Some good drinks, a good meal, and a Michael Jackson concert on multiple big screens. That’s what it took to bring me to the brink of tears. Aside from becoming misty-eyed while hearing Paris speak at the funeral, this was the first time I really felt overwhelmingly sad about his death.
This would come to a surprise to anyone who knew me a a preteen or teenager. I was completely obsessed with the “Off The Wall/Thriller” Mike. Even though, I’ve been a fan as far back as I can remember, during my elementary and junior high school years, I’m pretty sure that he was my fiance…that is until Prince came along, but that is another story.
In that moment, I saw and remembered his GREATNESS. Millions of albums sold. The Jackson 5. Off the charts solo career. Electrifying performances. He was an unbelievable entertainer and artist. The energy emanating from the concert engulfed the entire restaurant. I wish I’d had a chance to see him in concert, I probably would have retained much more “fan-love” for him previous to his death.
I have been a conflicted supporter for a while…sometimes, I say that I am an “enlightened” fan…that makes me feel better. I can simultaneously accept that he is both the “King of Pop” (a much deserved title) and oftentimes troubled, tragic soul.
It’s the oft-worked on face, assumed bleaching, “children in my bed” situations, and later “Why couldn’t his kids have his own DNA?”
After Bad was released, the escalating surgeries, the noticeable changes in his skin color, and some eccentric behavior, I decided to break up with Michael. While I continued to enjoy his music over the years, especially Dangerous and Invincible, he was no longer my boyfriend. I suppose I took it personally. Some say he considered his face a work of art and other say that he was trying to make up for the (short period of) time as an unattractive preteen. During all that time, I believed Micheal was trying with all his might to not look like me. Now, I just feel bad for him.
The big blow was the multiple child molestation accusations. (After the first incident, why not make sure it would never happen again?) What was most damning for me was Michael’s own words. I saw “the most loving thing you can do is share your bed with a child” interview. While I don’t know what happened and he was not convicted, at the very least, he engaged in EXTREMELY inappropriate behavior and at most, a crime.
I think it was last night’s tequila that made it easier to forget his troubles and reminisce about the great times.
Today, I am conflicted, uhhh-ummm, I mean “enlightened” again.