The MoonwalkerIt's been a little over three weeks since the world lost Michael Jackson and I lost a hero. I wanted to write about his death immediately but the words didn't come. Neither did tears, just shock. I like millions, perhaps billions, of people was raised on Michael Jackson. I was raised by strict Colombian parents in Orlando, Fl who feared the profanity and obscenity in music which therefore led to them to limiting what we could and could not listen to. Elvis Presley, Bill Haley and the Comets, Diana Ross and the Supremes, Frank Sinatra, countless numbers of classic Colombian anthems, and The Beatles were acceptable. But Michael Jackson was another story. His music was always danced to, his videos always watched. He was always welcomed in our little home and throughout my relative's lives.
New York, New York 1970
My mother Rosi age 16, and her two younger siblings Lucrecia, 15 and Oscar, 12 first moved to the United States in 1970. Their first impression of America was New York City, a melting pot of cultures and ethnicities, a country at war in Vietnam and a young black family known as The Jackson 5 singing and dancing on television and radio. My uncle died when I was very young, the memories I have of him are simply stories I hear from other family members. And from those stories rises endless stories of his fascination with Michael Jackson and his brothers. My uncle was an untrained musician with the ability to pick up and play any instrument he could find. He rocked a leather jacket, collar popped, and had long raggedy hair. My uncle was fascinated with Black America; he eventually changed his name to Jim Brown after the professional Football and lacrosse player. He opened the door for my family by being the first person in the Lopez-Vargas bloodline to marry and have children with a non-Hispanic, non-Colombian woman named Sylvia, a black model from New York City. My uncle's biracial relationship and marriage paved the way for my brothers future relationships and marriages to white girls. My uncle was also inspired to recreate the Jackson family within his own family naming his sons after the Jackson 5, although he only had Michael, Marlon and Jermaine at the time of his death in 1988.
My family was just a small portion of the 300 million people that viewed his public memorial service. I watched in Santa Monica, one brother in Beverly Hills- the other in San Francisco, my mom in Orlando, cousins in Miami, we all cried. For me this day was unimaginable. Watching the service reminded me of being at my friends viewing last October and realizing how final her, and any death, is. I, like millions of others, regret that I never had the chance to tell Michael Jackson how I felt about him and how significant his life had been on mine. I remember singing "Heal the world" and "Man in the Mirror" with my mom on our drives around town. I remember buying "Invincible" the day it came out. It wasn't his greatest album- but it was still good. I remember watching his 30th Anniversary Special on TV- I still have the video tape I recorded it on. And yes he has always been on my IPOD, so is his sister Janet.
My brother Fabianin May 2008-
conveniently "forgot"
his black socks-
but rocked out his
favorite Michael
Jackson pose before
we headed out-
And yes he wore those socks
the entire night.
Los Angeles, California 2009
When I moved to Los Angeles three months ago, I was under the impression that he had left the United States for good- since he had left after his trial and let go of Neverland Ranch- only to find out he died at the UCLA hospital ten minutes away from where I live. I wish I would have known he was here in L.A. I'm not sure what I would have or could have done to meet him, but I probably would have tried to meet him or something. I wish I had a chance to thank him for the unbelievable dedication and work he put into his job as an entertainer. That was his job, to make us smile, to surprise us with something new that we never thought would be possible and he pulled it off over and over again. To me Michael Jackson was a living, breathing symbol of hard work and dedication. Growing up I learned the American Dream through the story of The Jackson 5. Coming from Littletown, U.S.A to become a family of entertainers, driven by desire and perfection. To me he proved himself to be subhuman. His movements and expressions seemed unnatural, yet awesomely perfect. Even his fingers performed when he was dancing.
As observers we saw Michael Jackson as a two sided enigma. We saw the entertainer, the singer, the dancer, the humanitarian and the kid who never grew up. On the other side we were presented with rumors and theories, lies, manipulation and excuses. Did he or didn't he... molest young boys, bleach his skin, reconstruct his face and body throughout the last 25 years, father his own children, try to end his life multiple times, die a broken and bankrupt man? What it boils down to is what you believe. I don't believe he touched any boys, I just don't think it's possible. On all the other controversies, I don't think I have the right to even care about his skin, face and finances. I never knew him, many didn't, so how could I say whether he was right or wrong in anything he chose to do with his life. Maybe he hated his face. Maybe he was sick of seeing it everywhere, maybe he just liked being different. I don't know, we may never know the truth, but the human race as it exists will always have the documentation- the videos, the music, the books and collections- that define him as the greatest entertainer that ever lived, the most inspiring, professional and intriguing human being of our time. Thanks to technology- his life, memory and the mark he left in history will be left for all generations of the future to watch, learn and enjoy.
So thank you Michael Jackson for making my childhood and young adulthood fun and keeping me and my family entertained. This was one of the songs he worked on earlier this year with Akon
