Before You Judge Me, Try Hard to Love Me.

It has been a yr since the passing of Michael Jackson. I wrote this in tribute to him..


Every now and then, I find myself missing those hot summers when I would ride in the backseat of my parents’ car, bobbing my head to the Thriller album on my ruby red CD player. Perhaps I first became star struck in kindergarten when my music teacher showed the class Michael’s debut film, The Wiz. Or maybe, it could have been a couple years before then when I first watched the TV movie, The Jacksons: An American Dream. Whatever the case may be, from the moment I laid eyes on Michael Jackson, I was in awe.

I remember being a young girl, in my aunts living room (avoiding the fact that I was punished), gazing at the television as Michael performed You are Not Alone (My favorite Michael Jackson song at the time). I tried my best to act cool, as if I did not want to hop in the TV set and accompany him on stage. By the age of ten, I guess you could have called me a MJ fanatic. A lot of my friends thought I was crazy to be listening to Michael instead of the popular artists at the time. But in Michael’s music, I found true meaning and talent.

By the age of twenty five, Michael’s career and stardom had already reached its pinnacle. And the more successful he became, the more others were out to see his demise. As Michael grew from ‘little Michael Jackson from the Jackson Five’ to the 80’s sex symbol to the 90’s King of Pop, he later became ‘Wacko Jacko’ of the 2000’s. Every time I hear the senseless name ‘Wacko Jacko’ I want to gag. It goes to show how the media will turn its back on you in a flash. However, I never turned my back on Michael. As Michael later became the joke of everyone’s conversation, I would defend him as if he were my own big brother. To me, Michael was like my own fictional big brother; He was my inspiration, and someone I looked up to.

It made me sick to know that people could not just accept talent for what it was and leave the man in the mirror, out of the picture. Others were so judgmental about a man who they knew nothing about. Did the media care that Michael had Vitiligo? —which is the reason behind his drastic change in complexion—of course not. Forgive me; they pretended to care, after his death. Did the media consider the fact that Michael’s lack of childhood and unnecessary abuse as a child triggered his need for escapism in a world that he called Neverland? I understood, at a very early age, the meaning behind each invisible scar. Michael was not insane, the people drove him crazy.

Do you remember that morning when you stared for hours in the mirror at the pimple that appeared on your face over night? How did you feel? I can assume that you were either embarrassed or nonchalant. Now imagine that you had ten more of those pesky pimples, and you were scheduled to do a meet and great with a thousand of your fans who followed your every move since you were nine years old. How would you have felt if at the meet and greet people said “ew,” and demanded to see the cute, little kid that they knew and loved. You would most likely feel insecure about yourself, I’m sure. Well that is the story of MJ. Michael was a perfectionist. He wanted his fans to be entertained, and to be taken to their own personal fantasy world, through his performances. In no way did Michael want to disappoint his fans, even if it meant changing the way he looked.

While we all lived normal lives, Michael lived a lonely life. Granted he could buy all the friends in the world, but as we later came to find out in the cause of his death, Michael’s advantage of money was the root of all evil. In his mid twenties, when most guys were adding and dropping girls out of their little black book, from left to right, Michael was at home writing music or wishing for that life. In a 1980’s interview, Michael stated that he did not have any real friends outside of the music business. However, he did name superstars such as Diana Ross and Quincy Jones as his friends and confidants. These friends were twice Michael’s age. Michael was clearly a shy person, although you would have never known if you were to only go off of his live acts and performances. Michael was lonely and timid. His voice was faint, and nearly inaudible. His eyes told a story that no one wanted to hear, or see for that matter. People questioned everything that Michael did. They questioned Michael’s relationships, his children, and his sexuality, but did they ever question his talent? Never. Michael was a force to be reckoned with, and because his entertainment skills were flawless, there was nothing to critique but Michael himself.

Michael faced several accusations of child molestation, during his life. All of the accusations were dropped, and appeared to be untrue. However, many seem to ignorantly think differently. These accusations really hurt Michael because of his love for children. While Michael was being accused of child molestation, no one stopped to recognize his work as an outstanding philanthropist, as he saved children’s lives. After those trials, it was evident that Michael was hurting inside, and it took up until his death for people to realize it.

On June 25, 2009, I received a phone call from my best friend who knew that I was an extreme Michael Jackson fan, while I was over a friend’s house. Over the phone, she said to me, as her voice trembled, “Imani, Michael Jackson died.” I couldn’t cry because my first instinct was to not believe her, so to calm myself down, I told her that I would call her back. My heart pounded, when I considered the fact that Michael could have actually died. Immediately after, my phone was flooded with phone calls and text messages with mixed messages that Michael was , indeed, still alive, or that he had passed. It was not until thirty minutes later when I finally went home, and was greeted with scrolling breaking news that read “Michael Jackson has died.” I dropped everything I had in my hands and my tears drenched my face. It was like taking a bullet. For weeks, I was in shock, and in mourning. It hurt to listen to his music, but at the same time it was like therapy. To this day, when I listen to Michael Jackson songs, I feel his spirit in each lyric. It is like he lives in his music. Now the whole world hears you, Michael; you are not alone.