I think one of the hardest things about getting older (besides the slowed metabolism, the wrinkles and the overactive bladder) is the fact that you have to start watching those around you--those people who were an influence on your life--pass away.
I am deeply saddened at the loss of Patrick Swayze. I know he was a celebrity--I didn't know him personally, and probably couldn't relate to the type of life he lead. But nonetheless, I am saddened. Patrick Swayze was my first crush--the first time I actually realized what a man could do to me. He was the first guy I actually thought was "hot" as opposed to boys I just chased in the playground or threw pencils at. Up until that point in my life, there was no one I both envied and hated more than Baby in Dirty Dancing. "Take me out of the corner, Johnny" I used to think. Patrick Swayze was one of those "firsts" for me, and I had never forgotten that.
Whenever someone dies of cancer, I can't help but think of my father. And as I watch the news broadcasts and tributes on TV tonight, I can't help but think maybe half of those tears streaming down my face are for the man who was my first "first"--my father. The man who was the first to influence my life, and the first to leave it. I can't help but compare his journey to the journey of others who have suffered the same disease. I can't help but admire his bravery. I can't help but think of him and wonder where he is.
So, here's to Patrick Swayze. Here's to "nobody puts Baby in the corner" and "Ditto." Here's to giving me my first boy/girl life lesson. Here's to living and dying in the classiest way possible. I hope that you're up there, somewhere, teaching my Dad how to do the mambo. With separate partners, of course.
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