Michael Jackson Gone at 50

As a very young girl, I loved to dance and I believe my very first album was Off the Wall, Michael Jackson's first solo album. I used to play Wanna Be Startin' Something over and over again and I thought Michael was exceptionally gorgeous. Later, he changed his nose and I remember planning to write him a fan letter asking him to change it back. I'm not sure if I ever wrote or mailed that letter. And little did I know that he was starting down a path of personal alteration that would...well...make him over into something that didn't even resemble that doe-eyed, chocolate-skinned young man I'd had a crush on as a child.

I suppose when I think of Michael Jackson I think of him as two people. One of those people was remarkably gifted. He could sing. He could dance. He and Madonna defined Pop music for several decades. And without Michael Jackson we probably never would have had MTV. But layered over that is the sad figure of celebrity. Leaving aside the scandals on this day of mourning, I am still saddened by the stark testament that no amount of fame or fortune or talent can make up for losing part of your soul. A lady on the news today was saying Michael Jackson thought too highly of himself, that he was an unchecked narcissist surrounded by enablers. Maybe she's right, I don't know. But, as a complete outsider, it seems to me that the people who knew him, liked him and found him fragile. He spent his whole life trying to eradicate himself and start over, maybe hoping to relive a childhood that was lost to him forever.

Better luck next life, Michael, better luck next life.