The moment I learned that Elvis had died remains perfectly clear in my head.

I was 8 and it was summer in the suburbs, which meant unattended soccer and stickball and other games in the street with my best friend. Some older kids from the neighborhood ran to us, blurting out the most crazy stories: Elvis died! He was found dead on the toilet. He was shaving. He was drunk. He was in the shower. He was found dead with his pants down. He still had poop sticking out of his butt! He died because he was fat so you’d better not get fat. He died because he was old. (Old being 42.)

I didn’t know what to believe. I just knew that something bad had happened and it may or may not have had to do with poop.

My children may have their own day like that today, a day where they hear stories and don’t know what to believe. Only it’s not an old guy (old being 42) from the radio who died. Continue reading →