ve been writing for 10 months and entered over 75 blog entries.  I’ve had focus and motivation!  I’ve tried to make each one unique yet to have a common theme.  It’s not an easy task and I often have blogger’s block…but it’s SO rewarding to me. 

But it comes with a price.  I become close to some of the reader’s own stories.  You see, I don’t have melanoma but so many of my readers do.  No matter how much I read of personal accounts, there is no way I can truly understand what it’s like to have melanoma.  While it’s inspiring to read some blogs, it’s heart breaking to read others.  One of my favorite bloggers (Chelsea) said it best…”We live from one scan to the next…3 (or 6) months at a time.”  I don’t see how these folks can live as they do…yet they do and they’re inspiring.  Unfortunately, some have died…especially in the last couple months.  And each death reminds me of the passing of my own loved ones and that gets me a little depressed.  It’s hard to hang out in the lobby of the Hotel Melanoma.  But at the same time, I can’t imagine a better place to be.

Not only am I taking steps towards my dream to write, I feel as if I’m helping…doing something.  A co-worker and reader of mine told me that I am inspiring people…teaching people…saving people.  Sometimes, I feel like I’m “just writing.”  Other times, I know I’m inspiring others because as I read my own words, I feel inspired.  I know that sounds a bit arrogant, but it’s true.  Would a musician write music that’s uninspiring to him?  I would hope not.

I felt as I wrote “Real People of Melanoma” that it was my best piece…my most inspiring piece.  It put a face to Melanoma.  And my goodness, did the readers respond!  I’ve had nearly 1,000 page views on that post alone…easily triple of any other.  I am most proud of that piece, and proud that my readers seem to agree.

I’ve written dogs as well.  Some I thought were decent and others just didn’t flow well.  In one piece, I wrote about a friend and his bout with melanoma.  He contacted me later to remind me that cancer is private to many folks and asked that I take down that post.  I did…I forgot that while folks talk openly about their cancer in the Hotel Melanoma, many people…most people…consider cancer a very private thing.

And so, I’ve learned.  I’ve learned more about melanoma.  I’ve learned a little on how to write.  I’ve learned a little about how to not write.  And I’m still learning.

Thanks for coming along for my learning experience…

PS…Please do not link this on Facebook.  While I don’t mind others reading it, this is intended to be more of an intimate chat than a soapbox session.

Let the Living Begin

Wow…has it been a year?  Yes…it has.

Mind you, while I’ve been absent from “Causal Thoughts,” my writing juices have been flowing over at “Black is the New Pink.”  I realized that all of my “Causal Thoughts” postings were becoming centered on my brother Jeff and his death from melanoma cancer.  So, rather than bog down the sometimes humorous slant here, I decided to devote an entire blog site to his memory, which inevitably led to writing about melanoma and skin cancer.  It was a good decision, and I plan to keep that blog going, but I’ve decided it’s time to return to my more casual thoughts.

However, my thought tonight is hardly casual.  My Aunt Irma died yesterday.  She was just over 93 years old and lived a good long life.  Honestly, I never really knew her.  I vaguely remember seeing her over 16 years ago when my mom and dad drove her south to see my late Uncle Bernard in Myrtle Beach.  They stopped by my townhouse in Durham and stayed for a short while.  Other than that, I have very little recollection of Aunt Irma.

She left three children…Steve, with whom I’ve had some contact on Facebook; Vicki, with minimal contact on Facebook; and Carole, who I think is closest to my age but with whom I’ve totally lost touch.

I called Dad and told him of Irma’s passing.  Unfortunately, I had to leave a voice mail.  But eventually we did talk “live.”  Our conversation was light, but there was one moment of tenderness or sadness when he stated, “well, there’s only three of us left now.”  He was talking about him and his siblings.

Dad had five brothers and one sister.  Grenfall (aka, “Sweat”) was the oldest born in 1911 and died in 1990.  I remember that Mom and Dad were visiting me when they got the news.  Irma was the next oldest, born in 1911.  Next was Earl, Jr. (aka, “Bubbles”).  He was born in 1921 and died during the Vietnam War in 1968 when I was almost 6 years old.

