Last night before the kid fell asleep, he asked me if I thought Michael Jackson was in heaven and if the angels were dancing to his music. At that moment for the first time since last year, I felt my eyes well up. I lowered my head and the tears came streaming down my face. At my son’s age, Michael Jackson meant to him, than he did when I was 11. Not a day goes by in my house without hearing a Michael Jackson song coming from his bedroom. He’s moonwalked down grocery store aisles, Target parking lots, and of course has thrown in random crotch grabs, but last night all he wanted to know was if Michael made it to heaven.
In my answer I tried to be as ‘diplomatic’ as I could be, because religion isn’t something I harp on. It may not have been the best answer, but I told him wherever Michael Jackson is the time he’s spent living will never be forgotten. It seemed to satisfy him enough, so we said our good nights & I love yous and as I closed the door to his room, I heard him whisper, “Michael I love you too”.
I tell people my son isn’t your average 11 year old, he’s compassionate, warm and kind, almost to a fault nothing like me at all. For example, the other day at Walmart, there was an elderly man in the parking space next to us who was having difficulty getting out of his car. My son asked if I was going to help him, but I was so involved with what I was doing I walked passed. Not the kid. He went up to the man and asked if he needed help. Although the man declined, he gave my son a pat on the head and a thank you. Then like every other time when my son gets happy, he broke out into a moonwalk. All my nephew & I could do was laugh.
Michael Jackson’s compassion, music, and history will never be forgotten, especially in my house. I can’t help but to think that the lives he touched while alive & even the ones he continues to touch since he’s been gone, will make this world a better place in the long run.
He will be missed, and will always be the King of Pop (there ain’t no higher).