Remembering The King And His Birthday

Happy birthday, Elvis Presley. Today, you would have been 74. Or, maybe … today you are 74.
That is, if you are still here.
Which, I think, you are not.
See, I never did buy into all that witness-protection program stuff – you know, about you speaking ill of some drug lords or the mafia or something like that – and then you had to go into hiding.
I figure that, since your official death date of Aug. 16, 1977, something would have had you all shook up and back in public – again.
Like, say, when your daughter, Lisa Marie, married Michael Jackson – or maybe when your ex-wife, Priscilla, showed up on “Dallas” and showed she had a burning love for Patrick “Bobby Ewing” Duffy.
I beg of you. Elvis, what happened?
I figure now you have really returned to sender – and surrendered – to that ultimate flaming star.
Mr. Presley, I have never been to your tombstone in Memphis, Tenn., nor did I ever meet you. But I know folks who have done one – or both. My wife has visited your grave at Graceland.
And my mom, as a high school girl, got giddy getting your autograph – plus a snapshot – when your train passed through her hometown of Greeneville, Tenn., back in the late 1950s.
As for myself, well, I’ve been a fan since I was in a kid in the 1970s. I feel that I’ve known you forever.
Today, I use your music videos – honestly, as an escape from watching The Disney Channel and a certain purple dinosaur.
With my kids, I watch you sing on “The Ed Sullivan Show” and your 1968 “Comeback” TV special. We love it.
I also never turn off the TV whenever some network special tries to cash in on today – the day you were born – or in August, marking the day you dropped dead in the bathroom.
My wife adores your version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” My 7-year-old daughter likes “Heartbreak Hotel” and “Hound Dog.”
And my 2-year-old son, well, he appears to like “Jailhouse Rock” and, maybe, one of my favorites – “Suspicious Minds.”
Perhaps babies like your music instinctively because you’re up in heaven now, singing to them, like an angel.
But, I feel so bad.
When asked to choose which of two singers she likes best, my daughter could only say, “Hannah.”
And my wife? She’s more likely to listen to Elton John.
As for my dinosaur-obsessed son, well, I did mention your name.
But just as soon as he heard his other choice, he shouted, “Barney!” and walked away.
That’s all right. Don’t ask me why.
I, uh, am probably going to crank up some Led Zeppelin or Lynyrd Skynyrd at some point later today, myself.
But, wait – let me patch it up. We all know you were a great influence to all. Even Barney. And that, really, is the wonder of you.
Happy birthday, Elvis Presley.