So maybe, but maybe not - you are aware of my childhood Patrick Swazye/Dirty Dancing obsession. It's true, I watched this movie everyday, everyday, as a kid (and Poltergeist). At the age of 7 I mastered the heart stopping dance finale, inclusive of the lift - carried out on the end of my four-poster bed.
Swazye, DD and the DD soundtrack have echoed through the years with stronger nostalgic ties to my childhood than any other element that I have carried with me. Patrick Swayze's death feels akin to that horrid day in third grade when my best friend informed me Santa wasn't real. Or when Chad tried to inform me that the kooky relics at Cracker Barrel are all fake and the Cracker Barrel magic is just a farce. Or like the time I found out how hard it is to trudge through a phd when everyday is a failure. Okay, wait, no, back up, its really only like the huge disappointment of Santa being fake, but only just kind of. I spent my formative years sitting indian style on the floor, three feet from the television, eating pb&j, and watching, wishing, and idolizing every frame of Dirty Dancing - and Swayze was nothing short of my first love.
Another magical childhood hero laid to rest.
Rest in Peace Patrick Swayze