Bernard was next in line and the first of the Estep Uncles that I knew better.  He lived in Nitro and Cross Lanes when I grew up in St. Albans, so we would visit he and his wife (Geri first, then Pat) and kids a few times a year.  He was born in 1923 and died in August of 2003.  Kenneth was even closer to me, although never really “close” close like some Uncles can be.  I was just never the kind of person to be close like that.  But our family and his family would get together about once per month.  He was born in 1926 and still lives with his long time wife Gertie in Nitro, WV.  Robert was born in 1928 and still lives in Missouri near St. Louis.  I’ve seen Uncle Bobby a few times over the years and recall a couple long trips to St. Louis to visit his family.  My dad, Keith is the youngest…born in 1934.

I’m sharing this mostly as a blog for my kids to read later in life.  As they (and you) most likely know, my dad wrote a book about him growing up in Nitro, West Virginia during the depression and World War II.  Both of my kids have a signed copy of his book and they’ll both hopefully read it someday.  I have one as well, but I have something a bit more valuable to me.  Dad “published” his first draft in a three-ring binder, and included photos, drawings and unpublished tidbits.  To read these more “raw” thoughts is incredible and invaluable to learn about oneself.  I have to admit I’ve not read all of Dad’s published book but I have read about all of this pre-published work.  Within this piece, he shares a brief passage about Irma:

Irma Lee Estep Sandifer

Irma married Carlton Sandifer, a construction supervisor from Lynchburg, Virginia who was in Nitro building a rayon manufacturing plant for American Viscose Corporation.  They had two daughters who reside in Virginia and one son who lives in West Virginia.  Irma is known for her short stature, pleasant personality, and giggly sense of humor.

Writing this blog isn’t about Irma…or about Dad.  It’s about family…and sharing one’s experiences in life.  I recently posted that this Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for life's experiences...past, present and future. And for the lives of others that have graciously affected my own.  I hope to start writing in this blog again, along with BITNP, as a means to document my life to the world, but mostly to my kids.

Let the living begin.

Being Watched

As most of you know, my brother passed away only a couple weeks ago. I decided that I wasn’t going to flood my blog with “memories of Jeff” stories, although I’m sure I’ll share some over time. However, I was encouraged to share one story…I suppose our last story...with others.


If you’ve read some of my Facebook postings, you know that I engage in a hobby known as geocaching. Basically, geocaching is a global scavenger hunt. The location of hidden objects can be found on the website, Geocaching.com. If you type in an address and find the link to a map, you’ll see that there’s most likely a hidden object nearby. There are about 5,000 “treasures” hidden within a 10-mile radius of my house. In fact, there are well over a million such treasures, or caches, hidden world-wide from country parks or city blocks and even the International Space Station. I bet there’s one near you!

Caches are rated 1 to 5 for both difficulty and terrain with 1 being the easiest. Seeing as I’m not a rock climber or scuba diver, I tend to look for ones rated 1.5 or easier. Whenever I travel out of town, I can load the latest cache locations into my GPS along with previous logs from other geocachers and a description of what I’m looking for. Caches can range in size from smaller than a thimble to a rather large water-proof box. I’ve found all sorts, although there are some types that are more common than others.

A 35mm film canister makes a perfect geocache container. Other geocachers hide the caches for others to find. One simply places a log inside for geocachers to record their find and perhaps adds a coin or little trinket. All caches contain a log on which the finder will sign his or her geocaching name (mine is MountieAl). Most small caches contain only a log. The “treasure” is in the hunt itself, not the end prize. Anyhow, one takes this small container and hides it in a tree stump or other such place. One very common hiding location is within a light pole in a parking lot. Most poles have a metal or plastic skirt at the base of the pole which can easily slide up, thus making a perfect hiding place for smaller caches underneath. And yes, most cachers will giggle when announcing they’ve found a cache “under a skirt.”

Jeff read a few Facebook postings of my intitial geocaching finds and started to ask me about the hobby. After I described it, he started looking for some in Ohio, especially while walking his dog. I remember the first day he found one…he called me on his cell phone asking questions and giving me updates. He was so thrilled at the first find, and I knew he was hooked. “Jadestep” was introduced to the geocaching world. As he always did with things that interested him, he quickly became very involved in the hobby and even helped organize a few Geocaching gatherings. He started to become one of the more involved geocachers in the Akron area.

