The Death of Innocence -- Michael Jackson

NONO

One great thing about innocence: it dies only to be reborn again and again. Michael Jackson. I was about six years old when I probably became aware of the Jackson Five. I revelled in the oldies. ABC, I Wanna Be Where You Are, Got To Be There ... Some of them still chill me to listen to (skip the fact of the preposition ending a sentence ..."at the listening" ok, are you happy now?!). I remember watching that Motown tribute special when a young adult Michael Jackson assaulted our hearts with Billie Jean, the moonwalk and his post-Elvis gyrations being so much more than my admiration could digest in one sitting. I craved more, so i could deconstruct the moves that enthralled me so. Pop! I got it. He coronated himself and reigned -- reigns -- that king of so much music that plays inside me. I remember sitting with a friend of mine and looking at a documentary of his life (this was 15 years ago) and looking at footage of the throngs of screaming fans that adored him when he was age eight, twelve, seventeen, and lamenting that I would never have that kind of adoration. Because he was that adorable. He was, and you know it! Jinx's son once said to me, in passing, "I can't believe that Michael Jackson used to be Black." I said nothing. I noted the irony, and I said nothing. What happened? I was raised in a Black Nationalist cult. I was raised to praise all that was Black (not "black"). And I slavishly praised the incredible talent that Black performers displayed (hey: can you fault the genius of James Brown? Can you seriously doubt the soul of The Temptatons? Can you curse Sam Cooke?) I had it easy. Why did Michael have vitteligo (or however you spell it) and not all, or any, of the others? I watched Janet slowly explode from the youngster talented on that variety show into the vixen singer she is (and I do not believe she needed any of that surgery. Ask Gladys. Ask Aretha. Ask Chaka. Ask Ella.) Ask Diana. I was in twelfth grade. I was Student Body President. We planned a dance in the Gym. it was the Christmas dance, which my school had not had for years. Maybe a decade. We didn't make money--we were just short of breaking even. But my faculty sponsor came to me and said, "I don't care [MguyX], this is a good time." Because the gym was full, and we were all having a good time. So I asked the DJ whether he had Michael Jackson's newest hit Rock With Me? He didn't. It was sacrillage. How could he pretend to be a DJ without MJ's Rock With Me? I was so disappoimted, especially since I had learned that dance. And Michael looked so good on that album cover. All chocolate brown, his Black nose and sexy hip angle, the suit... Off The Wall. What happened? Through the years I watched music change, and Michael stay, with his timed and yet timeless ability to put some musical delight to my musical desire. What happened? I heard about the accusations. I followed in the background the saga of the so-called first accuser, and his payoff. I bowed my head and I wondered, quietly with the world, what happened. Time has its ever present way of moving forward. I grew up and learned the shortcomings of being a Black Nationalist racist. And man has his way (and her way) of moving, willingly or not, with it. There was the wheel. There was fire. There was gunpowder. There was the nuclear bomb. With great power comes great responsibility, web head. If Michael Jackson goes down, it's more than the death of innocence. A conviction indicts self-morphing. It indicts changing one's self from Black to White. It indicts the fantasies of a million girls... and boys ... over at least these last thirty-five years. It indicts my generation. I do not, and will not condone the molestation of children, no matter how innocent the intent. I have a daughter (whom some of you have seen ... Yay... isn't she gorgeous? As are your own!). I was not there. I cannnot presume to known the truth. But I know what I have heard, and what I feel. Michael Jackson: what happened? Innocence dies a million times over each day. The beauty of our species is its rebirth, every day. If Michael goes down, know that, like the phoenix, innocence will rise, as the sun, to warm us with its ever promising truth that innocence will continue to abide. God bless us all.