An icon died today. Dick Clark, the name synonomous with New Year’s Eve, passed away at the youthful age of 82.
I’m going to miss him.
He saw me through those turbulent adolescent years when I silently answered his traditional “who are you going to kiss?” question with “I haven’t a clue.”
Dick saw me through those exhausting early parenting years when my new year’s outfit consisted, not of sparkly sequins, rather a sweatshirt that reeked of baby spit-up. Dick led the countdown as I toasted in the new year with a bottle of formula in my hand and a baby nestled in my arms.
He smiled warmly through the TV screen as I anxiously waited for my teenaged sons to return home safely from their respective parties.
In recent years as our empty-nest home reminds us of the passing of years, Dick Clark’s youthful exuberance for life served as testimony that every year deserves to be ushered in with optimism, hope, and celebration.
Rest in Peace, Dick Clark! When the ball drops this year, I’ll lift my glass to you.
“Who are you going to be kissing?”