When Jeff and I attended my step-mother’s family reunion in June, we made sure to go on a Hurricane, WV area cache run together. We found about eight caches that day…a record for me at the time. When we finished, my dad commented that geocaching was the first thing Jeff and I had done “together” in a long, long time. And it was true…somehow this silly little hobby bonded us closer than we’d been in years.

During that trip, Jeff commented that he had wanted to hide his own on a guardrail near the Walgreen’s in Hurricane. He always liked puns and many geocaches were given such titles which would also offer up a clue to the hide. His idea for this cache was “Guarding the Wal.” Jeff was always quite clever. Sadly, he never got to hide that cache.

Before I traveled to WV for Jeff’s funeral, I loaded the caches along my travel route into my GPS as I usually do. Granted, I had no intention of making this a caching trip, but seeing as how he loved to geocache, I thought it appropriate to be able to find one or two during the trip...perhaps at a rest area along the highway or near a restaurant during a lunch or dinner break. But honestly, my mind was far from caches as I drove up the day before his funeral.

The next morning, I decided to run out before we headed to the service and fill my car with gas. As I drove past Walgreen’s in Hurricane, I noticed an icon on my GPS indicating a newer cache had been hidden near the drug store only a couple weeks prior. Again, I hadn’t planned on seeking any caches, particularly on the day of Jeff’s funeral, but curiosity got the better of me. I drove past the guardrails and into the parking lot. The prize seemed to be hidden under a lamp post skirt like so many others, so I parked near the suspected post. Attached to the pole was a sign that said “Area Under Video Surveillance.”

I pushed a few buttons on my GPS to read about the cache and look for any clues. What I read gave me chills. I jumped out of the car, lifted the skirt (giggle) and grabbed the 35 mm film canister. There was only a log inside, as suspected, and I signed it “MountieAl for Jadestep.” I returned the cache to its hiding place for others to find and then sat back in the car with my heart racing. Not to sound cliché, but I had tears in my eyes as I drove away and yet, had a very peaceful feeling.

The name of the cache that I found on the day of Jeff’s funeral at the location where he wanted to hide a cache? “Big Brother Is Watching.”

Jeff, thank you for continuing to join me on my geocaching adventures…and thanks for letting me know that you’ll always be watching.

Memories of Jeff

My brother Jeff Estep passed away last night (November 15, 2010) after a brief bout with Melanoma that metastasized to his brain and lungs. He left us far too soon.

I can’t really compose my thoughts at the moment…but I thought typing random memories and thoughts may help me a bit. There seems like so few…and yet so many, if that makes sense. While I stop to think of specific memories about Jeff, I have trouble coming up with much at all. But then something happens and a memory will hit me like a ton of bricks.

One such occurrence was as I was putting the dishes away the other evening. I grabbed a paper towel that I had bread sitting upon and I suddenly recalled that it was Jeff that taught me how to fold up a paper napkin and not spill all the crumbs (corners in first). Of all the things to remember, that’s one specific lesson I remember.

Christmas…oh my. As we prepare the house for Christmas decorations, many memories flood on in. He and Debbie love Christmas so very, very much. Even when I visited in September, there was a Christmas tree in Debbie’s dressing room. It’ll be hard to have Christmas without Jeff coming to mind. And I know that Jeff wants us all to enjoy Christmas…not to shed a tear for losing him, but cast a smile on the beauty of the season…and the beauty his life left behind.

I remember the Boy Scout Indian Hand signals we used to use as kids. Our plan was to get up on early, and I mean EARLY, on Christmas morning to see what Santa had left behind. We’d not talk, but walk stealthily through the darkness with flashlights while communicating with Indian hand signals learned from the Boy Scout handbook. Of course, upon first sight of the Christmas tree and decorations, we forgot all hand signals and made a bigger racket than we did the year before.

We had a couple Christmas traditions...one that I’ll keep to myself. It was very juvenile and sophomoric…but it was ours. I know Jeff is smiling when I mention it.

