“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life.”

These are the words to one of my favorite songs by the late singer who for a while in the ’90s might have been the artist formerly known as Prince, but will always be remembered as a kind of savior during so many seasons of my early life.

I remember begging Mama to buy me his hit record Purple Rain all those years ago in the Dollar Store. The wrapper was shiny and every time I slid it off the purple-colored 45 vinyl, my soul smiled a bit brighter. Careful not to scratch it, I played it many days as Mama and I sang our lungs out on Dykes Chapel Road. Mama, as I have mentioned many times before, had a young sensibility for music and fashion, usually preferring whatever her grandchildren listened to and wore. The movie by the same name was even better, and, oh, if only I could see her laughing in the purple rain again!

Hits such as Delirious, I Feel for You, and Raspberry Beret saw me through some awkward teenage moments and growing pains. My best friend in high school, Sonya, a bona fide Maroon Marionette, spent countless hours in the front yard in her white boots and sequined uniform dancing to Prince’s U Got The Look.

How I loved practicing those high kicks, a would-be marionette with my friend-girl, and nobody got more worked up at the pep rally than I did.

The Friday nights spent rolling the windows down in my sports car and driving “the strip” in downtown Richton between the Western Auto and the Sunflower grocery store with the stereo blasting Little Red Corvette and 1999 were moments in time. We drank ourselves silly with way too much Boone’s Strawberry Hill wine and drove way too fast, and, no, I am not glamorizing or advocating such reckless behavior for any of my nieces or nephews. It was the ’90s. We lived — and are probably lucky we didn’t die — for malls, makeup, and music.

I was sad, like so many adoring fans, to say goodbye to someone so revolutionary to this world, both in his song lyrics and his gender-bending persona.

Prince wore ruffled blouses, eyeliner, and carved out a niche where there was none before, a door-opener for the transgendered community.

He did it with elegance and without apology.

A few years ago, I flipped out my senior yearbook and found an entire page where one of my classmates penned the lyrics to the song Let’s Go Crazy in its entirety. “Are we gonna let the elevator bring us down? Oh, no, punch a higher floor, and let’s go, crazy!” We thought those were words to live by.

This is indeed what it sounds like when doves cry…RIP, Prince.

David Creel is a Vicksburg resident and writes a syndicated column.