Michael Jackson
TV newscasters talked about the images they took away from the Michael Jackson service yesterday. To me, the most memorable was when his daughter spoke briefly. It is almost impossible to imagine her pain and the courage it took for her to utter those few sentences. I am 58 and it took every ounce of my inner strength to get through reading what I had to say about my 84 year old father a few weeks ago at his funeral.
It seems like we, the public, have a way of devouring those who entertain us the most. Musicians, authors, and athletes are often held to a standard we could never meet. While fortune and fame, mansions and private jets, limos and an entourage seem glamorous, never being allowed an unguarded moment has to take toil. Going to a grocery store is out of the question. Same with a restaurant. Any movement outside a gated compound means doing battle with paparazzi. Yes, like you, I would still rather be rich and live in a mansion.
I am not a psychologist, so everything I say about Jackson’s weirdness is mere speculation. Did a lost childhood create havoc in his soul? It seems likely. Throw in an abusive father and the weirdness is a little more understandable. Why a handsome young man was so tormented he sought plastic surgery after plastic surgery to “improve” himself is hard to understand. He was perfection on stage, but in giving so much to so many he had little to take care of himself. And made horrible choices in selecting those who would take care of him.
I hope that what people will remember about Jackson is the amazing talent, not the devils that possessed him. I hope the muddled mess of the Jackson estate can be cleared and used to provide his children with a nurturing environment-and that certainly would not include Debbie Rowe. And may the man know peace he never knew in life.
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