Today, the world learned of the passing of Peter Tork. The oldest member of the Monkees, Tork was the sad, puppy-dog-eyed member of the group clowning around in the background of many shots. He had sandy brown hair that seemed to fall over his eyes continually. I imagine teenage girls, sighing over the Monkees, wishing they could be the one to brush back that hair.
I remarked to a friend, “It feels like a bit of my childhood just slipped away,” but that’s not entirely accurate. It feels more like it cleaved, the way rocks or glaciers do, a giant shelf sliced and sliding into the endless ocean of time.
A big chunk of my childhood played out against the soundtrack of The Monkees’ albums.