"John Lennon died at age 40, 40 years ago today. I did this blog post 12 years ago, linking to both of my parents' memories..."

"... of being in the same city where he died on December 8, 1980. Both of their posts mention that they named me John when I was born 99 days later. Now I'm almost 40 and I'm living on the Upper West Side, not far from where it happened on West 72nd Street. I've walked by there many times, always thinking about it, never quite believing it really happened here." 

Writes my son John (on his blog). Here's his old post, written in 2008, which links to his father's post, written in 2005, and to my post, also written in 2005. 

I wrote: 

On the day I heard that John had died, I was a law student at NYU. I remember dragging myself in to the law review office and expecting everyone there to be crying and talking about it, but no one was saying anything at all. I never felt so alienated from my fellow law students as I did on that day. I was insecure enough to feel that I was being childish to be so caught up in the story of the death of a celebrity long past his prime. I didn't even take the train uptown to go stand in the crowd that I knew had gathered outside the Dakota. What did I do? I can't remember. I probably buried myself in work on a law review article.... 

How I regret not going uptown to be among the people who openly mourned John Lennon! How foolish I was to think I was foolish to care and to put my effort into blending in with the law review editors who, I imagined, were behaving in a way I needed to learn!

Looking back at that reaction, I realize I was influenced by the shame I'd felt in 1977 when I showed my feelings about the death of Elvis Presley. Did I ever blog about that? It's something I've thought about lately, as I've reflected on my life. It turns out I blogged about that in 2005 — August 2005:

28 years ago Elvis died. August 16th isn't a date I keep in my head, but I was driving in my car, listening to the 50s channel and they were playing Elvis's Sun recordings and saying it's been 28 years. They played "Mystery Train." Very beautiful on a summer night. 

I got to thinking about that night 28 years ago. I had gone to bed early and was listening to the radio and heard that Elvis had died. I got up and got dressed and came out into the living room to say "Elvis died!" They looked at me like they thought I was stupid and said who cares? 

I didn't question their reaction but only felt ashamed of my own. I accepted their imputation that I was unsophisticated and immature. And a few years later, I'd developed a stoical exterior and kept quiet about the death of a person I cared far more about — and who had died — unlike Elvis — with shocking suddenness — murdered — and not after a long sad decline. 

These days, shuffling through my memories, I sometimes sink into a deep meditation about that night I heard that Elvis died. I think of how different it would have been if I'd believed in myself and the version of reality where people care that Elvis died. If I'd believed — and acted on my convictions — I don't think I'd have gone to law school at all, let alone endured the loneliness of grieving over John Lennon around people who were either grieving only internally or who would have sneered "Who cares?" just like my Elvis interlocutors. 

ADDED: Put on your bags and get 'em packed/Leave right now, you won't be far from wrong/The sooner you go the quicker you'll be back/You've been cooped up on an island far too long....