I learned of Michael Jackson's death with my family in the cinema while watching Transformers: Rise of the Fallen. Like many significant events, I will never forget my wife telling me of his death. I was already boarded. Megan Fox was not on screen so I had no real interest in the move (just kidding honey). The movie was tediously long. By the end my thoughts kept running to my youth and the frenetic dancing of my sisters. I kept hearing the Osmonds' "One Bad Apple" echoing through my head with visions of my little sisters dancing around their bedroom while the 45 played on our little record player. They would alternate between the Osmonds and the Jackson Five's ABC as if it were a battle for command of the dance floor. For me, that's what Michael Jackson was, a touchstone to pleasant memories from my past. I have the similar memories from my son's early life. We worshiped Michael Jackson videos, when Jackson did the moonwalk, my son did his version. Jackson was an important part of our live then. I have it on video, so I know it is true.
As Michael Jackson grew older and stranger, he become a target of my derisive humor and outright contempt. His odd personal behavior and preferences for life with and as a child moved him from icon to scoundrel. I stopped paying attention to him. Now he's gone. As usual with me, I'll start listening to his music again. The good memories will replace the bad. Life will move on. Megan fox will run in slow motion for what seems like hours, did I mention that already?
Farrah Fawcett was who every girl I knew in high school tried emulate. The only girl to pull it off was my sister Kim. She nailed Farrah hair and the clothing to go along with it. I hate to say this out loud, but in my opinion, my sister was prettier than Farrah. (Oh god, there will be hell to pay for that.) I have two beautiful systers, one was a baton twirling beauty queen, the other was a Lynda Carter-esgue athetic superstar. I was the slacker. It's funny, my wife bills hereself as more of a Jacquelyn Smith type. She told me this just yesterday. It all makes sense now.
A closing comment on the Transformers movie. My youngest son and I spend a great deal of our attention trying to get s clear look at Megan Fox's thumb. We failed. Damn you internet.
R.I.P. Michael Jackson. R.I.P. Farrah Fawcett.
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