I was too young to remember, and my mom isn't home right now to verify the true story. Besides, my mom has a penchant for embellishing stories and filling in the blanks with outlandish exaggeration, though she's an extraordinary storyteller. I'm not sure I trust her memory either. But the bits and pieces I remember and that I've gathered over the years look something like this:
I was born in the Philippines in October 1973, and my parents left the country 6 months later to immigrate to the US, hoping to achieve "The American Dream." I stayed behind with my grandparents until my mom and dad came back to the Philippines sometime in 1975 or 1976 to pick me up and bring me to our new home and life in the States; I believe I was 2-1/2 years old. I only spoke Tagalog, and I'd like to think I was a precocious child who could speak in full, coherent sentences at that time.
The Jackson 5 World Tour landed in the Philippines sometime between March 1973 and February 1975. I didn't go to the concert, but I'm positive I watched a lot of The Jackson 5 performances on TV. As a baby, The Jackson 5 was probably my first exposure to popular mainstream music and my favorite music group. I know this because when my parents strolled down the streets with me in my new hometown Norwalk, CT, I would say in Tagalog, "Nanay, tatay, may mga Jackson 5." Apparently, each and every time a Black boy or man crossed my line of vision, I would exclaim, "Mom, dad, there's The Jackson 5!" My parents chuckled at the precious comments but were secretly relieved and thankful that I couldn't speak English yet.
In 1982, I was 9 years old living in Plano, TX. I don't how I obtained Michael Jackson's Thriller album because I only have the silhouette of a memory, the details of which are very blurry. I'm not sure if I bought it with my own money or if my parents bought it for me. Nonetheless, what I do clearly recall is the 12-3/8" x 12-3/8" square cardboard album cover where MJ is casually laying in his white jacket, leaning on his elbow and staring straight at me. I also remember gingerly pulling out the white, thin paper square sheath that enclosed and protected the 12" LP record, which spun endlessly for about 5 years. On my stomach, body splayed on the orange shag carpet in front of the stereo, album cover unfolded, I read, memorized and sang the lyrics of my very first and very own album. I relished the sweet triumph of finally nailing "Ma ma se, ma ma sa, ma ma coo sa, ma ma se, ma ma sa, ma ma coo sa," the incoherent, staccato lyrics at the end of the song "Wanna Be Starting Something." Over 25 years later, I still know the lyrics for each and every song on Thriller.
The advent of MTV helped clinch MJ's spot in my heart. I didn't have cable growing up, but the lucky and/or rich kids on my street had it. Good thing they were my friends. Whenever I came over, my eyes rarely blinked as I kept watch, waiting, hoping, praying that a Michael Jackson video would come on. I loved MJ's fluid dance moves in Billie Jean and Beat It, and the costumes and pageantry of Thriller mesmerized me. I wondered what he could possibly do next?
MJ's Bad album released in 1987, and I bought it on tape. I thought I was so cool because I had it on tape which was compact, and the technology much more advanced than records. I loved this album too, but I entered the world of junior high and adolesence, so there wasn't as much room and attention for MJ in my life as before. I was more consumed with severe mood swings, crushes, silly arguments with friends, scary movies and slumber parties.
June 25, 2009, 3:27p PST, I received a text message from a friend, "Michael Jackson has died." In disbelief and denial, I stopped in mid e-mail (I was sending out a resume), and typed "Michael Jackson" in the Google search box. Confirmed. He's gone. LA Times said so. With great sadness, I popped open my iTunes, found all of my MJ songs, pushed play and continued working.
Since MJ's death, I chose not to watch any news about him, except the tidbits I saw and heard while flipping through the channels. Nor did I follow the stories of Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, Karl Malden or Billy Mays' deaths. I figured the media would be crazed and hysterical. And I wanted to vacuum-seal my own thoughts and feelings for MJ and preserve what the man meant to me without others intruding and telling me what to think of him.
Today, I watched most of MJ's Memorial Service; I missed the first hour and a half of it, but I'll catch it on YouTube. I want to hear the poem that my favorite author Maya Angelou wrote for him that Queen Latifah read. I know it'll make me cry. And I've already cried...a lot...buckets. Sad tears, happy tears, funny tears, it's-a-shame tears, I'll-miss-you tears, I-hope-you're-in-heaven tears, I-feel-the-pain-of-your-family tears, you-must-have-had-a-really-painful-life tears, you-were-a-little-weird-but-I-still-love-you tears. All kinds of tears.
In closing of the memorial service, MJ's friends and family sang "Heal the World." I had forgotten that he had written and created this song, as well as all of his humanitarian work and charitable projects. The lyrics reminded me of his good intentions and the polestars of generosity, sensitivity and love for others that defined his music and work.
Heal the worldMake it a better placeFor you and for meAnd the entire human raceThere are people dyingIf you care enough for the livingMake a better placeFor you and for me
To Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, I miss and love you! And because I do care enough for the living, I will do my part to heal the world and make it a better place.
CLG
P.S. I'll be going over to my parents house to look for the Thriller album that's stored in the closet of an upstairs bedroom. I swear, little brother, if you took my album and sold it like you sold my 1985 Nintendo Entertainment System and video games on ebay, I will hurt you!
