I was a big Elvis fan as a child. I was so young that I chose my heavy rotation 8-track tape by color. Elvis's Christmas tape was red. On any day, you'd catch me carrying the player around the house, red tape sticking out of the back and Elvis singing with sleigh bell accompaniment.
My favorite song on the album was Blue Christmas. I liked his sad songs the best. My father was away battling the demons that challenged his sobriety and mental health for a while during my obsession with Elvis. I felt his absence deeply. He was my favorite person, and I absolutely adored him. I don't remember how long he was gone, but it felt like several years. I was lonely.
I remember believing my father had died because my mother started saying, "Your Santa Claus is dead." On television sitcoms, the dad always dressed up as Santa Claus, so I drew what I thought was the most logical conclusion.
My mom felt no obligation to explain things to me, and she did not tolerate being questioned. She resented being the "other" (not favorite) parent particularly because my dad was absent most of those years. How dare I love him more? I get it now. I didn't know better back then. I felt the resentment directed at me. I knew I was being punished, but not why. Something must be wrong with me - this is how children think.
Maybe his performances of sad songs sounded better to me because he was lonely. Of course, I had the same fascination with him that most people had. He was a great entertainer. However, that charisma and cool was his trademark celebrity character. It did not necessarily represent his human experience and internal struggle. In his personal life, he probably felt much of the same pain as the rest of us. The public's idolization was his power and his prison.
Soooooo anyway, Elvis. The newly-revealed details paint quite a different picture. Sadness, guilt, powerlessness, hopelessness and an infinite loop of putting on a mask for the rest of the world, playing with danger to distract yourself from the emotional pain and isolating to heal just enough to do it all over again.
Some of us are still out here, but it's not glamorous. We're not Elvis or Marilyn. We're just going through it, the joy and the shit. I feel bad for them. I'd be horrified to have my entire journey chronicled in such an invasive way.
