An Empty Throne

I certainly did not intend to blog about this. 

When I heard that Michael Jackson died, my eyes immediately filled with tears. They didn't run down and I didn't cry, but tears were there. I didn't really think much of it; that happens often when I get caught up in a moment of overwhelming excitement over something I'm not even sure I should be emotional about but is just...shocking. And this was certainly it: shocking, piercing, and really unbelievable. Earlier that day I was just looking at an month on People's Magazine with photos of Michael and his kids. I looked at Michael, with his odd features and pale skin and thought "despite it all, he's still going". The last thing I ever expected to hear about him that day was that he had died at 50. 

I stood in the same spot in the same position for the following 15 minutes, not even moving my feet while I whipped out my phone and texted everyone in my contact list: "DID MICHAEL JACKSON REALLY FUCKING DIE JUST NOW!!!!!!!!??". As the texts rolled in to me and everyone else in the room, it became clear that the answer was yes. I suddenly imagined the world stopping for a moment, I imagined mourners clad in black taking to the streets in all seven continents. I imagined news reporters and presidents truthfully caught in a moment of shock and horror and dropping their public masks for a second to take it in. It's not that I think MJ was the most important person in the world, and true he hadn't been in headlines for a while....but he was/is a legend. The man was truly that magical, so I imagined nothing short of the protestors in Tehran ceasing their violence, putting on black garments, and wailing--just for the day-- for the King of Pop.

Still, the emotional aspect of it hadn't really sunk in. So as rehearsal continued and the day went on, I had lost reason why it was such a big deal when I finally got home and turned on the television at midnight. It was all over, stopping scheduled programming and taking over CNN, FOX, and MSNBC.  I watched for a bit as I worked out, talked about it online with some friends, shook my head at a facebook group entitled "Rest in Hell Michael Jackson", an utterly stupid concoction of none other than some high school boys who always seem to bless the world with daily doses of douchbaggery and dumbness, then went to bed. I mean, I wasn't his biggest fan or anything anyway. Today I watched some news, listened to different reporters and call-ins, and changed the channel to avoid hearing the 911 call. Then slowly, it began to set in as I started craving MJ songs and watched the Jackson 5 on youtube. It hit me....

There isn't a single one of us who doesn't know "ABC" or "I Want You Back". Who hasn't put either on for Kareoke, or during a solo-dance party, or while hanging with friends.  My first memorable encounter with these songs and Michael himself was watching the movie "The Jacksons" on TV for the first time as a young girl, around the same age as Michael was in the beginning of the film. I loved the dance steps, I loved the music, I could relate to the beatings from Joe Jackson and his drive for perfection, and most of all I related to Michael's loneliness and the companionship he found in animals, particularly his rodent friend Ben. I cried with the on-screen young Michael when Ben was killed, and perhaps it was my first heartbreak. I've had several pet mice ever since, and they've always been my best friends.  Later on, the Jackson 5 Greatest Hits was one of the first albums I ever owned.

As I grew up, Michael grew up with me. I have taken innumerable rode trips with my father, which has been our best way to spend quality time since my parents split up when I was 3 and he's been living out of state and country since I was 8. Every single trip, MJ's Off the Wall has been played at least 5 times. In my dad's younger days, that album was his most reliable partner. He told me stories of how in Germany, him and his buddies brought clubs back to life by requesting that the DJ played Off the Wall. What was once a melancholy beer hall turned into a vibrant bar filled with couples taking it to the floor, the tables, and even the ceilings to the beats of Rock with You, Workin' Day and Night, and Don't stop till You get enough. So, my father passed the legacy of music, dancing, and the ability to revamp a party by playing the right Michael Jackson tune down to me, as I'm sure your parents have to you, consequentially connecting music to love and to family, making the three synonoumous and music powerful. Michael Jackson touched the lives of millions of families and generations all around the world. When attacked with allegations of pedophilia and child abuse his fans rallied all over in support of him. They loved and appreciated the love he gave them, the love that comes alive in every dancehall or backyard party or street on Halloween when Thriller reenactment zombies take over. Love he put into songs like Black or White and campaigns against injustice and inequality and for compassion. 

Michael Jackson gave the world and his fans pure love for the majority of his life. So much that he barely had any left for himself. He and his brothers were the little black boys next door from Gary, Indiana, and they walked into the homes of mainstream America not in the form of some country singer sloppily covering their "jungle music" and making it "safe", but in the form of the little black boys next door from Gary, Indiana in a time when that was unheard of.  And as that little boy grew up, the scars of the nation surfaced in the form of the drastic transformations of his physical appearance. Centuries of beatings and oppression found its way in knife cuts and bone tucks in his face but he still kept giving love.  Scarred by childhood and the demands of the entertainment system, he was abused by society and showbiz which took advantage of him but he still kept giving love.  Two times we accused him of crimes that to him were unspeakable because we just didn't understand his weirdness and two times he was acquitted, and two times his heart broke. But on that last time, frail, bankrupt, uneasy, and barely alive with a shattered heart, seeing his fans who were still there for him and grateful, he mustered up the strength, climbed on top of a car, and gave a show. To the media and viewers at home, it was a circus, a freak show. But for Michael Jackson and his fans--it was love.  

Whether it was something to laugh at or cheer at, Michael Jackson spent his life giving himself to the world. It battered him and broke him to a state where he finally had to seek sanctuary. But even then, he rose one more time to give a tour, and for one more time to give the world love. His frail and used heart just couldn't give anymore. So it stopped yesterday, and Michael Jackson died.

I know no other human being in my time and in history who gave as much as that man. Without him the likes of Chris Brown, Usher, and Justin Timberlake wouldn't exist, and maybe not even Madonna or Lady Gaga or Britney or most things on the radio. He is not the King of Pop he is the King of an Era, and without him the whole world feels the suck of the vacancy of this thrown. But I think he will, in a way, live forever. Because love lives forever, and he gave a lifetime of it. So I will show my gratitude to him.  I will make sure that my children  dance to "ABC", and that my grandchildren know every song on Off the Wall.  So yes, we owe him this news coverage and this twittering and status updates.  I expect mourners in black taking to the streets, and news reporters and presidents taking off their masks. I expect for Tehran and all of the world to pause, just for a moment, to say thank you to Michael. May he rest in peace, finally.