June 16, 1971. To the idle fan of hip-hop and rap, that date means very little. Especially to a generation of fans who were merely a twinkle in their parents' teenage eyes at that point in time. For those of us who loved Tupac Amaru Shakur as though he was a member of our very own family, though, it means much more.
That was the appeal of Pac. He wasn't just a musician or a personality, but a kindred soul of every man, woman, and child. His passion for life and social justice spilled out of every song he sang and every antagonized sound bite he gave with a greedy reporter’s microphone pressed to his face. And it was this passion that captivated us. His raw emotion flowed through every word that he put forth, whether over a drum beat or a hushed courtroom. He got angry like us. He spoke like us. He made mistakes like us. He felt downtrodden like us. He loved like us. He fought like us.
…He bled like us.
Today would have been Tupac’s 40th birthday, a milestone so many take for granted. It’s a day when a man stands roughly at the midway point of his timeline in the yet-to-be-written history book. A moment that often causes him to look at all the time he’s lost, while simultaneously ruing the thought that he has so much yet to accomplish.
If only Pac had been lucky enough to experience it.
R.I.P.
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