Michael and Farrah. It cuts like a knife.
I was 5 years old when The Jackson Five came into my life. I got up early Saturday morning to watch the cartoon (followed in earlier years by the Beatles cartoon and a few years later by the Osmonds). I had a Jackson Five poster on my wall till the age of 7 and missed their music as the seventies left them behind.
Then, in my first year of college 1982, Michael Jackson came back. Off The Wall was a huge hit, “Rock with you” was part of the soundtrack of my freshman year and a few years later, the hits from “Thriller” became the videos you waited for when lounging around and watching MTV. Loved “Human Nature” and “She’s out of my life.” Pretty much considered Michael Jackson part of the tapestry of growing up.
I was 12 years old when Farrah Fawcett burst onto the scene. Along with Jaclyn Smith and Kate Jackson, I collected every poster the three of them graced. I, of course, had Farrah’s most famous and, along with my male friends, would move in close on it to contemplate the one, lone nipple impression. We watched “Charlie’s Angels” religiously and hoped for the best when Farrah ventured into features with “Somebody Killed Her Husband.” Every girl I knew copied her hair (yes, even in elementary school) and every guy had a thing for her. She was the face of the 70s, more of a phenomenon than Britney is today and a part of our memory of that time.
With both of these icons gone, a part of my youth has been taken away. As a middle-aged man I don’t lament these things with the level of emotion I would if I were in my teens or twenties, being preoccupied with family, children and obligations. Maybe that’s good - the distraction.
Nonetheless, I remember them both fondly, thank them for being the latent images of my childhood and hope in years to come their impression remains in the public eye so I can tell my kids, “These were the people I loved when I was your age.”
