January 8th 1947, in the district of Brixton, town of London, England a boy fell to earth. His parents would name him David Robert Jones. He would call himself, “Stardust”. Some would give him the name, “Thin White Duke”. He would bring music and art to our lives. And one little girl living in a suburban home between Baltimore and DC, he would would called, “My Man”.
I. Could. Not. Be. More. Proud.
It all started with my
forcing her to watch coaxing her into watching Labyrinth. Two weeks later we were up to her begging to watch it daily so that she could sing along with Bowie. In an attempt to divert her onto the next thing, the attention span of seven year old girls being what it is, I thought I’d let her get a gander at the “Ziggy Years” on YouTube. The logic being that she’d find that so odd that the whole Bowie phase would be over and we could move on.
In fact she watches more of those videos than any other. When asked why she likes them. My seven year old little girl, princess, a child who loves cats and anything sparkly and pink replies, “Because he is hot!”
For Christmas she added his name to the very top of the scroll that listed the many things she wanted Santa to bring her. I thought a DVD or maybe some downloads to her play list. Nope. Her exact words, “I want him to have and to hold”. We explained that his wife, Iman might have issues with this (news that he is married was not well received). So Santa brought her a “signed” photo instead. It has taken it’s place on the wall next to her bed. The soundtrack of our walks… you guessed it, Best of Bowie.
Today he turns 66 years old. His face has been plastered all over the web and TV. She isn’t deterred in the least by his having aged, gracefully as he has. In fact she requested we have a party for him today.
In lieu of cake (dam this healthy eating kick) we celebrated with a viewing party of the song and video he released today as a gift to his fans. I wonder if he knows that she thinks it was just for her?