Then I found this site when looking around online last night…

ND

Michael Jackson created the soundtrack of my life – from ABC, Rockin’ Robin, and I Want You Back to Rock With You, Don’t Stop Til’ You Get Enough, to Billie Jean, Thriller, and my high school anthem PYT, to the smoothed out Butterflies and You Rock My World, some of my earliest memories of love, friendship, family, and most importantly, a sense of possibility were shaped by him.

He was the first child (besides Shirley Temple, and for a long time I thought she wasn’t really a child, but a little person) I saw perform on television, and he was black like me. He was the first child I heard sing on the radio, on a record, on Soul Train, or anywhere, and he was black like me. He wasn’t just a cute black child back in the day, i.e. Rodney Allen Rippee, but he was talented, precocious, funny, and positive – he was clean-cut with an afro, dressed in bold, bright colors, didn’t use profanity, had a mother, father, brothers, and sisters that all lived under the same roof, and appeared to be loved by all. When I saw the effect he had on his audiences, grown men and women screaming, crying, and falling out, as a child, I didn’t just love him – I wanted to be just like him.

Not that I wanted to be a singer, dancer, or entertainer – anyone who knows me knows I that while I can get my groove on and belt out any song on the radio, no one is going to pay to watch me do it – but that he was respected for his craft, always gave the best show no matter what was going on with him personally, and that his artistry and skill exceeded any boundary or label society tried to put on him. Even now, as we watch human nature – his (and ours) worst critic – try to “hate” and blemish his image, even those individuals and media outlets cannot begrude his talent and professionalism. Tabloid headlines and legal proceedings notwithstanding, he still sold out stadiums around the world – simultaneously.

When I reflect how Thembisa and I used to “swim in the sea of clothes” that was her closet under the watchful paper eyes of the Jackson family, I can’t help but smile. I remember when Thembisa got the chance to go to the Victory Tour concert – I didn’t get to go, but there was no envy or jealously there because I knew that if she was there, it was just like me being there (especially since I had never been to a concert at that point in my life, anyway). The day after the concert, I went to her house and she re-lived the whole event for me; she let me hold the ticket stub and showed me the peanut shells she collected as “souvenirs”, and we put on the Victory tour album on volume 10 as she did the dances and I followed along, alternating between dancing and jumping on the trampoline for effect. Don’t ask..

I can’t explain why even today, I know the words to every song. I can’t explain why when you sing along with a Michael Jackson song, you even sing the hiccups and the breaths in between the lyrics, and you hold that trembling whisper at the end of the slow songs, and growl “Sham-ohn” at intervals on the fast ones. I can’t explain the tape on his fingers (does anyone know? I’ve always wondered…), but you know, I don’t really have to. ‘Cause you, we, and me – we already know.

I had a rocky childhood, moving from family friend’s homes to foster homes back to my mother’s house then to my father’s house and to another foster home or two. My living situation wasn’t stable from 5 – 11 years old.

But one thing remained constant: Michael.

I would watch the Moonwalker DVD over and over again. My brothers and I, when together, would fall over each other countless times trying to perfect MJ’s lean in Smooth Criminal. We would creep up on each other like the zombies in the Thriller video. We would wrap socks around our arms and dance like in the Beat It video. Bad was our anthem. No one could tell us different.

No matter where we were in the world, with our loved ones or not, Michael was always there.

I remember the 2001 MTV Video Awards when Michael showed up with Britney Spears and *NSYNC. I sat in my college dorm room and screamed and screamed at the TV until my voice was hoarse.

It took me a few days to cry. I was literally in shock, my soul reeling from the fact that I’ve lived in a world with Michael Jackson my entire life and he would now be gone.

I was in San Francisco the weekend following his passing and I watched the city turn into a tribute for MJ. Float after float in the Gay Pride Parade passed blaring different Michael tunes with everyone on the floats dancing and singing and everyone in the audience, lined 5-6 people deep all along the parade route, dancing and singing.

He’s a legend. His music touched the world. He will be missed.