Ok, ok, I’ll write a post about Michael Jackson
When I was a kid, like everyone else, I was a fan. Not a huge fan, but enough of a fan that I ought to apologize to my mom for insisting that we listen to “Thriller” so many times while driving in our car that any normal adult would have gone mad. My friend Bill somehow got a tape of the video and we loaded it into his parents’ huge, clunky VCR and played it over and over again.
At some point the weirdness took over and I wasn’t able to hear “Thriller” or “Beat It” or “The Girl is Mine” without being soured by the bizarre details of this guy’s life. By singing along to “Billie Jean” was I tacitly approving of a man who had sleepovers with young boys and dangled toddlers off balconies? It’s been years since I could really enjoy the music. Maybe this is why you don’t hear much Michael Jackson on the typical 1980s nostalgia radio stations.
Anyway, since Thursday, the joy is back. I’ve watched a few of the old videos on YouTube, and it’s fun to experience them for themselves again. It’s the way people must feel when an Alzheimer’s sufferer dies and relatives can finally revert to the memories of that person as she was in her prime. And by thinking of Jackson in that way again, I feel a little closer to my childhood than I did a week ago.
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