In the 1960s, my parents were in their twenties.
You would think that our house would be full of tunes by the Beatles, Stones, Hendrix and Joplin, right?
You would be wrong. I can distinctly remember the music of Duane Eddy and Trini Lopez being played. My parents had the famous Vaughn Meader “First Family” album. We used to love Allan Sherman, especially “Pop Hates the Beatles.”
When I grew older, I wondered why I didn’t have those “flower power” parents who were totally groovy. Then, I realized that my parents married when they were in their early 20s and then were blessed with two kids fairly quickly. My dad was a struggling teacher; my mother stayed home at the time. They had a lot on their plate and simply didn’t have time to rock out.
I have the same disconnect with Michael Jackson. I can’t tell my own children that Jackson meant much to me, because he really didn’t.
When I was in high school, we didn’t have MTV because they hadn’t yet figured out how to run cable out into the country. I remember when “Thriller” came out in 1982, the beginning of my senior year of high school, but I simply didn't care. And, I bought a lot of records in those days. I do remember a girl on my floor at King’s could dance to “Beat It,” but it didn’t change my life for better or worse. I remember “Bad” as one of the first CDs I had ever seen, but that’s about it.
Michael Jackson doesn’t speak for every member of my generation. You wouldn’t find any of his music in my collection because it really did nothing for me. That’s why I’m absolutely stunned by the overflowing emotion via the national media over his demise. I thought several of the reporters were going to burst into tears today as if they had lost a sibling.
So, I’m having a hard time with the hoopla, as Liz Taylor described the swirling media cyclone that surrounded this man who I believe was deeply troubled. It’s very possible his death was one of misadventure, like the tragic deaths we often read about in northeastern Pennsylvania thanks to the powerful sway of heroin and other toxic and widely abused substances. It appears Michael Jackson’s drugs of choice were pharmaceuticals, which are a growing problem here as well. Don’t think because it comes from a prescription pad that it can take you to dark corners.
Several years ago, I attended the wake of a young man who died of a drug overdose. He left behind several beautiful children and a family in shock. I don’t recall a huge floodgate of sorrow for him in our unforgiving region. It doesn’t make it any easier and it shouldn’t make it any less significant, although families are usually left to mourn in shame. Michael Jackson’s over the top wake today conveniently left out the fact that he may have been a common drug abuser just like those folks who are quietly buried, yet live on just the same in the hearts of those left behind to pick up the pieces.
Michael Jackson shouldn’t be celebrated as a hero or a king. He shouldn’t receive congressional accolades. We should pray for his tormented soul, while recalling all the other people who are actually living lives of quiet heroism.
I’ve had the opportunity in the last few months to observe the incredible devotion families have for ailing loved ones. While spending countless evenings in emergency departments, hospital rooms, rehabilitation facilities and nursing homes, I’ve seen devoted daughters holding hands with dads who don’t even know who they are. I’ve watched grandchildren tenderly hugging their ailing grandpop, who, in their eyes, has more value than any solid gold vessel on the market. I’ve seen parents hovering over the beds of their sick kids. I’ve witnessed the compassion of nurses taking the time to make sure those who are in unspeakable pain have enough medication and properly positioned pillows. I’ve seen older folks at twilight under the tender arm of total strangers who are doing their best to be surrogate family.
None of them wore sunglasses. None of them had an entourage. None sought a platform. They showed decent, human compassion. And not one of them made it onto network TV under the banner of king or queen. Pity, too. Some of them seem truly regal.
Corbett
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