The Prince and the Queen

I vaguely remember Elizabeth's coronation ... or do I only remember the multi-colored stamps that I later owned. The early years of life are covered in a fog of other interests. So much centers on the family. Brother, two Sisters, Mother, Father, Grandparents and even some cousins. And while we lived not far from the ocean, just across the pond, aye, from the new Queen in England, unlike Sister Sarah and her Alaskan scrutiny of Mother Russia, I lacked the vision to see Father England from my kitchen window.

When I heard that Prince died, yesterday, I was totally blindsided. The Prince? Bandar of the Saudi Royal Family? One of the boys of the young lovely we all loved whose hubby, another Prince, was madly-deeply in love with another? No, no, M explained.

The greatest singer, the most sellingest of all Funk Rockers, Prince!

Prince who, I protested. Well no use.  Everybody on TV from Brian Williams to Lefty wonks like Rachel Maddow and Chris Hayes all knew his music. Maybe I finally had something in common with T-Rump in missing out but then I heard Donelle talk about Prince, too.

What is the Last Quarter for a nerdy Pater Familias? I don't rightly know but one of the discoveries made during that time is that the Second and Third Quarters were taken up with lots of stuff beyond Pop Culture.

IF I had to do it all over, again?

If I could do it all over again, I'd "let my freak flag fly" and high, at that, and I'd know lots about Michael Jackson, Iced Tea, Prince, the Big Cool J guy who plays a detective on a show whose name I can't recall, and Kim Kardashian ... I would finally get to know who-the-fuck or WTF is a Kim Kardashian and whether OJ really killed his wife, whose name I may have once known. As Gunther Toody might say: Oo-oo, I almost got the name.

AM I talking regret? NO, I don't think so ... More like acceptance that at every fork in the road we implicitly decide which road not to take though we convince ourselves of a different narrative.