Michael Jackson: Remembered but Lost

If you knew me in the mid 80s, you would have known I was a die hard Michael Jackson fan.

Ok, well not maybe right away. I was extraordinarily awkward and hardly drew attention to myself in public. I had these horrid tinted glasses in big brown frames, a blond mop of usually unbrushed hair and teeth too big for my face. I was shy, I was insecure, I seemed made of glass and ready to shatter if a teacher called on me in 5th grade. I had friends of course, but usually I just hoped my catholic school uniform would act as camouflage, and I could just melt into the background.

So shouting to the world for all to hear that I was a Michael Jackson fan was extremely unlikely in those years.

But if you happened upon me back at home, downstairs in the security of my basement or up in my kitty postered bedroom – you would know that I adored Michael Jackson. Why? You’d hear why. My Thriller tape seemed perpetually on repeat on one of those small cassette tape players (you know the rectangle shaped ones with one speaker and big chunky buttons that you had to really push down on). I had his posters up too, next to the kitties. I had pins on my jacket. I had worn copies of special edition People and Life magazines – Michael pictures splashed on every page. I even had a glove. It didn’t have sequins, it was picked up at the the Goodwill store down the road, but it was white and I wore it. Often.

I also spent my days perfecting the Michael Jackson “Billie Jean” dance. I think I even had a hat. The high water pants were (unfortunately) not hard to come by, I wore those too. With white socks. And penny loafers.

And, lost in the fog of my 10 year old imagination, I used to day dream Michael Jackson’s limo would happen to be driving by on a dark and stormy evening when suddenly, right in front of my home, it would break down. Oh no! He would need to call a mechanic! Well, he’d run right up to my house and ring the doorbell – sequins glittering in the rain. And I would answer – tinted glasses, blond mop of hair and all. And while we waited for the tow truck, we’d roll up the carpet and he’d show me how to perfect that dance in the middle of my living room. And he’d be stunned by my talent. Oh yes he would be.

(Lordy, it pains me to write this. How mortifying. To the core, these memories make me criiinge and wish to camouflage myself in my catholic school uniform once again. But. I’m afraid it’s true. All of it.)

A few days ago we learned Michael Jackson had passed away. No doubt, the news was shocking. And I have been going into my MP3 archives and even blipping some favs to play in his honor. He was a fantastic performer. He set the bar for pop music stardom. Few, if any, have met the standard of being “as big as Michael Jackson” – or at least as big he was during those years in the 80s. A true phenomenon.

But here’s the strange thing. I was not all that blown away when he passed. And I have been trying to figure out why. He clearly made a very strong impression on me growing up. So why am I not shedding any tears and lighting a candle? Or something?

I think it’s because many of us had already lost him years ago. Adulthood left him confused and unsure. Fame swallowed him. Fans and stardom sent him running into seclusion. Being told he was so fabulous for so long clearly affected him. He turned inward, changed himself physically, he became consumed in reclaiming the childhood he never had – and was simply lost. A lost boy, like Peter Pan. In Neverland. Dulling himself with painkillers, bringing children into his world, determined to stop time. Hoping to never grow up. That’s what he wanted for himself. No doubt about it.

We lost Michael Jackson – the Thriller dancing, glove wearing, hee-hee singing, sidewalk lighting, glitter and magic making Michael Jackson that we all fell in love with – long LONG ago. And I had already said good-bye well before he actually passed away.

I think what has happened to him is almost a syndrome of stardom I think our culture needs to consider very carefully. I think many celebrities have come to the brink of losing themselves this way. Watching a recent Britney Spears special, I remember saying “she’s turning into another Michael Jackson”. Sure, she’s not sleeping in oxygen tents and playing with little kids. But she is just as isolated. She has nothing real around her. She seems just as lost.

So, my point here is that yes, I am certainly mourning Michael Jackson. But I don’t think the person that was Michael Jackson in recent years was the same person in the days of Thriller and sparkly socks. How could he be? I just know I wouldn’t have wanted his limo stopping in front of my house these days.

Because as much as he was a fabulous performer once upon a time, in my heart I have to wonder if he abused those children.  Nothing was proven but… this man was just not right. Whether it was fame, wealth or some emotional psychosis -  this man was broken.

And you know what else? Secretly, I am somewhat relieved for him. I truly hope he is finally at peace now. I hope he has now found the Never Never Land he’d been searching for all along.

Rest in peace now Michael. And I will try to remember THIS Michael Jackson and all that he was as a performer.