The King of Pop

Today was a strange day; Michael Jackson died. Even stranger - so did Farrah Fawcett. But she was before my time - I don't think I've even seen her in anything. Except on David Letterman when she was all wigged out and wacky.

But MJ. I wanted to marry him when I was two. I had a Mickey Mouse record player in my room and my parents had Thriller on vinyl. I would listen to it over and over and over. Apparently, I even wore one glove. When he came to perform at BC Place on the Jacksons' 1984 Victory Tour, my parents couldn't get tickets, but faithfully took me down to Vancouver to hang out outside of the stadium. I remember sitting on my dad's shoulders and listening to the music thumping from inside.

I used to videotape his appearances on awards shows, tributes and televised concerts and watch them over and over. Even when his albums HIStory, Scream and Invincible came out, I was at A&B Sound the first day to pick them up. I wish I had collected them all before now; I'm sure the prices will skyrocket and production will jumpstart again.

I wrote in my baby journal organizer today that he had passed, and told my unborn baby that the Elvis of my generation had died. I will buy a paper tomorrow and keep it (if I can get my hands on one) to show him/her. I also wrote that I would share his music with him/her when they are old enough to appreciate it. If my parents had done this for me with the Beatles, I would know a lot more about them.

Anyway, even though he became strange and lost as he aged, Michael Jackson was simply a product of a very sad and, I'm sure, lonely childhood. I guess I'm one of those people that is choosing to overlook all the not-so-nice areas of his life that some people might point out and use to say, "Good riddance." We are all products of our past experiences, and he is no different. Regardless of his mistakes, you can't get around the profound influence he had on the world of pop, dance and video.

Rest in peace, Michael Jackson.