Skip to main content

Seven Days ...

With seven days to go in my 30s, my thoughts go to 25 years ago, the last time I spent an extended period of time in Toronto. I was 15 years old, on an academic exchange with a junior high in Scarborough, and obsessed with Michael Jackson.

And obsessed with my hair, actually. I wore my hair curled in a specific way, always carried a comb and mirror, and constantly checked that the curl was "just so". So much, in fact, that my first night at my billet's house was spent sneaking into the bathroom, quietly curling my hair "just so", then laying stiffly in bed so as to not mess my hair -- all because I wasn't sure I'd have enough time in the morning to do my hair properly... but that's not the point of this post.

Within days of when I was supposed to move here, Michael Jackson died and became the hottest gossip item, just as he had been in 1984. (I didn't know if that was a good or a bad sign for my move.)

Much has changed since 1984. My hair can still make or break my mood for the day, but I would no longer lose sleep over it. And Michael Jackson gossip has taken a turn for the macabre. As, apparently, did MJ.

I do think MJ was involved with something untoward with minors a few years back. But I don't believe he understands it was untoward. And I don't mean how pedophiles think they actually love their victims and haven't done anything wrong. I think it's like how if you or I shake an Indonesian's hand with our left hand (or is it the right one?), we'd be shunned. I had no idea there would be anything wrong until my friend Denise explained it to me. See, in places without toilet paper, you wipe up after yourself with your left (or right?) hand. So if you then shook someone's hand with your left hand, you are some dirty nasty disgust-pot indeed. But I wouldn't have known that. I would have been a dirty nasty disgust-pot because I would have had no understanding of the issues at play in that country. I think MJ was messed up as a young child, and I don't think the issues at play have ever accurately been relayed to him. I don't think anything sexual was going on ... but I think lines - as defined by you or me - were crossed. Lines that don't mean the same thing to him.

All that being said ... let the man be dead already. Discover the cause, certainly. Bring to justice anyone who facilitated it, absolutely. But do you or I really need proof whether the kids are actually his? He's the only father they've ever known. They lost him so very young, don't take their connection to him away too. If they have doubts, and later want answers, they can find them out themselves. You have no standing to do it on their behalf -- and for what? Your entertainment? Ratings? Let him lay. Let them grieve. I used to think the fact he pasted masks on his kids' faces when they went out in public proved that he was not in possession of all his marbles. Now I think he was onto something. The media has proved itself to be opportunistic and cannibalistic when it comes to him. The man had problems, but maybe the lengths he would go to in order to protect his children was not one of them.

(And yes, that's if we ignore the baby dangling thing. I said the man had problems.)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Picture Puzzler

A friend sent me another picture from the wrap party. As I looked at it, and recalled the good times, I was struck by something really unusual. See if you can spot it: I'll give you all some time to guess...

Dear Canada Post:

I have a complaint regarding two Canada Post Employees. One of the employees accepted my money when I have been told it is against Canada Post policy to do so, and the other employee escalated my query call into this complaint letter. I wish to be reimbursed for the money the employee erroneously accepted from me, and to inform you of the glitch in your customer service line. The Background: 1) On January 29, 2010, I went to Canada Post at 1032 Pape Avenue, Toronto Ontario. I gave the Canada Post Employee there (I do not have this employee’s name, and will refer to her as Pape Employee) a package I wished sent to Alberta. I told her that my package was a bottle of wine, and asked “Can I send wine – do people send wine in the mail?” Before she responded, I continued to explain that I put it in bubble wrap and a cardboard wine container (a cylindrical tube, a little over a foot high and a couple of inches in circumference, which I wrapped in brown paper and addressed to the recipi...

A Debbie at her Deepest

Think about Facebook for a moment. Are you thinking about it? Okay. Hear me out here. When you look through your newsfeeds, seeing all the things your friends post -- the thoughts they express, the novelties that tickle their funny bones, the issue-windmills against which they are tirelessly compelled to tilt -- you realize how very, truly, inexplicably you yourself are fractured into tiny personalities, each being expressed by the hearts and minds of the friends you chose. Done. Thanks for bearing with me. Now it is dinner time. Carry on in my absence, oh bitty pieces of myself. Oh. What if none of my friends exist and my FB newsfeed is truly a manifestation of the varied corners of my own mind? (The hairs on my forearms just stood up.)