When Michael Jackson died, my Facebook newsfeed quickly morphed into a litany of epitaphs. Commonly, they related shock and dismay, as well as prayers for all the families and fans (as well as a reference to the “trippiness” that both he and Farrah Fawcett died on the same day). A few postings stood out to me, however, in referencing Jackson as a creepy pedophile. Despite the incredible poor taste of delighting in someone’s death, not to mention the complete disdain for due process evident in thus labeling a man cleared by US courts, I cannot help but appreciate the honesty of these sentiments. Not honesty about the deceased, mind you, but about our own mean-spirited and judgmental attitude towards him.
I was not a popular kid in high school. In fact, I am not a very popular person now. I mention this only because, in thinking about Michael Jackson, I cannot help but imagine every jackass that made fun of me as a child showing up at my funeral to express their deep regrets. Moreover, I might rise from the dead and vomit if I heard those same people wax philosophic on my sudden demise, and how it truly teaches them to value life. I can only guess at how many times more disgusted I would feel if people that never even met me, yet still despised me, expressed similar sentiments.
If it takes the death of a reclusive celebrity that you and your friends mocked incessantly to make you realize that you should tell your mom that you love her or not treat people like you are some sort of Greek God on Mount Olympus, then you may lack a degree of spiritual depth. So, maybe this will prove a positive experience for you, which is what really matters, anyway. Never mind that a fifty-year-old man died prematurely of heart failure, leaving behind loved ones—the type that actually knew him—that are undoubtedly devastated by his passing. Never mind that the man most likely suffered throughout his life in ways that most of us could never imagine. And never mind that, until this point, Michael Jackson was little more than a punch line to most people now mourning him, despite any affinity for his music. The important thing here, it seems, is to post all over the Internet about the life-altering effect of all of this on you, and letting the world know of your deep compassion and prayerfulness about the whole affair (I am pretty sure that your “prayers go out to the family” even if you express them silently).
For my part, I will continue to applaud the nasty and facetious of us. In continuing with the jokes, gleefully working in untimely death, they choose to skip this momentary detour into introspection and continue upon the path to which the majority of well-wishers will inevitably return. Perhaps I am mistaken. Perhaps, with this singular occurrence, a new day dawns for the Lindsay Lohan’s and John and Kate’s of the world, who no longer need live in fear of dinner table gossip and unflattering tabloid articles. I almost wish that Michael Jackson could leave us with such a legacy. Sadly, I fear that the best Michael can hope for is that a few more of us will spare him our cruelty, as it is now in poor taste. We will still find the mockery of living strangers with real problems to be in quite good taste, though, because it’s only fun when they are around to know that we’re talking about them. And human decency triumphs yet again.
2 comments:
We will still find the mockery of living strangers with real problems to be in quite good taste, though, because it’s only fun when they are around to know that we’re talking about them.
I think this is my favorite line. I hope that people remember him more for all of his humanitarian efforts than for all the crazy stuff he did and was accused of.
You are a pretentious hack, Owens.
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