Prince.

I have a young friend, 18, who was ruminating on the untimely and sudden death of Prince Rogers Nelson (his full name eventually shortened to a symbol).

“I only recently discovered Prince, too, so what is the point. What is the point in anything.”

Appreciation is the point (of most everything). That, and respect.

He was not in my top ten, but I did give him a fair shake during college and beyond. My college friends were crazy about him; I preferred Adam Ant and other varieties of male artists but Prince never quite caught my full attention – which isn’t to say I don’t appreciate him, even now; lyrics and tunes familiar to a time and place remind me of By George Disco, a mirrored-wall dance hall at the end of town, where we’d flock for nickel beers, $5 pitchers, and lie to the same bouncers, nightly, to get in – just to dance like a mob on the dance floor.

That is where his music brings me: back 30+ years to Columbia, Missouri, to my women’s college Alma Mater, and the disco at the far end of town. RIP.

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