I scheduled my day brilliantly so that I would be in my office just in time for the memorial. Early this morning, I made my routine stops around various physician clinics. Skillfully, I might add. By 1130A, I was in line at Chick-fil-a to grab a salad, and then head to the office. Perfect.
The memorial was a great tribute and goodbye with several great speakers who shared personal special moments. My favorites were Magic Johnson and the beautiful Brooke Shields. Magic told a story about sharing a bucket of KFC chicken with Michael during their first encounter, which probably rose their stock considerably; while Brooke was very moved and saddened as she provided a glimpse of a Michael Jackson very few people saw. She even joked about the sequin glove. Very touching. Some of the sadder moments included a song by his brother Jermaine and another by Usher whose music career, like many others, was highly influenced by Michael Jackson. The real punch in the face was the final speaker of the day. Michael's daughter stood at the microphone and broke into tears after praising her father for being a great dad. Wow... Really, amazing tribute all-around. I'm just happy it didn't get all wacky with zoo animals and stuff. Seriously, you never know. Meanwhile back at the office, my friend Veronica and I paid our final respects by doing an impromptu moonwalk in the main lobby of our office building. No shame; it was for Michael, and it was much needed. With each thrust of my foot to heel, I felt the sadness slow dissipate. But, what about the pain and sorrow of others?
His death occurred on Thursday, June 25th, and I have yet to tell our 3 year old Harper that there will be no sequel to the Thriller video she's watched almost every day over the past 2 years. How do we tell these things to children? There is much difficulty for me discussing such matters. Very uneasy. Even watching Bambi days prior, I explained away the gunshots when Bambi's mother did not reappear in the forest as fireworks---"Um, yeah, she stayed behind to watch the fireworks. Bambi didn't want to watch. So...." On the drive home from daycare this afternoon, Thriller was playing. Immediately, Harper yelled 'Michael Jackson' with a big smile as she mimicked the zombie dance moves in her car seat. At that time I should have ever so subtly said, "Well, guess who else may be a zombie? That's right, Michael Jackson; he's dead. Ice cream?" I couldn't. My moonwalk eased the pain, but admittedly I am still too raw.
Barry Gordan called Michael the greatest entertainer of all time. I never really thought about it, but I agree. Considering I've known him and his music since the time I could walk, I too will bestow that moniker upon thee Michael Jackson---the GREATEST ENTERTAINER OF ALL-TIME. Now, don't think I am one of those psychotic fans, mind you. As I explained in an earlier blog, I never listened the popular music, but Michael's stuff was always there. I remember when I was, like, 7 or 8 years old, my mom told me about a dream she had. In it, I had this huge afro and girls fell madly in love with me. She often kept me hidden until one day girls spotted and chased me away. I was lost. I think, she said she found me hiding behind a car or something later. Never have I had a huge afro. I mean, I've had a "baby" 'fro of sorts, but never anything huge. She said I looked like Michael Jackson---but it was me (ya know how dreams get all crazy - someone looks likes someone else but you know they are who you think they are). So, some of my earliest memories of Michael Jackson are my mom's dream, and of course listening to those old 45's of the Jackson 5. Good times.
Anyways, I am babbling a bit here, but I bid you farewell, Mr. Greatest Entertainer of All-Time. The memories are forever with us, as your music, so this will not be my last blog. Darn, right? I mean, I still need to blog about how I break the news to Harper and our family Thriller dance rehearsals in years to come.
Shamone.
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