There was a point in my life where you couldn’t see the pink paint on my bedroom walls. Every inch of wall space was covered with posters, many of which were of Michael Jackson.
The old Michael Jackson. When he was ebony not ivory, had a nose and was the most innovative, amazing, exciting performer on the planet. You know, back when he was actually friends with Paul McCartney. When he not only wanted to be starting something, but actually did.
I can’t believe that it’s been 25 years since Thriller came out. Then again, I picked up my anniversary copy at Costco last night which means I AM as old as dirt, getting my music from warehouse clubs at discount prices while out with my kids buying supplies for their school Valentine’s party.
During our drive home in my minivan, I was really talking up the King of Pop. No one was interested. At all. So I made my daughter watch the Thriller video before school this morning. She kept yawning and rolling her eyes. She ran out to catch the bus before I could force her to view his legendary, kick ass, moonwalking performance at the Motown 25 special.
Interestingly enough, my middle-school-aged daughter had a project due today. She had to interview someone about their middle school experience. I pulled out my year books and a box of pictures and watched as she compared my old world with hers. The iPod’s of my day were boom boxes larger than microwave ovens that you carried on your shoulder. Phones had rotary dials and were attached to the wall. We didn’t sing about Stupid Girls because we were too busy singing about Jesse’s and although our jeans were dark blue they weren’t the more flattering boot cut style and instead were straight legged and less enhancing to the figure.
I’m sure that skipping down memory lane this weekend made me especially drawn to Jacko’s CD last night. I couldn’t help myself. I even tried to convince my kids that there in my sweaty little hand was a musical genius. They didn’t believe me. If he was so great, why was he re-releasing something 25 years old and not dropping his latest CD?
They have a point. Jesus Michael. What happened? I thought you’d be around forever, making music, teaching us new dance moves and dazzling us. But I guess like the rest of us, you’re just old. Or like those ladies that still use blue mascara and hot rollers or a mulleted co-worker, some folks will always be stuck in the 80’s because frankly, they peaked there.