Beat it

I’ve been meaning to write something about Michael Jackson since his passing on June 25. I didn’t cry when I found out that he’d died. I was surprised, but I didn’t watch enough news to be sick of the coverage. I wasn’t part of the Twitterstorm that took them offline. I’ve been sort of put off by the guy over the last few years, but I have a few fuzzy memories associated with him and it seems like time to share them.

When Thriller came out, my neighbors bought the record and invited us to listen. My dad and I joined Jesse and Ben and their father at their house in the front room. Someone, probably Ben’s dad, pulled the record out from the cover. I can’t quite make out the artwork in my memory without assistance, but I remember the black edges and white in the center. I don’t remember hearing the album then or anything else about that moment except that I don’t think I have ever been somewhere for the specific purpose of hearing a new record at any other point in my life.

I had a copy of Thriller on tape, probably made from my neighbor’s record. I nearly wore that tape out. It lived in my Walkman for a while. I think the title track scared me a little bit, but “Beat It” made me want to be tough, “Billie Jean” made me want to sing and perhaps act a little cavalier toward the opposite sex, and “The Girl is Mine” made me want to argue about girls with my friends.

I kept listening to Thriller in my Walkman even after we moved away. When I returned, Michael soon followed with his hit “Bad”. I liked it, but in some jaded 10-year old way I was more taken by Weird Al Yankovic’s parody “Fat” by then. Michael Jackson and I began to part ways, but never entirely. It’s quite possible that old tape might still be in the drawer in my cracked walkman today. I'll have to check.