My mother called me this morning from NYC to talk about the passing of Michael Jackson and that’s when it hit me. She said she wanted to make sure that I was ok. I asked her why she felt the need to do that. And she said because she knows me being the oldest of her kids she knows I would remember growing up in a household where all I heard was James Brown and Michael Jackson. When she said that, I cried. Yes, I cried like a baby. I cried because my mother took me back to a period in my life when there were no troubles and life was good.
You know how everybody always says that Mike was the boy who never grew up? Well, maybe that was the gift or beauty of Michael Jackson. Maybe that was the draw to his persona. Maybe we all wished we could do that — not grow up that is. Now that I think of it, maybe that’s why his death is so significant. Maybe, just maybe our childhood died in that UCLA hospital on June 25th. As my mother spoke to me, I could tell that she too was feeling like me. As she spoke I could picture the smile on her face as she recounted those days of old. The days when either her or my father would spin records and dance around the living room happily before their divorce, and the eventual decimation of our family.
Life has been hectic for us all, and I suppose even in his death, his magic or the magic that was Michael Jackson has once again managed to take us to a place that we all miss. He may be gone, but through his timeless music those days of old will live on forever. I never had a Jheri Curl, wore a sequined glove or a red or black leather jacket with zippers. But somehow I still managed as a child to dream, and dream big to be like Mike.You can say or bring up all the negative things you want about him, but trust me, none of that will kill the spirit of love he brought to the world. Yes, today we all now wish we were kids again.
I know I do.