Voices: I miss you already Prince
Those who know me already know most of this story. When I picked out my first tattoo in 1992 I knew I wanted it to be a mix of the male and female symbols. It means love. Then, while working at The Philadelphia Tribune, Prince's media package came over my desk with this gold symbol. I instantly knew that it was the merge of the male and female symbols, and it was perfect.
That week, I went with the great, late photographer Paris Gray to a tattoo shop on South Street. He chronicled my first inking on my right shoulder and I wrote a full-page piece on my love for "The Artist" and his music for the Tribune's entertainment section. This was before Prince changed his name to the unpronounceable symbol in 1993. Many called him crazy, but I and many others knew his genius. No matter what he called himself — we were all still buying and listening to his music.
My Marine Corps Reserve colleagues were none too happy with me for getting a tattoo, but because everyone loved Prince, it was OK. I went on to get seven more "love symbols" around my left ankle. Three of them are inked in purple — my 11-year-old daughter's favorite color.
When I was at West Chester University in 1986, I was known for always putting Prince and his lyrics into any essay assignment. "Are you a Prince fan?" my dyadic communications professor asked me after I had handed in my third paper with Prince lyrics. She said I had turned her onto "The Artist." I smiled and ended up with an A in the class.
Believe it or not, I wasn't always a Prince fanatic. I never even heard of Prince until my childhood friend Stephan Warrington made me a mix-tape of his songs in 1984. He would talk about Prince the summer before we became seniors in high school and was incredulous of my ignorance. "You never heard of Prince? You're going to see Purple Rain right?" He kept dropping song titles as I shook my head: Little Red Corvette, 1999, Controversy. I was not "in the know" and Steph was going to fix that.
I ended up listening to that tape so much on my Walkman that I finally ruined it and had to make one of my own. Since then, Prince had me for life.
Still, after being a fan for more than 30 years, I didn't get to see Prince in person until last summer at a dance party at Paisley Park during the National Association of Black Journalists convention in Minneapolis. I was in the cavernous room when he entered. He passed right by me and I didn't recognize him with his afro. I, of course, was just running my mouth to someone about how he might not even make an appearance, but I was glad to at least be at "Prince's house." Then I felt a fast wave of air pass me as people started screaming and rushing the stage area. Prince was indeed there and everyone could feel his aura.
My dream was fulfilled as he took the stage and talked to us about his next project on Jay Z's Tidal music streaming service.
Thursday afternoon, as I brought my lunch back to my desk, my cellphone and work phone started ringing like crazy. Why was everyone calling me? Then I saw the alert of a death at Paisley Park and my heart just dropped. "Please don't let it be Prince" I thought. But it was, and the tears came.
When I get home, I'll look at my collection of "love symbol" pins and other Prince memorabilia and play his music and dance by myself. Much love always to you, Prince, I miss you already. Your music held so many lessons for me over the years and it's definitely the soundtrack of my life.
And if the elevator tries to bring you down
Go crazy, punch a higher floor
Flanagan is a multiplatform editor at USA TODAY and forever a Prince fan. Follow her on Twitter @ShayTorie.