Being 29 I grew up in the midst of a rollercoaster of Michael Jackson identities. I was quite the Jacko-phile when I was kid. I was OBSESSED with the song "Beat It". I had it on vinyl and it was my absolute favorite, all the way down to the Van Halen guitar riffs.
I had myself a shiny blue jacket that my parents called my Michael Jackson jacket that I wore everywhere. I even had a white spangly glove I acquired from a rummage sale. On top of all that, I had myself a Michael Jackson doll that acted as the buddy to all my Ken and Barbie dolls. Funny enough, he never DATED any of them, he was just their buddy. My Barbie's weren't quite good enough to date a rock star. And plastic Michael was far too busy with his career to settle down with Barbie and her Dream House. Ken would have to do.
When I entered the 1990s I lost my zeal for Michael. I moved on, and so did he it seems. Always kind of around but in a different fashion. Music changed, and so did his face. He, sadly, became more of a punchline than the King of Pop.
Despite all this, the news of his death (which I first heard of via the internet, like everyone else on Earth it seems) kind of stung. Michael Jackson, much like Elvis and John Lennon before him, kind of had an other-worldly aire about him. He wasn't supposed to die. He was immortal, if anything.
Now, it's his music that will be. Like the Beatles music, Michael's music is kind of known instictively, passed down from Grandmother to Mother to Child. Classic.
So, goodbye Michael. I'm sure this is about the millionth blog post related to his death, but it kind of felt needed. He was such a big part of my childhood as well as many others my age.
Farewell!
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