Man in the Mirror

This past week has been rather tumultuous for a variety of disconnected reasons. I've often found myself just feeling off-balance, and not always knowing exactly why. It's just been...one of those weeks.

The week, of course, culminated with the deaths of Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson. In all honesty, I had zero connection to Farrah Fawcett and was not at all affected by her passing, as sad as it was. The King of Pop, however, is a different story. His passing, I feel, marks the Elvis moment for my generation. And while I certainly won't compare the death of Michael Jackson to that of President Kennedy, I am fairly certain that it was one of those moments I will always remember...I'll be able to tell my kids exactly where I was and what I was doing when the news broke.

My purpose in writing this post is twofold - first, as a sort of ode to Michael Jackson; second, as a study and criticism of all of us who are producing odes to Michael Jackson. Contradictory and self-effacing...yeah. But why should I assume that my reaction is all that different from anyone else's?

As for the former purpose...My first glimpse into MJ's death occurred via Facebook (suffice it to say that I could write an entire blog post analyzing that fact alone). It took a few minutes for the more reputable news agencies (CNN, etc.) to catch onto the news. While TMZ entertainment was reporting Jackson's death, Wolf Blitzer was still busy filling time by insulting Americans' knowledge with a description of comas and cardiac arrest. Within a few minutes, however, everyone was on the same page - at the age of 50, he was gone. Just like that. I found myself far more moved than I would have imagined had anyone asked me what my reaction to such a thing would be. That night, while driving through the first legitimate summer night in Boston, I rolled down the windows and turned up the Michael Jackson tribute playing on the radio, rediscovering and appreciating his songs like never before. It was a simple case of "you don't know what you have until it's gone" syndrome. As I've had time to think about my reaction, I realized that it actually makes much more sense than I originally thought. Two of my very first memories in life involve James Taylor and Michael Jackson. As a young, impressionable child growing up in the '80s, I declared myself a Michael Jackson fan, sight unseen, music unheard. I remember watching the Super Bowl halftime show one year, when I asked my mom who that crazy lady was performing onstage. "That's your hero, Michael Jackson..." she replied. Oh.

As my music tastes matured and I actually had a clue what I was listening to, I can't ever say that I was ever a legitimate MJ fan. I had a special appreciation for the song he wrote for the Free Willy ending, and of course, any self-respecting human being appreciates Thriller, but that was about the extent of it. As I've listened to and downloaded songs over the past few days, I've begun to develop far more of an appreciation for the man's art. Like Elvis and JFK before him, personal missteps or not, he was an icon and a household name. My kids, should they ever exist, will never understand.

Now to the latter purpose. All of these tributes, personal and commercial, leave a weird taste in my mouth. On the one hand, they're well-deserved, and certainly understandable considering the sudden circumstances behind Jackson's death. But I also feel as if this is a particularly sad case of "too little, too late." Why is it that we can only truly praise people once they're gone? Why is it that we can only forgive a man the error of his humanity once he is no longer here to defend himself? Jackson was far from a saint, engaged in many a reprehensible activity, and was likely a prime contributor to his own early demise - but why is it only now that we give him credit for the good in his life? I've proven myself no better at this than anyone else, which is why this question is all the more interesting to me. Why are we so adept at honoring people in death?

Secondly, the shock surrounding Jackson's sudden passing is telling. The man died at 50 from cardiac arrest. I've watched an otherwise healthy 53-year-old die from the same. I've watched a basketball-playing 21-year-old die from the same. People die before they're supposed to all the time. We don't all live to be 78.11 years old, and yet most of us conduct our lives as if we will undoubtedly live to 78.11. Worse, we expect everyone around us to live to 78.11 and treat them accordingly. It's okay to fight today...they'll be around to make up with tomorrow. As jaded as I probably am at this point, the fact is that sometimes that's just not the case. And singing someone's praises in death just isn't the same as doing so when they can actually hear the song.