Today is truly a sad day for me. Davy Jones, the youngest member of the 60's TV show The Monkees died today of a heart attack. I cannot tell you how profoundly sad I am. I wonder if any of the Monkees truly understand what was created back then and really how their work touched others.
I remember when I was first introduced to the world of The Monkees; it was 1986 and The Monkees aired on MTV. I remember being a very sad 12 year old, living in a very volatile and abusive household, feeling alone and unhappy when a simple channel change changed everything. I remember seeing the colorful screen, hearing the background laugh track and watching four boys (men for me actually) whooping it up and having fun all while playing INCREDIBLY uplifing music. Something inside me felt REALLY, REALLY happy. "I remember The Monkees", my mom had said. I asked my stepfather who they were and he explained that it was a popular show when he was young. I was transfixed to the screen and no one even attempted to change the channel.
Back then, most households only had one television and ours was a large unit that was inconveniently located right outside of the entrance to the hallway leading to the bathroom and all the bedrooms. I was always waiting until commercials to pass in front of the TV as to not disturb anyone's television show in progress, even to go to the bathroom. Pass in front of the TV at the wrong moment and you were sure to get a severe look no matter how full your bladder was. And there I sat, and sat, and sat as one episode after another aired. IT WAS A MARATHON!!! To this day, looking back at that weekend I'm still amazed at how I was changed... how EVERYTHING seemed to change. First, I've always been utterly perplexed at WHY, in such a tumultuous, angry and loud household, everyone shut up. The only noise I remember in that house for the ENTIRE marathon was the sound of The Monkees singing and playing..... with a laugh track in the background. Second, why was everyone so respectful of MY interest in this show? I even remember that everyone else was waiting for commercials to pass in front of the screen. You honestly would have had to have lived the pain prior to this magical marathon to understand how powerful this weekend was. And finally, I remember taking real breaths. Isn't that weird? I remember breathing deeply and feeling very good. Did I really hold my breath for 12 years? I also remember it being like spring outside and the smell of freshly mowed grass still takes me back to THAT weekend. It was almost as if God gave me a bright, uplifting, and peaceful vacation from all the turmoil that I was going through. That was the greatest weekend of my life and I've loved The Monkees ever since.
This is definitely a profound loss.
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