I am sitting in front of my TV, watching Michael Jackson’s golden coffin, bedecked with crimson flowers, as it is loaded into the hearse at the Forest Lawn Cemetery, just a few miles down the road from where I sit. It’s hitting me anew that this talented, conflicted entertainer will no longer be walking the earth in his velveteen loafers and military style jackets. I am both weary of the barrage of news coverage – Jackson doctors being investigated! Debbie Rowe decides not to attend public memorial! Battle over children to heat up! Estate wrested from Katherine Jackson! – and wholly riveted.
The Staples Center memorial is getting underway half an hour later than anticipated. The golden-ticketed chosen gathering downtown are of all ages, all races, some dressed as for a funeral, others as for a concert. Roland Martin on CNN is saying that you can go to any club in America, and anyone young or old, white or black -- even the toughest gangbanger -- cannot stand still in the face of “You Wanna Be Startin’ Something” or “Thriller.” The memorial service will be dignified, inspiring, heartbreaking, and ultimately humanizing to the King Of Pop.
The question on the lips of every media commentator will be, “What was it about Michael Jackson that we all related to? What will be his legacy?”
Fans who attended the memorial all speak about the power of his music, fellow stars point to his brilliant vocals and incredible dance moves and pioneering video work, and civic leaders discuss his philanthropic and social work, how much Michael gave back. Certainly all of this is true. He was without question a consummate entertainer who was able to distill the best of all the old masters – Jackie Wilson, Fred Astaire, James Brown, Frankie Lyman, and others – and make it all his own. But I’m going to tell you what it was that made him unique the world over:
Michael appealed to our inner child.
When Michael Jackson performed, the primary thing that we responded to was his sheer unfettered glee. He absolutely loved creating magic through song and dance. It wasn’t work to him. He was more like a child at play: utterly free and in the moment and having fun. Have you ever really watched how children play?
Michael was an adult in a child’s body, until he became a child in an adult’s body. He gloried in games, amusement parks, animated characters, animals, practical jokes. He could also be like the intelligent yet stubborn kid who, when you tell him the rules, asks, “But why? Why? Why?” until you too wonder and end up watching him do exactly what he wants, to your chagrin. He refused to accept imposed boundaries of race or age or music industry strictures – and yes, he even refused to abide by the rules of what is considered appropriate adult behavior.
Think about how jaded and mature we all are, how grown up, how impulse-controlled we become as we reach the age of majority. Our society teaches us to bury the child within us and leave behind childlike things. The young boy or girl grows into a teenager and then into an adult through a series of life lessons, hard knocks, discipline, heartbreak, and challenges. We are congratulated for maintaining a kind of adult reserve once we come of age. Michael rejected that. He had his own brand of dignity but he never let his childlike wonder, joy, and curiosity die.
He reminded us that we were once little kids with big dreams. Kids who fervently believed we could accomplish anything at all, including dancing, singing, dressing up in spangly costumes, building a fantasy palace straight out of a Disney fable, and sharing our dearest treasures with all our best friends. Maybe your kiddie dream didn’t involve singing and dancing. Maybe your dreams featured other fanciful props – badges or crowns or masks or gloves or capes or imaginary paws or make-believe wings or a camera -- ideas that caused the adults around you to chuckle knowingly as you babbled and raced through your innocent, imaginary world. Nobody told you then that none of these things was possible and in this lack of knowledge, you were free.
Michael reminded us that the kid is still there. In our quiet moments we still longingly recall those pure dreams.
But life is full of dichotomies. While we were fascinated, we were also perplexed and disturbed by the childlike man. Children accepted Michael unconditionally, but adults were skeptical. It was Michael’s very childlike nature, his immersion not only in juvenile pursuits but in actual juveniles, surrounding himself with children, that earned him both his highest accolades and his most heated scorn. Ultimately it led to scandal. His love of children was a liability to him, his Achilles heel. You know where this is going. To the dark side. I’ll say no more.
Michael Jackson’s legacy? He gave us back our younger selves. He gave us not only the magic of his talent, but the ability -- however briefly -- to believe in magic once more. And that is universally appealing.
PS: My favorite moments from the memorial: Jermaine Jackson singing “Smile,” which reminded me of what a fantastic singer he’s always been; Al Sharpton’s rousing, seemingly extemporaneous speech; Jennifer Hudson’s transcendent performance of “Will You Be There”; Stevie Wonder performing his tunes “I Never Dreamed You’d Leave In Summer” and “I Won’t Go When They Go”; John Mayer’s haunting and respectful “Human Nature” on guitar; and Marlon Jackson’s heartfelt goodbye.
