“Wow,” was all I could say and feel. People sometimes say, “There are no words to describe this moment,” and in this instant, I had never agreed more. I bent down to touch it, was it really in front of me? I had to wait as other people took a picture with it, but when it was my turn, I almost burst into tears. I rubbed my hands all over it, and kissed the very center. What was I reacting so passionately to? Michael Jackson’s star on the Walk of Fame in Hollywood, California. One might say that I was overreacting; it was just a star on the ground, with his name engraved in gold in the center. To me, however, it was so much more. I felt as if I was seeing him, despite the fact that he was deceased. His feet had walked around the same exact place I was currently standing. He was there, during the prime of his career, and he himself had touched the star as it was placed in front of the famous Chinese theater.
Lets rewind about six weeks back. It was June 25th, 2009, and I was getting ready for my middle school graduation. In my excitement, I had gotten dressed far too early, and had to sit and wait for the time to pass. I did what any other teenager living in 2009 would do- I got out my laptop so I could log on to Facebook. My home page was on Yahoo! and I noticed something interesting. A headline titled ‘Michael Jackson: In Cardiac Arrest’ grabbed my attention. I had never truly known who Michael Jackson was, so while I felt bad about his cardiac arrest, this news did not affect me so much. I told my parents in the car. As a doctor, my father knew that it was highly unlikely that Jackson would survive. I was surprised to witness my mother crying nonstop about the new and I foolishly made fun of her. Knowing what I know now, as I look back on that moment, my heart fills with regret. It was that moment in time that I had been the person who believed tabloid trash. All my life, jokes about Michael Jackson’s skin color, plastic surgeries, and allegations about child molestation had been told to me, and I chose to believe them. Once I got to SUNY Purchase College, where graduation took place, the news of Jackson no longer occupied my mind, but the worries of tripping in my four-inch heels surely did.
About a week later, I was watching television. Michael Jackson’s national televised memorial was playing, and I could not help but watch. All week, different theories for his death had risen, but they had been forgotten for this day. It was a beautiful memorial, but it truly touched my heart when I heard his daughter, Paris Jackson. “Ever since I was born, Daddy has been the best father you could ever imagine,” she said, tears streaming down her face, “And I just want to say that I love him so much.” After years of wearing masks to conceal their identities, the three children were openly crying and consoling each other. From that point, I knew Michael Jackson could not be a bad man.
I knew I had to learn more about Jackson. I bought a lot of his music...