The golf ball. What a wonderful tradition that was. Exchanged over several years, we would alternately give this old Elmer Fike golf ball to one another for the holidays. Until my last attempt pretty much destroyed the ball, we would both look forward to either receiving the ball, or the delight in watching the other receive. It was a tradition followed by many…and enjoyed so much by the two of us.

The two of us. We were seven years apart. When I enjoyed Bugs Bunny, he was into American Bandstand. When I started watching Dick Clark, he was back to watching cartoons. He entered WVU as I was still in elementary school. Eventually I also attended WVU…and a very large reason I did so was because of witnessing Jeff’s experiences in college. It wasn’t the partying…and there was some. It was just the whole experience and how I witnessed my brother grow up from a geeky acne-faced teen to a responsible young man. Whether he knew it or not, watching that was as much of a mentorship as I ever had.

He so loved that college. One of the highlights of his last couple months was attending a game and having his cousin, Coach Dunlap, take him on a tour of the locker room and inner sanctum of the team. I’d never heard him talk in such a giddy way than he did about that day.

I take that back. There was another time, at WVU that he was more excited and full of life. That’s when he met and fell in love with Debbie. He could never have asked for a better partner than Debbie. The love they share is incredible. And once again, showing his love and devotion became another standard I hoped to follow.

Like I said, we were 7 years apart, so we were never really “close” close. We were brothers, but not the call-every-day type. It’s just how we were wired. Or maybe it’s perhaps how I’m wired. Regardless, we still were brothers. And when he lost his job in Florida several years ago and lived with me in NC for a short while, that’s the first time we really shared our brotherhood. We shared secrets of growing up…stories of our experiences. While that was a tough time for Jeff and Debbie, it was a very special time for me.

Recently, Jeff and I shared the hobby of geocaching. I’m not sure why, but that hobby brought us closer than I ever recall. We actually started to become a pair of brothers that would call one another often…just to share stories of the hobby and, of course, toss in a few tidbits about life as well. The last photo I ever had taken with Jeff was when we went gecaching together in September. That’s most definitely my favorite photo of us, ever.

He was with me when I got my first birdie in golf, and he was the obvious choice for Best Man in my wedding. But I guess the greatest legacy I have of my brother is his shared birthday with my kids. How ironic that they were both born on his 47th birthday. They’re a product of my love for my wife Kim…and yet a reminder, even once a year, for the love I have for my big brother.

One final memory I'd like to share, although I apologize for the dark humor.  When we were kids, we played cops and robbers or some variation of the game.  Whoever played the robber would ultimately get shot and play out a death scene.  Every time, the robber would mutter, "The treasure....the treasure is...the treasure is hidden in the....." and then die.  My father told me that on Jeff's real death bed, thay my brother muttered something illegible three times before taking his last breath.  He could have said anything, but a part of me thinks that maybe, just maybe, he was playing that game one last time.  That was his sense of humor.  And I think he's safe with his treasure.

I do love you Jeffrey…and I’ll miss you. God bless you

The Lesson of Living Life

Over the last few weeks, I’ve learned a little bit about life. No, I’m not talking about the meaning of life, but the gift of life and how quickly it can change or be taken away. Unfortunately, I’ve had this epiphany due to the misfortunes of others.

I traveled to Johnstown, PA to attend my wife’s grandmother’s funeral. She was 92 years old and lived a long life with many experiences. We helped my wife’s parents sort through her belongings and close out her affairs. While roaming through the old photos and such, I was impressed by the amount of friends she had throughout her life, and really started to appreciate all that life can offer. After all, there is so much to do in 92 years and I’m only a little over half way there.

When I returned home, I got news that my brother had been admitted to the hospital. He had some memory problems and it was soon discovered that his earlier melanoma had metastasized to his brain and lungs. He has a very challenging fight ahead of him. He’s 55.

My first cousin Perry’s granddaughter has been going through a tough time herself. She’s having rapid heart rate which is wearing the poor girl down, as it is her mother. Both are fighters. Berklee is only 3 months old.

My cousin’s best friend form high school, who happened to marry a gal from my graduating class suffered two strokes and a heart attack within a week’s time about a month or so ago. He’s younger than my brother. He survived and is apparently doing well in therapy…but he has quite a struggle ahead. As does Berklee…and my brother, Jeff.

