Michael Joseph Jackson 1958-2009

It’s one of my earliest memories, at the end of our family dinners at my grandmother’s house we’d end up in a circle dancing to the music of the Jackson 5. When it was my turn to strut my stuff in the middle, I’d do my best to dance like Michael, popping my head back and forth and moving my feet until I made them clap and shout, “Go Lil’ B! Go Lil’ B!”

He was my first superstar.

Maybe it was the intensity and honesty I heard in songs like “Got To Be There” and “I Wanna Be Where You Are” that made me play Jackson 5 music over and over again. And who can forget the bluesy sound of “Who’s Lovin’ You?” or the funky bass line of “I Want You Back?”

I mean, when he moved it was magic wasn’t it? How could you not watch his feet? Those hips?

My friends and I would choreograph steps to songs like “Dancing Machine” and charge neighbors a quarter to come watch us dance. With the money I made I bought every “Right On” magazine he was on the cover of.

Michael was brown and ours, and so was the Jackson family, and then came “Off The Wall.”

The understated tension and urgency in his voice became his sound. We couldn’t get enough of it or his sequined accessories. This razor thin whisper of a boy-man danced and sang his way into pop music history. His passion for perfection and creativity was unmatched. His music crossed cultures and borders. And then there was “Thriller,” he belonged to the world now. It was hard to give him up, that kind of fame costs.

And yes, there are dark the parts of his journey. There are the accusations, the name calling in the press, the comedians trying to joke away his predilection for plastic surgery… We held our opinions and loved Michael anyway. He was family.

The announcement of his final concert held an ominous prediction. “ Michael Jackson This Is It” flashing behind him, the pre-announcement video, a montage of his greatest moments, Michael saying, “ This is it, this is the final curtain call.” We should’ve known. Only Michael would try to throw his own going away party.

I heard the news just as my friend Serena arrived. We’d made plans to go out and instead we sat, unbelieving and aching.

“Michael wouldn’t want us sitting around,” I say, moving to the stereo, queuing up his music, starting with “Going Back To Indiana,” and “Never Can Say Goodbye.”

Then we got up and started struttin’ our stuff, dancing, singing, crying and laughing.

- Aunt B