It all started with a trip to Graceland in Memphis, Tenn. a month or so ago.Actually, it began a little earlier than that, as the Elvis Christmas album is a holiday staple in our house. But my six-year-old’s interest in Elvis Presley really piqued since our visit there, as he’s constantly talking about TCB (taking care of business–the mantra to which Elvis and his Memphis Mafia swore in everything they did), and has been asking all kinds of questions about the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll. The most interesting of our conversations as of late went like this:
Him: “Where’s Elvis now?”
Me: “Well some think he’s still out there somewhere, but most believe that he died.”
Him: “Did Elvis die in a volcano?”
Me: <Stifling laughter> “No, he died from a heart attack.”
Then just the other day, we were driving down the highway, listening to the essential Michael Jackson collection we bought after getting caught up in the wave of nostalgia after he passed on. As our oldest Yahoo was jamming out to “Beat It” in the back seat, he started asking all sorts of questions about the White Gloved One, including how he died.
Me: “From a heart attack.”
Him: “Just like Elvis?”
Me: “Yes, just like Elvis.”
Him: “Lots of famous people have heart attacks.”
Me: “I guess they do.”
Him: “Who was more famous, Elvis or Michael Jackson?”
Good question. My wife and I looked at each other for the answer, so we did what every adult does when they’re not exactly sure about a curious child’s inquiry.
Us: “Who do you think was more famous?”
Him: “I say Elvis, because he was the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll.”
Me: “That’s true. But you know Michael Jackson was the King of Pop.”
Him: “What’s that?”
Me: “Popular music, what you mostly hear on the radio. Like Hannah Montana.”
Him: “Ewww. I say Elvis. Because I like to rock out.”
Me: “That’s a good choice.”
Him: “Did Michael Jackson live in a mansion like Elvis?”
Wife: “He did. It was called Neverland. He had all kinds of roller coasters and merry-go-rounds there in his back yard.”
Him: “Wow. That sounds fun.”
Fortunately, he didn’t say he wanted to go there because we’d have to explain how it wasn’t a safe place for little boys. Instead, he went a different direction.
Him: “When can we get a roller coaster in our back yard?”
Me: “When you become king of something…”
Him: “OK. I think I’ll become King of Skateboarding. Is that Tony Hawk right now?”
Me: “Probably so. Does that mean you’re going to dethrone Tony Hawk one day?”
Him: “Definitely… what’s dethrone mean?”
All I know is given all the bumps and bruises and acts of stupidity I experienced from skating and BMXing growing up, if he becomes the King of Vert as he proclaims, I’ll probably end up dying of a heart attack myself after all the moments of panic he’ll give me every time he catches air.
But I guess it beats death by volcano.
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