The combined ages of these three barely add up to the age of Kathleen when she passed on. It hardly seems fair that people so young, whether it be 55 years or 3 months, should face such life-threatening challenges. And that’s when it really hit home.

It may be a cliché as much as it’s a song title, but I’d realized it’s important to live like you’re dying…to live as if it’s your last day. Carpe Diem. However you want to say it. I tend to live my life by following a pretty basic routine. I get up in the morning, fix breakfast for the family, go to work, come home and fix dinner, then relax and go to bed. Weekends are spent running errands as our work day evenings don’t allow time to perform such deeds. I enjoy my life, but frankly, there’s not much “fun” to it outside of the general joy of parenting and family life. And if I were to die today, I can’t say that I’d have more than a handful of people attend my funeral. I’m alive, but I can’t say I’m absolutely living.

My wife and kids mean the world to me…they ARE my life. But again, I’ve realized that I need to lead them as a father/husband should do…lead them into a life of living and excitement. Not a life of unnecessary risks, but a life of breathless moments and joyful giving.

I would love to live a life as long as Kathleen did. But it’s become all too clear lately that life may not last that long. There may not be a tomorrow to allow me to do something I want to do. Now is the time to do it.

I can’t change immediately…I’m not wired that way. But recent events have slapped me in the face pretty hard, and it’s time to listen.

30th Reunion Thoughts

My 30th High School Reunion is approaching. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to attend due to work. I’m a little disappointed, although there’s no guarantee that my better friends of those days will be in attendance. Still, I can’t help but get a little melancholy about those “old days.” High school brings back a lot of memories. Time has filtered out most of the negative experiences and helped me embrace those that should last a lifetime.

There were a few highlights…and people I’ll remember fondly. My “Three Amigos” were Chuck, Ted and Greg. The four of us would usually get together for some very innocent fun. Yes, I said innocent. I was a pretty squeaky clean guy overall and had the near-invisible persona to go along with it. But I had my three buddies to engage in whatever we decided was entertaining at the moment. Many times, this involved board games. Ha! I bet you never expected playing Yahtzee to be a fond memory of teenage years. Still, I recall playing hours of the game along with Tripoly and Monopoly. (I still have “high scores” written on the inside of my original Yahtzee box in the family room). We’d play to the music of Billy Joel, Queen, Styx, or other basic rock bands of the 70’s, all whom we saw in concert in either Charleston or Huntington. We also spent many an evening at the St. Albans Mall. This was a very small mall as compared to most malls nowadays, but contained all the basic stores: an arcade, a pizza place, National Record Mart, and Baskin Robbins. It was quite the hangout of its day, as was Pizza Hut, Rax Roast Beef, Del Taco, and Church’s Fried Chicken.

I had other friends of whom I share specific memories. I recall Chuck and me visiting my friend Bruce once. We arrived unannounced and his brother let us in the front door. We ran up to Bruce’s room and arrived just as he opened his door. This startled him so much that he nearly fainted on the spot. Chuck and I fell down in hysterics. Bruce’s goal in life was to work in film as a director and I’m sure the terror on his face at that moment inspired future horror flicks somewhere.

Mark was a band friend that I later shared some party time in college. His mother taught at our junior high school and his dad taught biology at the high school. He lived in the next county, so it was always a trek, but a welcomed one, to venture out to his house for a visit. He ended up being a veterinarian as he worked so hard to get that degree. Considering his nickname was “Punkin’ Head,” I have to believe he became a vegetarian as well.

Speaking of the band, that organization created enough memories to inspire many other blogs. Starting band camp in August was an activity dreaded yet looked forward to every year. We ended up marching in all sorts of weather in every game of our undefeated football season and it couldn’t have been a better experience. It’s a shame we lost in the championship game, but what a fun season it was. I played the tuba, or sousaphone. Others that played the same were John, Mike and Rob. All three were taller than I, so it was very easy to see which sousaphone was mine on the field or in a parade… the short one.

