MJ
So this is the first opportunity I've had to say anything about Michael Jackson, but I've been thinking about him a lot since I heard the news.
My first reaction was anger when I heard about his death from a coworker. I was enraged and so sorry that the victims of his abuse would never see any justice, never have any resolution. I always thought that one day his transgressions would be found indefensible and that he would be held accountable - that maybe if one survivor was vindicated, all of the others would in some way have their stories validated and find some justice in that.
There's never been a doubt in my mind that Michael Jackson was guilty of child sexual abuse, but I always thought of his predilection as a symptom of an emotional disturbance and a possible mental illness. That maybe MJ didn't actually understand that what he was doing to young people who trusted him was wrong and incredibly damaging. That's cold comfort, of course, to the kids who had to endure what they endured.
After I processed that, the sadness came flooding in. Sad that I lost my first real superstar boyfriend - a person who meant the world to me at one point in my childhood and who I always kind of loved even after I was supposed to have come to hate him like the other badass kids in my neighbourhood. Michael Jackson was like a semi-adult confident and the object of my adolescent fantasies. He's like the cover boy for "Non Threatening Boys" magazine:
In the fourth grade I was a super fan. I listened to Thriller daily, I had a door sized poster of the famous yellow sweater vest pose, buttons, a keychain and anything else I could get my hands on. My most prized Michael Jackson item, though, was a shimmery sequined glove that my mother made for me for my 9th birthday. Every night she sent me to bed promptly and didn't tolerate any bullshit so she that she could painstakingly sew each individual sequin onto a white mesh glove, in secret, while I slept.
I wore the fuck out of that thing. I wore it to school, to the playground, family events - everything. I was the envy of my class and bully fodder for the older, MJ-hating metal kids (which I would soon become, myself) because of that glove. Fairly soon it got so dirty and sweat-soaked that it started to smell and make my hand itch. To clean it, my mother placed it overnight in a big mixing bowl with some soapy water, knowing full well the delicate item could not go in the washing machine. In the morning when I woke up I was eager to get my glove back on, so I rushed to the kitchen expecting to see the beloved, bedazzled treasure sparkling white and extra shiny with cleanliness. Instead I saw the silver paint floating on the surface of the water coagulating into sludgy little balls as each sequin was stripped clear of its magical lustre and sparkle. I was heartbroken and panicked. I looked at my mother with the expression that only a crushed ten year old with a crazy celebrity obsession can make, and she looked back at me with a motherly mixture of exasperation, exhaustion and empathy.
The next day she began to sew me a brand new white glove covered in individually sewn on silver sequins.
The new glove outlasted my love for MJ as I grew out of my pop inclinations and leaned toward more aggressive music but as my tastes developed it was pretty hard to deny that Micheal Jackson was uncommonly talented, a magical innovater, and obviously influential. While it's pretty hard not move when Billie Jean, and Don't Stop Til You Get Enough come on the radio, aside from the controversy, I hadn't thought a lot about Michael Jackson for the last 20 years. Still, while so many people are in mourning over the loss of this amazing artist all of my cynicism and music snobbery just kind of melts away when I listen I hear them.
This video in particular - of an amazing dance in homage to Micheal - cut me to my core:
RIP, MJ
My first reaction was anger when I heard about his death from a coworker. I was enraged and so sorry that the victims of his abuse would never see any justice, never have any resolution. I always thought that one day his transgressions would be found indefensible and that he would be held accountable - that maybe if one survivor was vindicated, all of the others would in some way have their stories validated and find some justice in that.
There's never been a doubt in my mind that Michael Jackson was guilty of child sexual abuse, but I always thought of his predilection as a symptom of an emotional disturbance and a possible mental illness. That maybe MJ didn't actually understand that what he was doing to young people who trusted him was wrong and incredibly damaging. That's cold comfort, of course, to the kids who had to endure what they endured.
After I processed that, the sadness came flooding in. Sad that I lost my first real superstar boyfriend - a person who meant the world to me at one point in my childhood and who I always kind of loved even after I was supposed to have come to hate him like the other badass kids in my neighbourhood. Michael Jackson was like a semi-adult confident and the object of my adolescent fantasies. He's like the cover boy for "Non Threatening Boys" magazine:
In the fourth grade I was a super fan. I listened to Thriller daily, I had a door sized poster of the famous yellow sweater vest pose, buttons, a keychain and anything else I could get my hands on. My most prized Michael Jackson item, though, was a shimmery sequined glove that my mother made for me for my 9th birthday. Every night she sent me to bed promptly and didn't tolerate any bullshit so she that she could painstakingly sew each individual sequin onto a white mesh glove, in secret, while I slept.
I wore the fuck out of that thing. I wore it to school, to the playground, family events - everything. I was the envy of my class and bully fodder for the older, MJ-hating metal kids (which I would soon become, myself) because of that glove. Fairly soon it got so dirty and sweat-soaked that it started to smell and make my hand itch. To clean it, my mother placed it overnight in a big mixing bowl with some soapy water, knowing full well the delicate item could not go in the washing machine. In the morning when I woke up I was eager to get my glove back on, so I rushed to the kitchen expecting to see the beloved, bedazzled treasure sparkling white and extra shiny with cleanliness. Instead I saw the silver paint floating on the surface of the water coagulating into sludgy little balls as each sequin was stripped clear of its magical lustre and sparkle. I was heartbroken and panicked. I looked at my mother with the expression that only a crushed ten year old with a crazy celebrity obsession can make, and she looked back at me with a motherly mixture of exasperation, exhaustion and empathy.
The next day she began to sew me a brand new white glove covered in individually sewn on silver sequins.
The new glove outlasted my love for MJ as I grew out of my pop inclinations and leaned toward more aggressive music but as my tastes developed it was pretty hard to deny that Micheal Jackson was uncommonly talented, a magical innovater, and obviously influential. While it's pretty hard not move when Billie Jean, and Don't Stop Til You Get Enough come on the radio, aside from the controversy, I hadn't thought a lot about Michael Jackson for the last 20 years. Still, while so many people are in mourning over the loss of this amazing artist all of my cynicism and music snobbery just kind of melts away when I listen I hear them.
This video in particular - of an amazing dance in homage to Micheal - cut me to my core:
Click to view
RIP, MJ