Blame It on the Boogie

 

 I can't remember a time in my childhood growing up in the suburbs of Detroit in the 1970s when Jackson music wasn't on the radio. I was very young back then, but every time I think of being in my mom's orange Datsun station wagon I can hear Michael singing "Rockin' Robin." While we all know what a superstar Michael became in the '80s, the songs I remember most fondly are from the mid- to late '70s -- maybe it's because of my age -- during the post-Jermaine "Jacksons" era, like "Enjoy Yourself," "Blame It on the Boogie"and "Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground" (talk about fun music!). Michael and I watched the memorial yesterday in movie theater full of fans in Chelsea. Michael grew up absolutely adoring Jackson (his first record was a 45 of "I'll Be There" that he had to beg his mother to buy for him at TSS on Long Island -- "Mom, I NEED this"!), so when a Japanese television crew came over to ask him what brought him out to the community screening he spoke eloquently and from the heart about the joy Jackson had brought to him, and the need to be around others who felt the same way. When he declared the moment "the end of an era," I realized how right he was. And then the program began and from the moment Mariah Carey sang the opening words of "I'll Be There," the waterworks began to flow for me and they more or less haven't stopped since. (No one is more surprised than I am by this, but I'm gonna blame it on the boogie.)

   

 While I was expecting a garish affair, I was moved by the relative restraint of it all, and by the many wonderful speakers and stories (Queen Latifah and Berry Gordy in particular, his "questionable decisions" crack aside). Jermaine's rendition of "Smile" and little Paris' impromptu remarks about her dad were the final blows, though, the sobering reminder that whatever the truth is about the way he lived and died, he was still someone's son, brother, uncle and father. Having grown up without my father, I couldn't help but think of the lifetime of memories that have been stolen from those kids forever, and what a lasting impact it will certainly have. Deep down, I think we'd all be lying if we didn't admit that what became of the sweet boy from Gary, Indiana -- long before his death -- devastated all of us in some way, so maybe this is where the tears are really coming from. But as I have over the past 20 years, I will choose to fondly remember the wunderkind and, for a brief time in the early '80s, the adorable young man he became for the joy he brought us when things were so much more innocent, and before merely looking at him became as uncomfortable for us as it obviously was for him all along. If "Smile" truly was Michael's favorite song, then I figure he would want us to adhere to its sentiment. And with a little help from a friend and Photoshop, that's exactly what I am doing. RIP, Michael J, and thank you for all the smiles. ...

 

Just smile ...