A man named Michael

I didn't really want to write anything about his death. I felt like enough people had and enough people will. I've read articles and blogs everywhere from MTV to ESPN about the shocking tragedy that an idol has been claimed by the angel of death. When I first heard the news Thursday afternoon, I had only been awake for a short period of time and my brain took several minutes to process hearing, "Michael Jackson, age 50, is dead." I immediately changed the channel to MTV, and as soon as I saw "Beat It" playing, I knew it had to be true. My childhood idol was officially gone, and I wasn't sure how to feel anything but immediate sadness. But the worst part about all of this, worse than the fact that he's actually gone, is what I've heard from people who say things about his strange appearance, pedophilic accusations, and all-around insanity at the fact that he literally hid his children's faces with masks. It has caused me to speak a little about the King of Pop.

First of all, I must say that Farrah Fawcett's death was a shame. She was a beauty, a great pin-up legend (who in the 70s didn't have that poster--you know which one I'm talking about!). But my mind was blown when someone I know, a close friend, actually was shocked that Michael Jackson's death overshadowed her own. I mean, really? Are you fucking nuts? No, just uninformed of how huge MJ was at his peak. Sure, he didn't end his life on the high pedestal he reached after the success of Thriller made him a living legend. And I don't really feel like going over the numbers (the 750 million albums sold, the 13 Grammys, etc.) because the numbers game isn't what made him one-of-a-kind. But seriously, he practically owned the world for a very long time. He had the Guinness World Record for "Most Successful Entertainer of All-Time." Everyone wanted to be in his videos (Michael Jordan, Eddie Murphy, and Steven Spielberg were among those who were) and there isn't a producer on Earth who wouldn't jump at the chance to work with him, even today. Besides, do you think the Jonas Queers or Miley Cyrus will have an Oscar winner directing their music videos anytime soon (Martin Scorsese directed the "Bad" video for those who don't know)?

When I was very young, Bad was released and I've had it for as long as I can remember. Every week, at least once, my dad would pick me up from school with "Bad" or "The Way You Make Me Feel" or "Smooth Criminal" playing while I chewed a piece of Juicy Fruit on the way home. It's a fond but simple memory of my childhood that I consider one of those kinds of memories that might not come first to your mind but always reminds you of the innocence of youth. MJ played the soundtrack to my youth, as he had for my mother, but not like he will for my own children. When old people listen to Elvis, I wonder why. His music is outdated, if not stolen straight from black people, but now that the King of Pop is gone, I completely understand why Elvis fans still listen to Elvis. It may be about the music, but it's more about what the music means to them. To me, listening to Thriller, Off the Wall, and the other albums Mike made over his long career reminds me of my earliest start as an entertainer.

I was never a great singer, and I have never been a great dancer. I can do both, and I enjoy doing both, and I can say MJ influenced that. At one point, when I was the youngest person in my family, it was me who entertained the whole family during the holidays by doing the moonwalk. I had learned how to do it at a very young age, and even though I don't really remember this detail, they all swear I practiced many, many times on how to do the anti-gravity lean from "Smooth Criminal." MJ was important to my parents because--do realize this was before any of his child molestation trials--he was a terrific role model for black kids. His music was universal, bridging the gap between cultures as there was no place on Earth that didn't have MJ running from thousands upon thousands of screaming fans. Before him, black people didn't really have someone that famous to relate to. It's sad really. The Jacksons came up poor from Gary, IN to becoming one of the most famous American families in the history of entertainment, with Michael leading the charge. Poor black kids nowadays in the ghettos have to look up to rappers, who claim to sell drugs and shoot cats dead in the streets. Michael grew up in the same environment but sang about love, getting down, turning into zombies, illegitimate children from women named Billie Jean, making the world better, and how it doesn't matter if you're black or white.

His star fell when accused of the child molestation. I don't want to talk about it because I don't think it's a relevant issue in the point I'm trying to make. You can believe it, you can deny it, it doesn't matter to me. But to all you funny people out there--don't rub it in my face. It's not funny, it's not cool, and what does it do? Why do people love others being in misery? Michael Jackson became such a tragic figure of what stardom can do to people. Crazy or no, he probably wouldn't have been all that normal if he wasn't famous, but it's highly likely that his strange circumstances led to his demise. But I don't want to remember the demise of Michael, but more so the rise. And I would appreciate those of you who love to harp on the bad to harp on yourselves for a bit. If you want to remember someone who affected so many people for something that might have affected one person (or been an extortion scheme by that one person's parents) then go ahead and be my guest, but not around me. I have better things to remember.

I want to remember the glove, the moves, the songs, the hooks, the videos, the things that everyone in pop music has tried to emulate for 30 years and that no one will be able to achieve. I danced because Michael taught me how to dance. I sing because Michael taught me how to sing. I began saving money when I found some not-so-terribly-scalped tickets for one of his shows in London. I've never told anyone about this, but I was thinking about just flying over there by myself, finding my way through the city on a very small budget and enjoying a concert by one of the greatest entertainers we'll ever know. But it's not going to happen anymore. So I'll just hit play and let "Rock With You," the first MJ song I ever remember hearing, play in the background while I work on getting that moonwalk back.

With his death, my childhood dies with him. Rest forever in peace, my friend. My idol. Michael.