“Macho Man” Randy Savage died and along with him a little bit of my childhood died, too. In a few years remakes will stop, well I doubt they will ever stop, but they will stop remaking the stuff from my childhood. After that, all I grew up with will disappear and with it my late childhood. Luckily they haven’t raped all my childhood for profit yet or dug up the cemetery where they all lay waiting. The Smurfs already got hit,
21 Jump Street has a hit out on them, Transformers are zombies at this point, poor G.I. Joe got ambushed, A-Team had some good doctors work on them but still just a corpse of their former self, even Clash of the Titans didn’t stand a chance. Whatever’s left I’ll keep to myself so that anyone listening won’t steal what little luster there is left of my childhood.
Let’s take a minute to talk about childhood. Sometimes I think my childhood was taken from me, unbeknownst to my mother, shit we needed to work to pay the bills and she needed help working. That’s it, nothing more to it. That’s the same lady that bought me my first typewriter ‘cause she saw I like to write, probably with some of that money I help her earn that month.
So too often I find myself saying yes I didn’t do a lot of things other kids were doing, but I also admit to being able to catch up to my childhood in the following years as a late teen. A little old for a sleepover but it happened. But losing that childhood gave me the adolescence that too many teens envied, while I almost took it for granted. I wasn’t rebellious, I got into some shit, did some shit but never disrespected my mother or our home. Basically got away with plenty that other teens never even came close to being able to get away with.
I’m in my 30’s now and can take the time to reminisce and explore the fact that I should no longer claim that my childlike-wonder is a direct result from an absent childhood that I recaptured years later anyway. I guess what I’m saying is it’s time to grow the fuck up. I read comics cause I like them, I watch cartoons because they capture my attention. Fact is I write and if someone came to me and offered me money to write a kids’ cartoon I’d take his money and run to my office to write like a madman.
There I go justifying why I do childish things, why do I need to? I’m not playing, I put on a mask when I leave the house but this isn’t that mask, I like shiny things and bright colors tend to steal my gaze, I find my imagination challenged by drawings and paintings. There’s something to say about being able to personify fears, monsters, and the unknown, and I take pleasure in providing that for myself and those willing to listen.
So rest in peace Macho Man, keep in peace that little bit of childhood of mine you take with you and protect it. Make room for those coming after and serve as a St. Peter at the rusty copper gates that hold together the sanity I claim now due to you Macho and those like you that roam in my head and fly out my mouth when I talk to “kids” like me.
-This message is approved by my childhood-