REMEMBERING AND THANKING MY BROTHER MICHAEL JACKSON

As I watched the television, stunned and moved at the elegance of the Michael

Jackson memorial in Los Angeles, I, like millions around the world, was struck with an inexplicable sadness. After days of Jacko overload, I took solace in hearing about the Michael Jackson I grew to know for five decades.  I needed to hear Brooke Shields publicly recount her friendship with Michael which at the time the press portrayed as bizarre piling more freakish imagery upon both former child stars.  I needed to hear Barry Gordy reaffirm my connection to the young Michael who made the little girls  scream and run around our classroom looking for the closest thing to Jermaine and Michael they could get.  I needed to hear Stevie talk about how much he loved Michael. And I needed to hear Magic Johnson remind me how important Michael’s excellence was to our own efforts to perform whatever task was our calling to the best of our abilities.

Al Sharpton started to put Michael’s role in our lives into the historical context it will eventually fall.  Within the framework of this era, Michael was more complex than strange and probably more troubled than dangerous.  But he brought to the table a magnificent energy and a light which most of us cannot find within ourselves even with the most “normal” of lives.  As one fan put it, MJ was extra-human, not superhuman.  The fact remained that he was human.  In his music, dance and film artistry Michael clearly wanted to force his human frailty to submit to the will of a higher power and to express that energy in pure love. It is the image of Ghandi, Dr. Martin Luther King and Nelson Mandela, among others, he grew up with. In the confusion and anger of the 60’s, it was the major message which would guide ideals of equality of justice.  “Love,” agape Love was at its base.

I have never met Michael.  I have never touched Michael, but he has certainly touched me from the first time I begged my sister to braid my hair at night so that I could have a big fro like The Jackson’s in the morning to the multitude of times I spent alone contemplating life to the background sounds of “Man In The Mirror,” “You Are Not Alone,” or “I Am Love.”  Or the many great parties where Michael’s soundtrack had us dancing into the late night, a respite from the daily grind of study or work.

I want to write a better piece; something more fitting of Mr. Jackson in that it should help those who don’t get it, but want to, to understand exactly what his life and death mean to his legion of followers, fans and listeners.  But for this space and this moment, I will share that as a black boy, the eldest of 8 children, growing up in the Midwest, not too far from where Pre-Gloved-One lived, the Jacksons set a standard for many, including large families.  Large families, a vestige of agrarian society, was still common in the Midwest back then.  How our parents did it, I still have no idea. But what I do understand is that as the Jacksons succeeded and Randy and Janet and Rebbie joined the spotlight, they showed us that success was attainable and that participation in the whole of society, not just a segregated spot in the world, was possible.  Equally as important they showed us that people, including families could work together.

Finally, where I was blessed to grow up, music and sport were intertwined whether we had the radio on the concrete sidelines or not. If you were a baller (not necessarily a good one), you always had a ball (football, softball, basketball) in your hands. And sometimes, usually against parental rules, you played with the ball to the blasted sounds of the Jacksons, James Brown and Parliament Funkadelic. The Jacksons and Michael in particular were an integral part of helping us establish a style and a rhythm to how we played the game. It is hard to explain but Magic was absolutely truthful about how Michael impacted his game, although it was always rumored that Michael could not play a lick.  Still, as kids, our connection to the Jacksons was complete when we knew they would all come together to form a team as pictured above.

I don’t remember whether they actually played anyone.  I vaguely remember rumors that they were supposed to play the Sylvers (a short lived popular family group) and the Osmonds. It probably never happened, but it touched our imaginations, informed our vision of ourselves and further reminded us that they were a part of our family.

So it is with some sadness, but with great respect and gratitude for the body of work Michael Jackson has left us, that I refused to fight the tears that streamed down my face as I watched millions from all over the world celebrate my brother.

Peace and blessings,

LIVES