My aunt asked me last weekend at my cousin's baby shower, over a plateful of brunch food and a glass of lemonade, why the "fuss over Michael Jackson's death?" She wasn't trying to be disrespectful to his memory, or to his legacy. She just wasn't aware. She didn't know.
Since she is of a generation or two in front of me, as the oldest of my mom's nine siblings, I respectfully paused, thought, and then replied.
First, I likened his death to the passing of Elvis. But that wasn't quite right.
Then, I compared it to the death of Princess Diana. While the global impact and enormity of the loss was similar, that still wasn't quite it.
I was forced away from the comparisons, or the draws on historical figures, and moved to just say, "he changed music, and the entertainment field, forever, for everyone."
While I don't pretend that was so profound, it was true. At least for me, this thirty-something white girl born in the Midwest and raised in the South.
Having heard all of the accolades, seen all the coverage, witnessed the outpouring of celebratory love for him in the past ten days. I have to admit, I was pretty moved by the memorial service today, and even nodded in agreement with the oft-strange Reverend Al Sharpton as he acknowledged how, in his life, Michael Jackson broke boundaries and changed our world.
For me, however, I have to say that a few Michael Jackson-related memories rise to the top of my mind today. I'll share them with you, if nothing else, to see if you nod and smile with acknowledgement, recognition and familiarity.
And, if not, enjoy laughing at the vision of me in these moments. I'm pretty sure if you'd seen my outfits, my dance moves or my bangs back then, you'd be laughing pretty hard.
It was 1982. "Thriller" had been released, but for a five year old living in Kinston, North Carolina, that news didn't exactly register with me. My teenage babysitter, however, made sure to rent the video on VHS and bring it over to my parents' house when she was watching me and my two year old sister. After Lauren had gone to bed, I assume, I got to stay up late with her and watch the "movie." Expecting a cartoon or a kid's movie, I was quite shocked, and not in the "look what I can do while Mom and Dad aren't here" kind of way. We watched it, and I likely hid behind pillows on the sofa. At least that's what my memory tells me. Needless to say, I blame the nightmares and the "night terrors" that followed for a few years on the visions of that video. While I can't prove that "Thriller" was the cause of my late-night visions, I still get a creepy feeling when I see clips of it. Thanks, Babysitter.
I am pretty sure, if I have my dates right, we moved to Atlanta after that. Maybe I'm all backward and we lived in Atlanta when Thriller premiered, and if that is the case, simply shift the location - the story remains the same. Several years later, Lauren, my friends in the neighborhood and I wanted to let loose - as eight year olds can do, right? So we went down to our partially finished basement and danced. My grandmother had been a square dancer and had many big skirts and fun costumes, and my older cousin had handed down many ballet and dance outfits, too. The girls and I would don these get-ups, put on some music, and just dance around the room. When I was allowed to spend some "allowance money" I remember buying the 45 of "Beat It." I think I liked the intro the best - the slow beats leading up to the fast background music. Whatever, I was hip before my time. The below-ground playroom had two of those metal poles in the middle - dividing two rooms - and they served as the perfect dancing apparatuses. Luckily for my parents and my future career choices, I never got too comfortable pole dancing, and instead tried to perfect my Michael Jackson moves while the record played on. Thank God this was before everyone had video cameras.
In 1985, I was a young girl of nine, and "We Are the World" came out. Once again, I had to splurge on the record. My dad thankfully shared his record player with us girls, and this time, even he liked the tune. After seeing the video on the newly minted MTV at a friend's house (my parents still had me convinced that our TV only got about 3 public broadcasting channels), I would sit on the floor of the family room, put on my Dad's oversized (on my pea-head) headphones with the squishy plastic-coated ear pieces, and listen to the anthem at full volume. I am pretty sure I swayed back and forth, and quite possibly sang out loud. I'm sorry for my Mom, who was likely in the nearby kitchen making dinner.
In seventh grade, in 1989, my girlfriends and I (who, interestingly enough, are still in the Posse and are still the best of friends) were all invited to go with Jenny to her grandparent's house in Florida. Why those two sweet elderly people wanted four rambunctious teenagers to come down for a week to spend at their retirement community, I'll never know. But, we did. And, I will forever think of that trip when I hear the song "Man in the Mirror." Mostly it is an image of Ashley and Jenny singing at the top of their lungs into a hairbrush, making up words when they didn't know what Michael was saying. Which was a lot. Which explains why, to this day, I still sing "And no message could have bent any clippers" when he says "And no message could have been any clearer" to myself, and then laugh. When we all gathered for Liz's bachelorette weekend a few years ago, we re-enacted this, and by default, all still sang the wrong lyrics to most of the song. Sorry, Michael. I blame Jenny. I can still see the look on her face while she performs this one.
Speaking of Jenny, later that year (I think), we were all dressing up for a Halloween party and Jenny got it in her head to go as Michael Jackson. Yes, she did. We put face paint (what WAS that stuff?) all over her face and hands, and put her in a shiny grey shirt, black pants, white scrunch socks, black shiny shoes, a silver glove, a microphone and a top hat, and wet-styled her dark shoulder-length hair into messy curls to resemble his look (at the time). It was perfect. Evidence lives on in the confines of Facebook, but I couldn't bring myself to further ruin Michael's legacy, or my own vanity, by putting it up here. (I was dressed as the taller, dorkier version of Minnie Mouse).
Still today, when I'm fiddling with my iPod, compiling a road trip mix, or a workout mix, or a high school memories mix, to listen to at the appropriate time, I find myself naturally including the Michael Jackson favorites. There are so many to choose from, and that, in some small part, answers my aunt's question.
Maybe it is a generational thing. Maybe it is just a music thing. Maybe it is a human nature thing, to celebrate and 'legendize' and immortalize someone after they are gone. I know he wasn't perfect. I know he was a bit strange. I know he had a lot of question marks surrounding his life.
But I also know is this: Michael Jackson will forever mark certain moments in my life. And, I'll forever regret not having seen him in concert.
Because I probably could have borrowed Jenny's outfit for the show.
Rest in Peace, Michael Jackson. Your music has been with me a long time, and I suspect will stick around forever. A lot longer than my 45s did.
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