My Own Personal Michael Jackson

On this day after the death of “King of Pop” Michael Jackson, the media is rampant with stories, theories, anecdotes, interviews and musical montages. It seems the key topics of information relate to the cause of his death, the amazing success of “Thriller” and MTV as well as all the allegations of child crimes. While I see their point and I realize what boosts ratings and sells papers, Jackson’s passing meant a trip down memory lane for me.

I remember being a 7-year old girl in 1969 Florida and having two posters on my bedroom wall: The Osmond Brothers and The Jackson 5. At the time, I didn’t think it might be breaking new ground to have a poster of a black (the phrase African-American had not yet been coined) pop group on my wall, but in the deep South, it showed how the very talented Jackson brothers were moving quickly into the mainstream. I just thought Michael (like Donny O) was “cute.” Take THAT, New Kids!

I remember many half-hours of joy, laughing at the cartoon antics of the Jackson 5, back before MTV or VH1 were the television promotional tools of choice for bands. The brothers had so much fun getting in and out of their harmless trouble each day, it was one of the few times I grumbled at being an only child.

I remember 10 years after the poster went up on the wall, winning a 1979 dancing contest at a dance held in the Conroe Sacred Heart Catholic Church, to the tune of “Don’t Stop ‘til You Get Enough.” Although I’m not Catholic, lots of my friends were and I was just glad they allowed dancing. Ironically, my prize was a Linda Ronstadt country-pop album, “Simple Dreams.”

I remember buying the cassette tape of “Thriller” and then thinking I’d better buy the album too because “it would probably be very popular and valuable someday.” Little did I know. And on top of that, my mom absent-mindedly sold it in a garage sale.

I remember moving into adulthood, dancing non-stop to songs like “PYT” and “Wanna Be Startin’ Something” in the trendy clubs of the 80’s. And I remember thinking, “man, I wish I could dance like him.” The adult side of my brain replied, “yeah, right!”

I know his last years were clouded with bizarre happenings, doubt about his character and controversy about his actions. I’m not sure I have an opinion on any of that because I believe none of us have all the facts. I will choose to remember him for the wonderful memories and music he left for me – left for us all. And thank goodness for the i-Pods that allow us to keep his music with us!

RIP, Michael – may your pain be ended.