Where I grew up, junior high started at sixth grade. I remember the year clearly, as it marked the first year that I took a bus to school. That I had a locker. That girls started "going out" with boys and being popular became A Real Thing. It was the start of the Mean Girls and cafeteria food and being split up into "teams." Each team had a similar amount of kids as well as a "advanced" class and a "regular" class.
There were two (or three? someone help me out here) teams of sixth graders at Hadley Junior High back in 1983. I was on Team B.
The A and B teams rarely assembled together except for grade-wide field trips and the End of the Year Party. Each End of the Year Party had a theme. Our theme was Michael Jackson. There was a "Pin-the-Glove on MJ," there was a moonwalk contest, and there was a Michael Jackson impersonator that was slated to perform.
Only the Michael Jackson performer got lost and stopped for directions at a White Castle, where he was promptly mobbed by a crowd. He never made it to the party, and instead Todd and a couple of other guys showed off their "breakdancing" moves, which included some sorry-ass poppin' and lockin' (we were a bunch of suburban white kids, y'all) but no headspins as the teachers were afraid he'd break his neck. (This was before Todd started assaulting me between classes. He's the only guy I've kicked on the nuts on purpose and I'd do it again right this very minute on behalf of seventh-graders everywhere.)
Michael Jackson died today, and as the news came out over Twitter, I found myself sadder than I thought I'd be.
Will and I were talking about it this evening, asking why were we so sad for a man who was so profoundly flawed, a man who was, by all accounts, a child molester. As we told our stories about buying our first Michael Jackson albums, I realized what it was.
Michael Jackson, while he belonged to our parents as part of the Jackson 5, belonged to us when he went solo. Michael Jackson was our music. Michael Jackson was the first album that a lot of us ever bought. Ironic that the man-child marked my first foray into adulthood, which was developing my own musical tastes. My dad listened to the Temptations and the Four Tops, and mom was a Rolling Stones/Beatles/Simon and Garfunkel fan. But Michael belonged to me.
Many of us look back on the 80's through a veil of hipster irony and nostalgia, with our Thompson Twins and our Duran Duran and our Culture Club. Most of the music seems dated. Michael Jackson - who we watched endlessly as he pranced on the light-up sidewalk of Billie Jean on the newly-formed MTV - seems timeless.
Except that today, his time was up.
I'm sad because it's a small reminder that while it seems like yesterday that I was playing "Pin-the-Glove on MJ," I'm nearly 37 years old. At some point my time will be up, too.
Everyone is embedding Thriller, which of course we learned in dance class that year. However, my favorite MJ song (which we also danced to in class years later) is Smooth Criminal. Enjoy.
