Tape
One of my earliest, best memories are of 3” diameter reels of magnetic tape and the machine that you needed to play the tape. The tape had to be threaded manually and I loved that it was my job. My brother sent us the machine along with tapes of concerts he’d heard while stationed off the coast of Vietnam. From those tapes came the voice of the funniest man I’ve ever heard. And that’s a problem.
No day goes by that doesn’t include one mental reference to the humor of Bill Cosby. For decades, that was a good thing, even wonderful. Reliving a Cosby routine brought me so much joy for so long, it’s hard for me to deal with what has happened.
I do not doubt the crimes. The weight of evidence is too great and it’s made fond memories into guilty, sad recollections. Like knowing a favorite uncle was raping his children. No memory is ever the same.
The line to cross can be subtle; older movies make stalking look normal but drugging women, then raping them? That’s over the line. Way over.