Before you work yourselves into a lather my dear readers, I regret to inform you that this post is NOT, I repeat NOT, about Michael Jackson’s crotch. Sorry.
I don’t know if I’ve covered the subject before and if I have, I apologize for repeating myself.
As I’ve stated time and time before, I was only nine years old when the Moonwalker Magic of Michael Jackson rubbed off onto me. Now at the time, in 1995, I very vaguely knew the name Michael Jackson but really in my youth, I was ignorant to how big of a superstar Michael was.
At only nine, I just knew I thought he was cute and that I liked the way he sang and danced. I mean I was really ignorant to everything about him.
His age was the first thing threw me. I assumed Michael, who was actually about thirty-seven at the time, was only in his twenties. I was twelve years old before I learned his true age--forty by then.
And then because I heard so much about “Billie Jean” and the “Thriller” album, I was a jackass and assumed that “Thriller” was Michael Jackson’s debut album and that he had broken onto the music scene in 1982.
Once again, it was a stretch of years before I found out about The Jackson Five and The Jacksons. Or that Michael EVEN had other brothers and sisters. In the late 90s, you just didn’t hear anything about the other five. I was aware of Janet Jackson, but until I actually saw the “Scream” video, I didn’t know she was Michael’s sister.
I know, gasp, shock and awe. Looking back on it, I feel really kind of ashamed at not knowing the most basic of details.
The thing that stuns people about me is that I pulled myself up by my bootstraps in my MJ knowledge. I didn’t have a mentor or fellow fan guiding me. I did it all by myself out of sheer determination.
Now back to the bigness of Michael Jackson.
I was a dummy to Michael’s magnitude for about my first three years as a so-called fan.
The year 1998 was my turning point. I was 12 years old that year and really, it seemed as though everything came together suddenly for me.
A lot of the best things with Michael for me have been accidents, from when I first saw him with Lisa-Marie in that 20/20 interview that got me drunk on him in the first place, to catching glimpses of him on TV at awards shows and things of the sort.
One of those good-natured mistakes happened at a local video store called “WC’s.” (it is now closed as no one rents movies anymore.) It was a normal Friday afternoon and my mom had cut me loose in the aisles saying I could rent one movie. I wandered over to the Music section of the store. I very vividly remember seeing Madonna’s “Erotica” and thinking it was ridiculous to spend five dollars on a five minute video to rent.
Moving down the line I saw Prince’s “Purple Rain” and picked it up, with the full intent of renting it. (God only know what would have happened there…) I turned the VHS case over to read what the film was about and accidentally dropped it to the floor.
Throwing Prince on the floor was probably the best thing that ever happened for me.
Because when I stooped down to pick his purple ass up off the floor, I found myself staring face to face with Michael Jackson.
There, on the bottom shelf--way to treat the freaking King of Pop--were two VHSes. The video cassettes that would effectively shape my adolescence.
“Moonwalker” and “Michael Jackson: The Legend Continues.”
I don’t think I could have been happier if Michael Jackson were actually sitting on that shelf with the little five dollar price tag attached to him. I ran like I was in the Olympics to my mother and while I begged and pleaded to rent both films, she insisted upon only one.
I selected “Moonwalker” because it was longer than “Legend” and was on pins and needles until I could get home with it.
That was when my education in the greatness of Michael Jackson began.
I sat in the den with my mother and popped the tape in, which opened up with the 1988 “Bad” rendition of the Pepsi commercial. (It was a while before I figured out that wasn’t the commercial when Michael’s head exploded.) It was fun, seeing the kids dancing along to him and seeing how handsome he looked in his black glitter coat.
Then…the film actually started. Michael singing his “help your fellow man” anthem, “Man in the Mirror.”
I was absolutely spellbound to see the panoramic shot of the stadium--I think it was in Australia--of tens of thousands of people.
Shoulder to shoulder. A sea of faces all there for Michael Jackson. Dressed like him. Cheering him on, crying for him. Fainting.
You’ve seen the footage my readers, the fans were losing their shit over Michael.
I had never seen anything like that in my young life and to see how Michael Jackson affected people started to plant that seed in my head that said “Wow, Michael is more serious than I thought.”
I was impressed, greatly impressed and proud over that frantic display of adulation.
(Years later as I did become a fan of Prince, I once asked why Prince’s fans didn’t react to him the way MJ fans did to Michael and no one ever could explain WHY.)
And while behavior like that would have scared some people, it only made me enthusiastic. To me being a part of a headless, thousands of body mass, clamoring for Michael’s attention looked like fun to me. I wanted to scream and dance and jump up and down and cry. Even faint if the mood hit me.
I wanted to do that. Be wild like that for Michael.
As the film progressed, I found myself being sucked more and more into Michael. Through the Jackson Five montage, where my mother told me the other Black guys singing with Michael were his brothers. Before then, I just thought they were a part of Michael’s “band”. Funny as it is to say.
And then, Michael Jackson seduced me. Laugh if you want, he did, damn it!
The part of “Dirty Diana” started to play and I had never known there was a music video for the song before then. For the very first time, Michael Jackson made me scream.
I was watching the video enjoying it, bopping along to it, mouthing the words and then BAM!
Michael ran and ripped his shirt open. And I screamed like I was being killed. Hands to face, eyes bulging, mouth open, screaming. It was fantastic!
I was enchanted the rest of the movie all the way down to “Come Together” at the end. Over time, I rented and watched “Moonwalker” hundreds of times before acquiring my own copy.
