Web Commonerpolitics, social commentary, and ramblings on pop culture

For some, Michael Jackson’s sudden death at 50 was sweet in the sense that it fostered a tremendous sense of love around the globe. He was such a beloved figure by so many people, and that love is reciprocating itself tenfold in their remembrance of a man who inspired and encouraged them to be better human beings. For others, it was bitter because he led such a tragic and tortured existence, one that was oftentimes difficult to witness and even harder to understand. For me, it was both. Many years ago, I let go of a person so incredibly admired throughout my childhood, not because of the legal accusations filed against him or the media crucifixion that followed, but simply because I no longer recognized him.

As I grew into adulthood, my childhood obsession with the King of Pop faded with his physical appearance, a face that no longer seemed to resemble the one I came to love and respect. At times, when I thought about Michael, it brewed within me a battle for my own conscience, fought over whether or not physical appearance should matter when it comes to respecting a good friend, or at least the perception of one. When all is said and done, I don’t think it was his physical appearance that truly bothered me. Instead, it was this nagging feeling from within that the man was on an inevitable path towards self-destruction, altering his body in what seemed to be a perfectionist’s pursuit to manifest the impossible. For many of us, the haunting question when it comes to Michael Jackson is what made a person so talented, loving, and caring drive him to do such unspeakable things to an already flawless appearance.

Much of the short term blame is placed on an alleged addiction to drugs, specifically painkillers, which may have contributed to Jackson’s visibly increasing physical frailty. The long term blame, though, is often directed at Joe Jackson. His brutish nature is no secret and many tabloids drew attention to it throughout Michael’s career, long before I matured to a point of understanding its effect on a child’s growth. In fact, most people don’t seem to deny that any of the Jackson kids really appreciate their father for relentlessly pushing them into superstardom long before they were ready to accept and understand the consequences of that reality. Joe Jackson forced his youngest son into the spotlight at the age of five, who proceeded to spend his entire childhood singing and dancing on stage in front of adults, and mingling with adult entertainers. Throughout his career, Michael made it known to the media and his fans the physical and mental abuse that he suffered at the hands of his father when he was a young boy.

So, the King of Pop spent close to 50 years trying to manufacture a childhood that he never had, and he wanted to spend that childhood with others in the same manner that he imagined spending it all those years back. Michael’s tragedy lies in the fact that his physical form matured much faster than his mind, which was seemingly held to stagnation at some point in his turbulent past. His brain was poised to keep the man a child, with a child’s heart, while his body compelled him to physical feats that undoubtedly made him the world’s most favored entertainer. He became an unprecedented and unbelievable talent, and his new fame brought with it a lavish lifestyle that most people, let alone children, would ever have the opportunity to experience or even dream. Ultimately, it skewed the balance between reality and fantasy, and tragically led to Michael’s bittersweet demise.

Michael, may you rest in peace, and may those who never truly understood your brilliance or even sympathized with your situation at least come to accept the unfortunate circumstances that made you different. As we continually seek to someday heal the world, we need only look as far as the mirror to do it.

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