29 and the day Elvis died.
    I can’t remember the day he died. I guess I was too young to know what was going on.
My mother said I was out playing in the yard and she didn’t want to upset me.
“Your father went into a room and listened to his records over and over again.” she said.
I still saw him on the television. They still played his songs on the radio. Kids seem to live time differently. Days and weeks, easily blend into months.
Eventually, it sank in.
    Elvis was gone.
My father didn’t want me to forget who Elvis was, he said it was “very important.”
I remember sweaty, summer afternoons where I would sit in the living room while neighborhood kids played outside, and he would put me through his Elvis drill.
    “All right. Can you name it?” he’d say after scratching a record onto the dusty turntable.
Sometimes it would take me a moment or two. Other times, I’d get it right away.
    “Hound Dog!” I’d shout out.
    “Good job! And who sings it?”
Without hesitation I’d exclaim, “Elvis!”
    “Good!”
And then we’d listen to the song for another moment before he switched to the next one. Most of the time it was Elvis. Every once in a while he’d throw in Roy Orbison, or something to throw me off.
    One afternoon I really messed up.
    “Here comes a hard one.” he said, giving me his ‘the-boy-had-better-get-this-right’ look.
The song started and I began jumping in my seat.
    “What song is it?”
    “Blue Suede Shoes!” I shouted.
He leans forwards, with a grave look upon his face. Looking back now, it was the kind of look that one of those biblical characters would give their eldest son right before they had to sacrifice him to God or something like that.
    “You’re right. Blue Suede Shoes.” he said luke-warmly, “And who sings it?”
I didn’t give it a second thought before shouting out, “Elvis!”
He exploded with anger.
    “No! That is not Elvis! That is Carl Perkins. They don’t even fucking sound alike! That is not Elvis.”
I sat there crestfallen.
My eyes dart outside. Several kids stop playing at the edge of the yard and stare back at me through the window. The neighborhood kids always flocked to a nearby house when they thought a beating was coming.
    Blue Suede Shoes continued to drone at a ridiculous volume.
    “You wanna play outside? Just go, if it’s that important to you.” he said disappointed.
I ran outside, and shrugged it off. “He gets like that about Elvis.” I remember thinking. 
    Moments later, I heard Carl Perkins turned down, replaced by the Elvis version. This time, even louder, so that I could hear it from anywhere on the block. It was a passive-aggresive, if not subtle, message to me.
    And to think, he was right around the same age that I am now. At the end of a divorce, drilling his son with Elvis records - trying to connect in the only way he could think of.
    Why do my thoughts drift back to this today? I guess because it’s my birthday. I’m turning twenty-nine, and I’m having that introspective moment where I convince myself that I still can live-out the rest of my youth in the remaining year - before I’m suddenly thirty, and old.
    I know that’s not the case. 
     Maybe I’m overreacting.
     I don't have half the problems my father had at my age, so if I'm not going to turn out like my parents at this point, then I have no idea where I could possibly be headed.
    I look at Elvis (I have no choice, since he covers every square inch of my apartment). I wonder if he ever had to stop and think the way us mortal men do; take a moment away from the daily chaos and figure out where he fit in the cosmic scheme of things.
    Probably not?
At twenty-nine years-old he had already served in the army, starred in 18 films, lost his mother, was married, had a child, and had launched his first of several career comebacks. 
    What have I done? I went to college and found work. That's about it.
    Well, I guess it would be futile to even try to compare my life, in any respect, to the King. But something tells me that, from time-to-time even he took a moment (if even for a fraction of a second) and just said to himself, “How the hell did I end up here?”

 /robot
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