I recall other short memories: Playing ping pong at Cliff’s house while listening to Boston. Decorating the homecoming float with a group from the marching band with whom I became close friends that last year. Writing commentary pieces for the school newspaper, “Simmerings.” Helping make a home movie about Macbeth with Tim at the camera. (I still have the “credits” we wrote on toilet paper). Singing Cheap Trick songs and “Pain” in the “Interact Jam Band.” Taking an excruciatingly slow city bus to Morgantown to watch our basketball team in the state playoffs. It was a shame we lost the championship game, but what a fun ride that was!

Then there were the girls. Sadly, none really acknowledged me due to my intense shyness (and short stature most likely), but I still had my share of crushes. There’s no need to list them now…my life has moved on and I have no regrets where my relationships have fallen. Still, like everyone, I hope the best for those I cared for in such shy ways…and I hope you know who you are.

In fact, I hope the same for everyone from the Class of ’80…as well as the teachers. Mr. Willis was a delightful chemistry teacher and possibly my favorite. The late Mr. Keadle was passionate about his marching music. Mrs. McClanahan was beautiful, and also provided great guidance toward writing for the newspaper. And even Mr. Morgan is much appreciated, although I’m sure he’d have a real hissy fit at some of my grammatical errors in this piece.

I hope old friends reunite this weekend as the Class of ’80 gathers in St. Albans. And I also hope that those who were never really close so many years ago feel a greater closeness to other classmates now as we grow older and witness our own children growing up. There are many phases in life that fill our lives with incredible memories. Life in high school was no different.

Ed, Farrah, Michael and feeling big

I just took my two kids to bed. Despite them sitting on the couch with droopy eyes and yawning faces, they moaned and groaned about having to go to bed. Even though it’s a school night, they wanted to stay up late into the evening. I had to put on my daddy-face and enforce the bed-time, but I also laughed a little at myself. I remember being that age and wanting so badly to stay up late. It made me feel “big.”

To stay up after 8:00 was a big event when I was so young. Hearing the opening sequence of Monday Night Football at 9:00 was a distinct “stay up late” milestone at one point in my life. On Saturdays, being able to stay awake all the way through “Love American Style” to the scary opening credits of “Night Gallery” just after 10:00 was indeed a sleepy medal of honor. But the ultimate goal of staying up late was that magical moment when one would hear the booming voice of Ed McMahon saying those infamous words, “Heeeeere’s Johnny!” Hearing Ed’s voice made me feel big.

As I grew a little older to age 14, other interests made me feel more grown up. I was well into puberty and my focus was mostly on the opposite sex. There was no example of sexuality more popular, and accepted by the mainstream, than the hit TV show, Charlie’s Angels. I recall my brother being in college and talking about the show. Eventually, it was one of the staple shows we watched as a family…publicly for the Aaron Spelling produced action, but more subtly for the titillating action of the three actresses which entertained me and my dad. Like so many other teens in 1976, I had the famous poster of one of the actresses, Farrah Fawcett. I remember my brother wanted it as much as I, but it donned my walls. My first poster. My first crush. And Farrah made me feel grown up.

Eventually though, this poster and others accompanied me to college. The drinking age back then was 18 and the place to socialize and feel grown up at the university was at any number of local bars and dance clubs. The Disco Era had long passed a decade ago, but new dance music emitted from the DJ booth. This was also the booming age of MTV and everyone was into it. To watch MTV and go to dance clubs meant that you were part of the “in” crowd, which of course was all about feeling “big”…feeling grown up…feeling accepted. There was no greater icon of both of both MTV and dance clubs than Michael Jackson. We all danced to “Beat It” and we all owned his album, “Thriller.” The album was not just popular, but it was also damned good music (and still is). To hear Michael’s music and move to its rythym made me feel part of the crowd.

These three icons passed away this week. Ed died on Tuesday while Farrah and Michael both left us today (Thursday). Each had their difficulties and bad publicity later in life, ranging from bankruptcy to bizarre behavior, but they still remained positive symbols of their peak era. And each, ironically, served as a milestone as I grew up. In the past, each, in their unique way, made me feel more grown up. Their passing saddens me as it somewhat marks the passing of my youth. But now that I’m grown up, thinking back on these moments makes me feel young again. I suppose memories of growing up still makes me feel good and hopeful for what lays ahead for me, and my sleepy, growing kids.