The following week, I brought “Legend” home with me. My MJ education was expanding. And “Legend” though outdated by then a full ten years, did help rapidly bring me up to speed on Michael Jackson. Telling of his humble beginnings in Indiana--dispelling the idea I’d had, where I thought Michael had been born and bred in California--all the way up to the Bad Tour.
The part of the “Legend” video aside from the opening showing fans going haywire, was the bit about “Thriller”.
Now I knew that “Thriller” was the largest selling album in history, but I didn’t really, truly know what that meant until Dick Clark, may he rest in peace, said “That album has sold almost forty million copies!”
That was in 1988, and was still steadily selling copies as of
‘98 when I got mine.
It was just a “hit by a two by four” moment when Dick said that. I was stunned. You just have to imagine a 12 year old me, a fat thing with glasses, just staring gape mouthed with drool oozing at the idea of 40 million copies of any record walking around.
How Michael took over the world. Literally took over the damn world. Won so many awards made and broke so many records, it was insane.
The more I heard the prouder I got. Out of all the people making noise into a microphone, I picked hands-down the best to like. (Which is why I’m a snob about other musicians now.)
A lot of people now would say I am the biggest fan of Michael Jackson they’ve ever come into contact with and that is a distinction I take great pride in. The hilarious thing is, I believe I have calmed down in my admiration of Michael.
When I was 12...I was the picture of obsession with Michael.
I mean if I wasn’t doing something for school, church or pageants, my world revolved around Michael Jackson.
Hunting articles, working to afford his albums, trying to catch him on TV, see him. Hopping on computers and seeing where he was, what he was doing. Was he doing a concert? Was he at Neverland? Was he still married to that fat woman Debbie?
Had he won another award. What did he wear?
That was me, all day.
I was hitting websites all over the globe, looking at his pictures, printing them out, sticking them on my walls. At one time I was a member of Michael Jackson clubs in New York, Egypt, Ireland and Australia. Kept trying to start my own club.
That’s really where my want to be the best MJ fan I could humanly be came from--through the Internet. I’m naturally, extremely competitive and could become jealous quite easily.
And when I started seeing these fans with all these posters and dolls and things in their rooms, I was like, “I have to get stuff like this. I have to do better than this. I have to represent for Michael.”
It was a competition for me. I wanted to be the best.
And yes, there have been times I’ve skipped meals and gone hungry to afford Michael Jackson memorabilia. It was that important to me to get things. Even now, if I don’t get something MJ once every couple of months, I start to get antsy and have to feed that monkey on my back. What tickled me once, was my friend Stacie, when we first started hanging out, she actually thought I had accumulated my entire collection in one day and I had to explain to her that no it took YEARS of work and dedication.
Aside from my collection, the thing I take the most pleasure in, is my knowledge of Michael Jackson Trivia.
I may not know my own blood type, but I know what size underwear Michael wears and what brand, damn it!
That was a matter of being bullied in middle school. Kids always gang up on the fat loner with glasses. And then add to it I liked the eccentric man in spangles, I was a prime target that gave bullies wet dreams.
And they’d say things to me, make up stories and try to upset. If only you knew how many times I heard “Hey Tiffeny, Michael Jackson just died!” in an effort to make me cry.
(I really hope all those little ignorant bastards are else dead themselves or in jail!)
I figured my mind and intellect was the only way to overcome them and I set out vigilantly looking for any and all sources I could use to my benefit.
Once again at 12, I found it.
“Michael Jackson: The Magic and Madness” became my MJ bible, that I read cover to cover, six times and absorbed like a schoolbook. I took notes. Forced myself to learn and recall facts. Everything I could.
I lived, breathed and die by this book! Even though at 12, I was perhaps too young to have read some of that material. No kid should ever read about a groupie losing her virginity to a young Jermaine Jackson. It was just wrong. Especially since Michael and Marlon as children were in the next bed and could hear everything.
But I didn’t care. I stuck it out and absorbed everything. I made it my duty and my business. It mattered to me.
Eventually, I was so well versed in Michael, between that book and the Internet, I became the source my friends went to for anything Michael.
My mornings at school had my friends with me, just shooting questions at me:
“Where’s Michael?”
“In Indiana getting a key to the city.”
“How old is Michael?”
“Forty-three” (in 2001)
“Is his son named after Prince?”
“Hell no!”
That was a typical day for me.
And I never hid my love of Michael. I was always very public and up front about it. In school people I didn’t even know, knew me as “That Girl that Liked Michael Jackson.” It was just known by all.
(Which is why I can’t stand all the damn posers that popped up after Michael died claiming they loved him so much. No, where the fucking hell were you when he was alive? Huh? You should have been loving him them you little lying sons of bitches! Stacie says I’m a bona fide fan because I loved Michael and was proud of it while he was still living even when people thought he was so strange and pedophile and all that other BS. And you know, Stacie is right. I didn’t jump on the bandwagon after the fact. I was upfront with my affection to Michael. I‘m proud of that.)
It’s a source of pride to me to be a Michael Jackson fan. I basked in his greatness while he was on this earth for too brief a time, now I help to keep his legacy in motion. And as proud of Michael as I am, I pray he’s somewhere on a cloud, proud of me.
Yeah, I want Michael Jackson to be proud of me.
Long post…I’ll keep it shorter and sweeter next time.
Thank you for reading!
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