Michael Jackson

I had a completely different e-mail all set to go to you all, but -- like much of the news these past weeks -- it has been overtaken by the news of Michael Jackson's death and its reception around the world. I missed the memorial on television, but am currently watching the highlights on CNN. Even so, the response was unavoidable: I walk west on 125th Street -- through Harlem -- to get to my classes at Teachers College (Columbia University) and everything was Michael. The stereo systems on the street that yesterday played disparate songs were united today in celebration of Michael Jackson's legacy, his oeuvre. Every t-shirt had Michael's face. Even the congo drums seemed to beat out in celebration of his work and life.

It strikes me when I think that my mother and he were almost the same age; my father (born in 1961, three years after MJ) literally grew up, in some sense, with Michael Jackson and his music. I, too, grew up with Michael Jackson's music, but in quite a different way: for me, MJ was always somewhat pale in complexion, his hair always straightened. I grew up watching the videos for the singles from Bad and Dangerous. Thriller's songs I learned about through the movie Moonwalker, which I watched with almost the same frequency as I did Sesame Street. (Chris, I'm sure you can identify with this last point.) As such, the pictures of Michael Jackson as a young boy that lined the streets of Los Angeles seemed somewhat strange to me; I've know the words to many Jackson 5 songs by heart, but the first time I realized that pictures and videos existed from that era was the day that he died.

I have commented often that these past two years have revealed themselves over and over again to be watershed years: the world is changing rapidly and I feel as if these, right now, are the moments that we will point at in the future when we try to explain to our children what the world was like and how it changed, and changed us. I feel fortunate to be alive and old enough to appreciate the significance of the events of these times -- and to have some connection to them that extends further than watching them on the news.
My heart goes out to the Iranians, the Hondurans, the people caught in the conflict in northwestern China. And my heart goes out to the people who, as Brooke Shields noted, "were lucky enough to know [Michael Jackson] personally" and who are most deeply affected by MJ's abrupt passing. My mind returns to the last funeral-spectacle that remains, to this day, in my memory: that of the former Princess of Wales, Diana.

Elton John then reprised and rewrote the song that had originally been penned in honor of a woman born Norma Jean. How sad that the lyrics of his tribute are just as appropriate for this untimely death as it was for Marilyn's. Just as a generation never knew Marilyn's struggles, or Elvis' or Diana's, but loved and idolized, anyway, so we have loved (and, occasionally, fainted for) Michael Jackson. We have wondered often at his conduct and the circumstances and truths of his life, certainly, but I think it fitting that what has come to light over and over now that he has gone -- too late perhaps -- are how many lives he affected positively. Today, we learned a little about Michael Jackson, the man. How easy it is to forget that the people who entertain us and the people whom we idolize and set apart are indeed people. There will never be another Michael Jackson. May he rest in peace.