Michael: Little Boy Lost

I have listened to all the chatter about the loss of Michel Jackson, for the last 24 hours, and I am crushed by the disconnected, analytical, approach to the world’s huge loss. His, once in a life time talent, gift from on high, has been lost for many years, not just yesterday. This sad child was lost to us, when he began to alter his appearance. 

I am torn apart about the fact that no one could, either reach him or offered him counsel, advice, or put the breaks on his obsession about his body. He was a beautiful, black, child with the voice of an angel and the moves of Jackie Wilson. How did he get to the point of no return?  

When I was still at home, in New York, about 23 years ago, I was looking at the cover of his most recent Album, through the window of a local Music Store. I must be honest, I don’t recall the album’s name but I was lamenting the absence of the child’s familiar face. A black woman walked to the window and stood to my left, also looking a the album cover. We stood there, quietly for a moment and then I asked her, “What do you think?”  She didn’t bat an eye and responded, “He is very sick!” I agreed with a nod of my head and we continued to stand there, as if trying to find the Lost Child, that we both adored.

I have thought of that woman, many times over the years. How she must have felt, when she saw Michael’s New face, at that time; yet not quite as exaggerated as it became more recently. The questions that have haunted me since that afternoon and the questions that may have haunted her, as well.

Why was he so ashamed of his stunning, easily recognizable, black face?  Why did he believe that being white was his only solution? Why was he so sad to be who he was born to be? Why didn’t he love himself, a much as we did?

I’ve been white my whole life, it really has made no difference in my life. I still had to earn a living, pay my bills, and raise my children. There was no advantage or disadvantage. I am just white, period. That sweet, concerned, black, woman had been black her whole life and it really made no difference, either. She also had children to raise, a living to earn, and bills to pay. She was just black, period. We were the same, and we were equally in pain over the loss of Michael’s charming features.  We were equally concerned about the future changes this child might do, in order to accept himself.

How could any Doctor permit, allow, or be a part of the extreme changes the Lost Child wanted done to his face? How could any medical professional allow themselves to alter this child’s face to the point of no return? How did his fans, not ask him,  “What are you thinking, Michael?”  Yet, we still love him.

I will miss the talented, vibrant, adorable, round faced, child, who blew away his audience and had them in the palm of his hand with each note and move. I have missed that child for many years. Now the Lord has Michael in the palm of His Hand. I pray God recognizes the child’s face, as His creation, and not Michael’s.