Jun 29

Written by: Karie Dozer
6/29/2009 1:06 PM

... those were some of the first words I ever heard from Michael Jackson, a young, adorable, smiling little boy-- singing along with his brothers. What an incredible talent in a young, magnetic body-- the possibilites seemed limitless. And, truly, they were. Emerging from the Jackson 5 as the true superstar talent of the family didn't take long. The more the world loved him, it seemed, the more he acheieved. Until perhaps, the light became too bright, and the weight of the expectations his fans and the media at large became too heavy. Slowly, the world caught glimpses of Michael as he morphed from a a strong, handsome, very physical stage presence into a frail, disfigured, almost transparent form of his former self. Whispers talked of strange skin conditions which "necessitated" the lightening of his skin---tales were told of oxygen tanks used for sleeping, and odd overnight visits from the children of star-struck fans.
 
Finally, accidents while performing gave way to drug addictions fed by physicians too awed to recommend a safer course of treatment. Now family and friends mourn his death, all pointing fingers at others, asking "who let this get out of hand?" The answer, of course, is that they ALL did. Each family member who didn't forcibly intervene at an opportune moment. Each doctor who continued to look the other way when prescriptions were filled over and over. Each manager or promoter who continued to try to get the next booking, and create the next spectacle.
 
The world has lost a true talent, but through all the speculation about who is to blame, has anyone considered how painful each day must have been for Michael? I wonder at what age he truly stopped being happy inside. What a shame.

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