I’m not a fan of Michael Jackson’s music, but I considered him a fellow black cat (underneath), and his unexpected passing stunned me. In his own strange way, Michael was one of those rare people whose departure leaves a hole in the planet.
Have you noticed how everyone seems to have forgotten they were vilifying him as a child molester just a few years ago and saying his career was over?
I believe he did inappropriate things, but with innocent intent, pathetically trying to recapture his own missed childhood. He didn’t realize he was playing with a stacked deck of adult knowledge and feelings because he tried so hard to suppress them.
Michael didn’t seem to have a mean bone in his body. If anything, he was too nice and people used him.
If his death was simply a sudden heart attack, Somebody up there provided him the mercifully quick and graceful exit he needed, but could never find for himself without having more scorn heaped on him. Fate may have known he was walking into the biggest humiliation of his life with that 50-show comeback next month in London, and that he wouldn’t be able to survive it.
Sure, die-hard fans were eager for him to command a stage again, but plenty of people would have been saying, “That weird, washed-up pedophile is just making a fool of himself.”
Michael must have felt enormous pressure to succeed, knowing it was his last chance to salvage his career and pay his debts. Failure would leave him even worse off than before, with no options left.
But now he’ll forever be the King of Pop, with no embarrassing finale. As the world mourns his death, we must acknowledge that, for his sake, its timing was perfect. I hope he’s finding the peace and love he craved so much in life.