There was a television special on Saturday night, as I’m sure there will be more to come, about the life and music of Michael Jackson. I put it on out of respect, more than anything, to the talent I don’t think anyone could doubt he had. We sat the kids down to watch, but Keira wasn’t interested, not in the slightest, and soon walked off.
Riley, however, sat transfixed. More for the dancing than the music, I think. Only by the 1990’s era did I truly feel some sort of hardened memories of the man. I remembered I bought ‘Dangerous’ from a second-hand CD shop and later pawned it back in one of the few times I’ve needed quick money. Suddenly, I felt quite disappointed. Just in case I was wrong I went to our neglected CD cabinet (who honestly uses them anymore?) and there on the fourth bottom shelf, there was ‘Dangerous’! I must’ve hocked some others.
So all Sunday I had ‘Dangerous’ playing on a loop, as I chuckled to myself that I was able to recall all of the words to “Give Into Me”, his version of a chest-thumping power ballad, with Lots Of Guitar.
And ever since my Feed Reader has been chock full of testimonials and essays to the man. Words, words words spilled. Words able to be said, words that’ve come so fluidly, so eloquently, as people express their grief.
I have not yet done the same for my father.
This hurts.
And I’m so sorry.
