On the evening of December 2nd, 1983 I could not eat my dinner for my tween nervous system was in over-drive. As I anxiously awaited the 8 o'clock hour, my mom popped some Jiffy Pop, while my anticipation mounted. At 7:50pm, I grabbed my pillow and popcorn and made a cozy place for myself on the couch. At 8:00pm I flipped on channel 30 and the follwoing words came on the screen.

Due to my strong personal convictions, I wish to stress that this film in no way endorses a belief in the occult. -- Michael Jackson.

And then history was made, in the form of a red leather jacket, zombies and a record-breaking, trend-setting video.

The next day, and nearly every day for the subsequent six months, my girlfriends and I performed the Thriller dance routine on the grade school playground. And my love for Michael Jackson blossomed into a full-blown obsession.

I adorned my walls with his posters, my jean jackets with his buttons. I cried when his hair caught on fire while filming the Pepsi commerial. I cried when he cried in "She's Out of My Life," and I tried like hell to moon walk (to no avail I might add). I followed and adored every move he made, that is before the nose job, the skin whitening and the Jesus Juice, little boy slumber parties began.

My parents never understood my intense crush on this skinny, shimmery singer with a high-pitched voice and an effeminate demeanor. But they supported me in my passionate love affair by buying me his albums and never complaining while Wanna Be Startin' Somethin' played endlessly on repeat so I could figure out what the hell he was saying.

His music was the soundtrack to my childhood.

When I received the call today from my niece Tiffany saying,"So are you crying over MJ?" my heart sank. Though I hadn't yet heard the news, I knew who she was talking about. There is only one MJ. And I knew in that moment that a living legend had died.

It is a little surreal tonight as I reflect on this legendary, world-renowned entertainer, who my kids will never get to see perform. They will hear of him as an icon, but won't really be able to grasp the breadth of his talents, or the impact his career had on an entire generation or on the music industry as a whole.

I am saddened that his life became a carnival and shudder to think that the allegations against him may be true. But tonight I chose to remember the Michael I grew up loving and listening to. The Off the Wall, Beat It, Bad Michael Jackson who gave me joy and inspiration with his music.

RIP Michael!

Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing. Thanks for all the joy they're bringing. Who can live without it? I ask in all honesty--what would life be? Without a song or a dance what are we? So I say, thank you for the music, for giving it to me. -- Abba

Update on Thursday, June 25, 2009 at 11:32PM by Mary Burt-Godwin

I also am laughing a little, imagining my dad having a total field day in heaven right now: throwing back vodka tonics with Ed, ogling Farah, and wondering what in the hell "all those kids" saw in Michael.

RIP Ed & Farah too!

In honor of my BFF Mariana (aka Mern) who is visiting from New York to go to Madonna with me tomorrow (did I mention how excited I am?) here is one of my favorite anecdotes from our teenage years.

In 10th grade we had the best teacher ever, Mr Klausner.  We're talking Dead Poets Society best.  Ms. O was our other fave, but she was a she, so didn't get us going in the same way as Mr. K did.  Despite his mangy beard, strangely curly hair and disproportionately large teeth, he was HOT.  Come on girls, you know those teachers that speak Romeo & Juiet to you and melt your little newly pubescent hearts.  He was the first person to get me to read a book after boycotting them a few years earlier (literally, once I discovered boys, books were on the back burner for a few years).   We read Catcher in the Rye and I was in love.  With the book and with Mr. K.  So were all the girls.  A Southern drawl, a witty sense of humor that 16 years olds could appreciate, compassion for trivial yet seemingly tragic high school melodrama, and a knack for making everyone feel good about themselves.  That was Mr K and he was a god.

I remember one specific teenage angst filled day, I was seated in the cafeteria with Mariana and two other girlfriends, eating some sort of delicious sloppy joe concoction, when Mr. K walked by, caught our eyes (cause they were all on him) and we asked him to join us for lunch.  And he agreed.  Whoa!  Mr. K is sitting with us...okay smile, but not too big.  Is my bra showing?  Is the zit on my nose still the size of Texas?  What's my name?

I have NO idea what we talked about, I just know there were a lot of tee hees and overly enthusiastic giggles.  As he finished his lunch, he stood and said something to the effect of "Thank you ladies for a wonderful lunch."  None of us wanted the moment to end.  I stood up, more dramatic that way, and went to speak.  I wanted to seal the deal with a profound goodbye that he would always remember. However...my brain and my mouth were out of sync from all the adrenaline and hormones running amok...so what was supposed to be something like "Thank you for sitting with us, it was our pleasure,"  came out "Thank you for your pleasure."  Oh dear god...Open mouth, insert foot, turn a bright shade of fuschia, pee your pants a little and die.  I'm pretty sure it went dead silent.  At least the way it replays in my mind it did.  "Thank you for your pleasure," are you kidding me?  There was no way to get it back.  No delete and re-record option.

He smiled and walked away and the four of us laughed our little Guess acid wash jean skirts right off.  We re-capped it over and over again until we laughed so hard we cried.  Looking back I'm sure he got a good chuckle out of it too.  And probably a little ego stroke as it was beyond clear that we all had innocent crushes on him.  To close I'd like to quote Kevin Kline in A Fish Called Wanda (Mern's and my fave movie), Otto referring to Kkkkkkken...

"I LOVE THAT MAN!"