My Fondest Memory of Michael Jackson

It broke my heart yesterday to hear that the singer of the soundtrack of my childhood died yesterday. I have to say that I believe Michael Jackson may have had physical ailments no one was aware of but one ailment he did suffer from that we all were cognizant of was his broken heart. He had been ostracized and rejected by an American society that was ready to put a noose around his neck as a result of false abuse allegations. The love America once had for him dried up and he was left wondering why people were so quick to label him as a pedophile just because he would rather be with children than with adults. Sometimes, I feel just like him.

I believe that he simply was a wounded man from childhood that had never been given the chance to be a child, so when he became an adult he tried to regain what he had lost. Apparently no one had ever told him that regaining childhood is impossible, and when you try to, people look at you like you're crazy.

Which is exactly what happened.

And now, he is dead, I believe, of a broken heart. Rejection can kill you.

But as I remember with the rest of the world today what a great, one-of-a-kind artist he was, I want to tell you a little story.

Picture this: 1982, Southeast side of Grand Rapids, Michigan, 636 Thomas Street to be exact, a bright living room with an antique record player. A four-year-old girl with pig tails, barrettes, and a colorful outfit begs her grandma to "Play the Jackson Five for me, pleeeease?" The grandma, not usually a fan of secular music, having been raised in the church with the awareness that all secular music has the ability to send you to hell, smiles broadly, knowing her only granddaughter loved music, loved to sing, loved to dance, and above all loved Michael Jackson. Everyone in the family knew this; a cousin called all the time to ask the little girl if she was still in love with Michael Jackson and if she still planned to marry him. The answer was always yes.

The little girl's grandma carefully removed the 45 from it's jacket and placed the disc on the turntable, and suddenly her granddaughter's favorite song of all, "ABC", projected from the speakers. The little girl immediately began dancing and bopping all around the living room, singing along to every word. Her grandma stood in the doorway of the living room laughing and bopping right along with her baby.

That little girl was me. The music my grandma played for me was one of the happiest memories I had growing up. My home life was so dysfunctional and when I went to visit my granparents' home, that was the one time I could dance and sing and be a kid and make someone else dance and sing and lay down all the constraints that religion and life and even poverty tried to place on her.

When Michael died yesterday, I felt like part of my childhood went with him. I felt the sincere loss of the days when I could be with my grandma in her house. She went home to be with the Lord in 2005 and as long as I had his music I could relive those days with her. I know it makes very little sense, but his music represented happier times for me - not only when I was four but throughout my childhood and adolescence.

I pray today for his family, his children, and others like me that appreciated his existence. I pray he found the peace that evaded him while he was alive. I hope he knows that he really was loved, even by a little four-year-old dancing around her grandma's living room.