“Does it make you uncomfortable when I cry?” I asked Jaycie and Max who were sitting on the couch.
“Yeah,” Max shook his head until his curls bounced. “A little.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But there’s going to be a lot of crying.”
“Why didn’t you cry before?” Jaycie asked.
“Because Maya Angelou and Michael Jackson meant a lot to me when I was younger.”
I really had no idea that today was Michael Jackson’s memorial, much less that it was going to be televised. Around 1:30 yesterday I took control of the Tibbles and then had all five of the kidlings for the next 24 hours. That kind of chaos trumps any kind of news.
It wasn’t until Jaycie had settled into “Full House” reruns while the Tibbles had lunch with their mom that I checked into Twitter to see people complaining about the media circus (because, you know, complaining totally makes the media circus go away. I never understand why people do that, if you don’t like it don’t watch, don’t read, don’t listen, complaining doesn’t make it any better, in fact it just adds to the noise.).
Of course, I immediately tuned in. It was weird and odd and sad. And it made me bawl my head off, and I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe it was from seeing so many people greiving. Or maybe it was for my own loss of a childhood icon.
What I do know is that unbeknownst to us, the kidlings and I had our own Michael Jackson memorial last night. For reasons that cannot be explained, Liam, 4, is obsessed with “Mika Jackon” (as he pronounces it) and begs to watch his “bideohs” whenever we turn on the TV.
So last night in the waning hours of daylight, three little boys stood in front of the TV and tried their hardest to recreate the steps from the Thriller video, and Bad, and Black or White (this last one we watched over and over again). It was adorable, hilarious, and a most fitting tribute to the troubled entertainer.