Am I the Only One?

Well, here we are at week's end and what a week it has been for the entertainment community...loss-wise.

First, Ed McMahon, then today, Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson.

About Ed, I remember watching countless hours of Star Search, because...you know...I was sure I was going to be famous one day. His show was a great way to dream.

Farrah...I remember just being envious. In the 70s, I was a buck-toothed, gangly, dorkwad. So to me, Farrah epitomized unattainable glamour and beauty - while maintaining an air of wholesomeness. Like most American girls, my sister and I went through cans of hairspray trying to feather like Farrah. (Farrah had her own line of hairspray, by the way.)

But Michael? While I'm sure that we all have memories of each of these entertainers, my memories of Michael are most vivid. Not just about him and his music, but the incredible influence he seemingly had on everything during the 1980s.

From dancing to Jackson's music in my friend Sheryl's basement, to coveting Michael Jackson puffy-stickers, to the boy in our school's Special Needs program who proudly wore a Michael red-leather-studded jacket every day (long after it was socially acceptable), Jackson was everywhere, whether you liked it or not.

So, I can understand why everyone in the world is so sad right now. What I don't understand is why, as everyone is listing everything that Michael ever did in life, no one seems to remember one important thing: apparently, he was a child toucher. I'm certain that some of these allegations were the fictitious accusations of opportunists, but I also suspect that some were true.

Because of that, I grieved for Michael Jackson long ago. Once the allegations of his behavior with children - children who apparently didn't have parents who loved them (because WHO IN HER RIGHT MIND would let a child sleep over with some strange man, wealthy or not) - broke, I stopped reminiscing so fondly.

I'm not happy that Michael is dead. I really do think it is unfortunate. I'm sure his family and friends and his children are wrecked. But more, I think it is incredibly tragic that this poor soul, who wore his torture on his sleeve like no one I've ever seen, was so pained that his anguish poured onto those who were the closest to him.

My first thought upon learning of Michael's death was that I hope someone - hopefully with a degree in psychology - has intercepted his children so that they may begin the deprogramming process needed to give them a shot at a normal life. No child should be raised in seclusion, wearing masks in a warped fantasy land. Who knows what all they dealt with?

I am glad that Michael Jackson is now at peace, away from the demons that drove him to continually pay others to mutilate what was left of himself. He seemed to desperately want a comeback...to be openly loved and worshipped by his fans as he had been years before. Today, he got his wish. Rest in Peace, Gloved One...