Monday, June 29, 2009

Joining the Millions

I join the millions in grieving the loss of Michael Jackson. But I also somehow differentiate myself from some of my acquaintances who cannot position themselves alongside me in grief. These are people who tend to address the failings of human beings, recognizing that many situations are the result of past mistakes, and focusing on those mistakes as the contributing force in the superstar's demise. In contrast, I cannot unilaterally subscribe to the idea that judgment is discriminating and that we are the judges. A peripheral glance at the life of Michael Jackson reveals a tortured and confused soul whose appearance masked the despair within. As he removed pieces of himself, perhaps in an effort to lose his identity, he somehow lost much of the essence of his own success and his own goodness.

Yet I have always marveled at the talent and gifts of Michael Jackson, whose career spanned decades, a man whose voice, music, and dancing charmed millions. A man whose success far surpassed his ability to manage himself, and a man whose enormous heart danced openly for others to impair and ultimately destroy. The tragedy is on several levels which I intend to articulate.

His was the tragedy of self-mutilation. How could someone hate himself so much as to systematically remove his nose, alter his cheekbones, add to his pigment alteration, adjust his hair, and prevent his own voice from changing. Was this due to abuse as a child in some form? Was this his way to hide from himself? Self-loathing leads to self-destruction. Was he afraid of aging or did he hasten his own death? His appearance became that of a caricature or an ersatz of pretension. He denied his inner self and manifested it outwardly.

His was the tragedy of money. When zillions of dollars begin flowing, the responsibility should increase. For Michael Jackson, however, the responsibility diminished almost in proportion to the growth of the estate. He spent, he gave, he squandered, he helped, he took, he produced, and he lost. His giving to charities and helping children, his remarkable generosity and genuine compassion has been forgotten and replaced with an onslaught of criticism and greed. Not only did the money not buy happiness, it guaranteed corruption by many people.

His was the tragedy of talent and success. He was so wildly successful at a young age and continued the climb to the top of the entertainment business. But did he ever gain the maturity needed to handle the success? Was he ever really a child or did he miss an important step in becoming an adult? Did he ever get to play, skin his knee, throw a ball, read a Dr. Seuss story, collect baseball cards, play tag, or watch Gilligan's Island? His success undermined and interfered with the maturation process. It created a man who wanted to be a child. The report of listening to classical music while reading Donald Duck comics is a prime example of the dichotomy within him.

His was the tragedy of entourage. The endless hyenas that surrounded him, feasting on his very soul at every opportunity. Erratic and insane buzzards that couldn't wait for the corpse and hastened his demise in a feeding frenzy that took place over many years. His need for bodyguards, doctors, advisors, publicists, managers, helpers, friends, all created a constant sense of humans not leaving him alone. He never had space and he never had a chance to be himself.

His was the tragedy of expectation. As a performer, I have experienced the pressure to be better than last time. It can be debilitating, causing sleepless nights, excessive stress, and the desire to escape or run away from the next event. Jackson had trouble dealing with the next step, the next performance, the next song, and the next expectation of excellence. As a people pleaser, someone who attempts to reach all kinds of people, he could never be satisfied with himself. He probably felt inadequate to the task before him.

His was the tragedy of the soul. The soul is who we are as human beings. The soul is not formed from money, fame, relationships, actions, talent, work, or responses. All of these things grow out of the soul of the person not the inverse. A person's soul may determine the reactions of the person but the events of life cannot and should determine the inner being. Yet what if in fact the soul is altered over a period of time or what if in fact the soul is never formed? In Michael Jackson's case, it seems that the tragedy is one of his inner being. I think I do believe in his goodness and his generosity and the qualities that only occasionally found their way into the world, but I also believe that somehow, someway he lost his soul in the journey. Perhaps this is the saddest event of all. Still, he is missed by me and countless others.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Black and White

Driving down the street, on our way to get a treat at Sonic, Joel and I began talking about Sonic booms. I reminisced about my childhood when I heard jet airplanes overhead break the sound barrier resulting in a resonant bass sound that caused the windows to shake and the dishes to rattle. As a small child, it was rather frightening, but when my dad explained the cause, it became rather exhilirating to imagine the speed of the jet that could move faster than sound.

Explaining to Joel about Sonic booms, I moved into my "cliche" mode of talking where I began a repetitive series of quasi-complaints about modern culture. It is my own ironic brand of making fun of people who want to return to the "good old days." When I get going, it can be quite entertaining and absolutely harmless, with shades of sarcasm and irony thrown in for sheer joy of the moment. So I pontificated about the days when girls didn't call boys, and when you didn't have to pump your own gas, and when there was only one kind of coffee, and very few radio stations to hear. I moved into television and began talking about the days of antennae on the tv and having to watch everything in black and white. Suddenly, although he had been silent for quite a while (a normal response to my routine!), he asked me a question. "Dad, was everything in black and white in the good old days?" I said, "Yes Joel, we didn't get a color television until I was older." "No, I mean was everything in black and white?"

I sat stunned for a minute as I thought through his question. Was his perspective of the world based on television? If all on the television were black and white, did that make the world black and white as well? Did he not understand the development of science and technology and that television is a reflection of advancing technology? Or was the question actually latently perceptive? Has the growth and hypercharge of technology actually colored our world? Were we figuratively and collectively more "black and white" many years ago?

Our world is complicated by choice, by color, by a blending and amalgamation of styles, cultures, values, concepts, interests, and preferences. Having choices is part of the joy of our world and part of the excitement of living. The entertainment world seems to be a manifestation of the complexity and color that we live with each and every day. This makes our perception of reality to be both confusing and ever-changing, a sort of wonderland or even Disneyland of options.

Yet for Joel perhaps he would prefer less choice, fewer options. Perhaps his world is black and white and maybe in some ways he is better off with his perception. I like the choices, I like the color, and I like the complexity, but it sure can make for a lot of decisions!