2016, You're the Worst

What does it feel like when all your heroes die?

It feels like 2016, that's what.

I thought maybe nothing could be worse than losing Robin Williams in 2014. It felt like my favorite uncle died and I thought surely - SURELY - nothing could be worse than losing Peter Pan.

And then 2016 came.

I'm sure you're all well aware of the hell scape that is this dump fire of a year. Donald Trump is a serious presidential candidate, Bernie Sanders isn't, and Will and Grace still isn't streaming online anywhere. I've worked out a theory that perhaps the Mayan calendar was off a few years. I guess we can cut them some slack. They were working with sundials and goat bladders.

But really, I know this year has been the world's worst, longest New Year's hangover for most people. It's hard to imagine feeling less stable or more unsure. For those of us who came off last year hoping for a fresh start, 2016 has been something of a gut punch. With a tire iron. But here we are, soldiering on.

And maybe its just me, but one of the things that's always made it easier to deal with a world that isn't always kind is my love of pop culture - movies and music and tv shows and a damn great book. Nothing makes me feel better after a hard day than coming home, changing into my sweats, and watching Friends reruns. It's like a hug from an old friend - full of memories of times gone by and the pleasure of reliving a love that never faded. Of course, an integral part of my love of pop culture is, and always will be, the celebrities that make pop culture what it is - the great comic legends, the geniuses of music, the writers who excite and move us.

So maybe this is why 2016 feels like a cosmic bitch slap. I grew up with Gene Wilder. Of the movies my dad would stop to watch anytime, regardless of what was going on, were Young Frankenstein and Blazing Saddles. I'll always remember him cracking up as Gene Wilder and the Monster (oh god, Peter Boyle!) danced to "Puttin on the Ritz." It's a staple of my childhood memories. As is watching Gary Marshall's Laverne and Shirley with my sister and brother on Nick at Nite. Our parents' let us stay up late in the summer just to watch the show and sometimes we even got Nutty Buddies. And you know what? It was a damn good time.

It felt special. It felt happy.

So, for me - and I suspect a number of other Millennials whose parents let them sneak a late night to watch tv - 2016 has been the last nail in the coffin of our innocence. All of the faces we grew up with - Professor Snape, Ziggy Stardust, Marie Barone - disappeared. If our childhoods ended when Robin Williams died, our innocence officially took its swan dive after 2016.

BUT I think there might be a silver lining here: in a world where people are divided by generations and political parties and races, the deaths of our favorite pop culture icons has reminded us all the we're just humans. Humans who love laughing, who love listening to catchy tunes, who still get excited about the release of a new book. Maybe 2016 has thrown us back into the past, to the memories we love, to remind us that there's a future we have to nurture.

Maybe that's a reach? I hope not.

Instead, I hope one day my kids remember ice cream and late night tv as a sweet summertime treat. And I hope my parents one day show my kids Laverne and Shirley, and we all laugh at Gene Wilder tap dancing with Frankenstein's monster.

So, today, August 29, 2016, on the day we say goodbye to Gene Wilder, let's remember all of our heroes, the people we never thought about not having:

David Bowie, Alan Rickman, Glenn Frey, Ellie Wiesel, Pat Summit, Gary Shandling, Gordie Howe, Morley Safer, Paul Kantner, Doris Roberts, Merle Haggard, Pat Conroy, Maurice White, Abe Vigoda, Phife Dawg, Gary Marshall, and Prince. And on and on.

We miss you. We love you.


All original content copyright Kimberly Turner, 2016-2016.