So for two weeks now my husband has been watching constant Michael Jackson videos a la Youtube.
Ok… I have, too.
We can’t help it. No we aren’t strange, and stop lying because you know you have taken a second or two to watch a video from his hey days.
It’s natural to want to remember from back in the day when things were so much more, no pun intended, full of innocence. Wonder. When times were much simpler.
Back when MJ was popular I was between the ages of 5-10 years old. I remember my uncle giving me the Off the Wall album. Michael with his naturally good looks and his afro standing there against a brick wall. I jammed to “Rock With You” over and over again on my Fisher Price record player.
Then came the Thriller album… I remember seeing him dance and wow the crowd at the 25th Motown Anniversary show on TV. I was planted in front of our huge (what seemed to be huge back then) console floor model TV. He did the moonwalk. Then we all tried to moonwalk at school, on the playground, in our yards, on our bedroom floors.
He wore that sequined glove. We all wanted a glittery glove.
My friend Amy in elementary school had an “ACTUAL” LEATHER BEAT IT JACKET. *GASP*.
She would let us all take turns walking around in it at recess time. When it was my turn, I tried to moonwalk, yet I failed.
When I was 10 years old and I had my appendix operation and was hospitalized for 2 weeks my mom decked my entire room out in MJ posters, his Thriller doll, curtains, bedsheets, you name it. She and my Abuelita had taken days to decorate my room and they even bought me a Thriller ensemble to come home in complete with MJ post earrings and a necklace.
I still remember My Abuelita standing in the doorway of my bedroom smiling and saying “Mira! Mira, mamita! El Meeko EJacksons!” (Look, Look! Sweetheart, Michael Jackson!”) completely butchering his name in Spanglish yet feeling triumphant that they had made my homecoming so special.
Alas, there was one problem I had with MJ. The Thriller video. I am not a lover of zombies. Some of you know this. That video to this day makes my insides scream, my chonies twist, and I cry as if I were just 10 years old. I don’t like dead peoples dancing.
But, I got over it enough to watch it with my husband last weekend.
Even though I was twisted inside. We watched Beat it and a lot of his earlier stuff and remembered how our memories were so similar from our separate childhoods because of his songs.
As the years went on NKOTB became my thing, and MJ turned weird and reclusive and started to dye his skin, shave off his nose and try to have chiseled features, my love for him disappeared. As did most of the people who grew up with his music.
If you didn’t, then you were one of his many hardcore fans or you may live in some distant foreign country and still jam to his songs as if it’s 1983. Hey- that’s ok too. Not knocking ya.
Let’s face the truth here, the man wasn’t loved by many for the last 15 years of his life. And not only did those strange self mutilation surgeries he continued to have make us fall far from the MJ train, but let’s face it- the child molestation accusations were a HUGE elephant in any room he happened to be in.
This past week I watched the Memorial. To the dismay of my kids who wanted the Cartoon Network turned on.
“Why are they making such a big deal about him, mom? I mean, if one of us died would they be all singing and clapping and making a huge concert out of it?” asked my oldest. I knew she was right. And I was torn. I wanted to remember the MJ that made me dance and sing and be a happy kid growing up in the 80s. But he was gone long before June 25th, 2009.
I realized a few things, also, I didn’t see Lionel Ritchie, Brooke Shields, Mariah Carey, Al Sharpton, John Mayer, or anyone else that was singing or jamming or giving speeches EVER- and I mean EVER- defend MJ when he was accused of that freaking ugly assed elephant in the room. Nope. I didn’t. In fact I remember his family with him during the SECOND allegations, but I don’t remember seeing or hearing ANY of these people who were up there paying homage to the “KING OF POP” during those times.
I am sorry but that Al Sharpton speech and his “Wasn’t nothing strange about yo daddy… what was strange was what he had to put up with….” pissed me off. Because MJ was strange. He was reclusive. He was self loathing.
So where does this bring me?
Feeling confused and strange.
As probably many of you feel that grew up with his music. Or danced to Thriller. Or had a Beat It jacket, glittery glove or a pair glittery socks.
We feel strange because there was… WAS a normalcy about MJ when he performed and was a pop star that made the music that most likely is on the soundtrack of your life. His music played when you were at your first dance or played in the backyard with the Boombox blaring.
And because of that, we mourned. We mourned because those songs and that man were part of our memories. What we don’t mourn, is the strange man he became. The strange shit that surrounded him. The man that made us all wonder and will make us all wonder for years to come, did he really do those horrible things?
And it’s hard to say- that there was nothing strange ’bout that, Daddy.
