During HO-HOsanna hey! Christmas vacations, my childhood days of yore were filled with carols sung by Mahalia Jackson, Johnny Mathis and Nat King Cole. But every night before going to bed, I'd lie down on the living room couch and tune into the Jackson 5's Christmas Album. In the dark, I listened while I watched the magical patterns created on the ceiling by the Christmas tree's colorful flashing lights. This was my most sacred yuletide ritual. First came Side 1's rollicking, jolly songs, full to the brim with Santa's promised visit, ol' St Nick's chimney antics and Frosty's lively dilemma. Then I'd get up to flip the lp, always scratching it just a little as I tried to set the record player's arm down ever-so ineptly (that really needled my mom & brothers - producing an earful of stereophonic surround sound). Now it was Side 2's time to be mellow. I grew anxious on behalf of a tearful Jermaine who just broke up with his girlfriend, allowing myself to be swept over by as much germane nostalgia as a six year old single girl can muster. I wondered about "the couple upstairs wanting to know there's someone who cares" and always renewed my vow to give love on Christmas day, per Michael's request. I duteously dreamt of someday at Christmas when we'd all know what Christmas is for (essentially - no wars, universal love, hope & peace on earth, plus any bonus treats that happen to be peeking out of the top of your stocking). Finally, I'd nod off amid visions of Mommy kissing Santa Claus, even years after I was in on the "secret" of Santa's true identity known by all older, jeering brothers. Then, each year on Christmas morning, my very own personal archangel Michael heralded our family to open presents and I had myself a merry little Christmas, just as the Jackson 5 wished I (ok, and everybody else, too) would.
Sit yourself down, take a seat, all you gotta do is repeat after me -
I said ABC, as simple as do re mi -
DEF -
GH I'm a gonna teach ya how to sing it out,
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, let me show ya what it's all about -
JKL -
MNO oo oo-
PQRST - t - t- Teacher's gonna show you -
Shake it, shake it, baby -
UV double Ew wee -
XYZ, baby, you & me, girl!
And, in 1, 2, 3 simple lessons, that's how easy reading & rhythm can be!
Next, for math & counting by twos, we cheered "2-4-6-8, who do you appreciate? (Please say that mom is me...)" Well, you get the idea -- our particular form of homeschooling would have been impossible without the curriculum guidance and educational expertise of little Michael and his big brothers.
But, is the "little Michael" qualification really necessary? Yes.
In a twist on the I Was Country When Country was Uncool theme, I was a Michael fan when Michael was uncool and right up until the moment when Michael became too cool - around the time that the Jackson 5 left Motown and became The Jacksons & Michael grew up to ascend Pop's solo throne. In my opinion, that's when his off the wall behavior started. And then, soon enough, the Thriller was gone for me (to manila or bust?). All it took was a few rockous guitar licks and one signature crotch grab, a shot seen round the world, and I beat it. He was Bad, I knew it.
But, that was ok. As the preppy tween-teen crowd clamored to expose blindingly white socks beneath their flooding black pants & worship at the King of Pop's penny loafers, I claimed little Michael all for myself. It seemed I was the only one at the time. While my older brother was romancing his dates with Steely Dan or the Carpenters and the other brother was hard rocking with Van Halen and Pink Floyd, I was perpetually stuck on the likes of Stevie Wonder and the Jackson 5. Decades later, I still am.
[Though, I confess, I make one exception for the elder Michael's efforts. Whenever Chris or the kids ask me to do some extra chore or favor, I almost always agree but they have to pay a heavy price - listening to me sing a few bars of "Got Me Working Day & Night." Usually they turn away by the time I get to the squeals, up kicks, spins & moonwalking... but it's purely strategic on my part: not only do I thoroughly enjoy myself, it's a subtle yet very effective way of keeping requests to the essential minimum.]
In some respects, I had to come to terms with losing Michael Jackson in the early 1980s just when seemingly everyone else began emulating him. It sounds overly dramatic, but especially in these last years - once I had kids and had to explain my a-synchronous admiration and sadness - making those distinctions became even more poignant. Young Michael was the most talented singer I have ever heard, the most mesmerizing and dynamic dancer & performer I have ever seen, as close as I imagine we will come to witnessing a modern-day Mozart - our era's most popular musical prodigy. So, after a lot of practice, that's how I choose to remember Michael today, as well. I hope his someday has come and he can now receive a share of the peace, serenity and happiness that he bequeathed to so many of us.
These days, Mikaela might take after me in some obvious ways, but there was nothing akin to the pride I felt when, as a three year old, she demanded that we play the Jackson 5 Christmas cd incessantly from Thanksgiving through Christmas (and beyond). She'd solemnly strap on her toy drum and reverently march around the house with The Little Drummer Boy, repeatedly hitting the replay button just as it was nearly tapped out. Eventually, our percussion section expanded - as soon as Katrianna could, she toddled around after her big sister with her own miniature smiley face drum (really a tambourine, but somehow Mikaela drummed other notions into Katrianna's head) & was kept completely off beat with some buggin' centipede-styled drumsticks.
Yet, M&K's Jackson 5 playfulness couldn't be contained to merely the adventurous months. Instead of Mama's Gonna Buy You a Mockingbird, their mama sang "Rockin' Robin" to hush her little babies in the middle of the night. And, instead of the traditional alphabet song, it was "ABC" which, with some slight tweaking, schooled our scholars in their letters. Really, try it. Listen for the melody, then here we go now -
Sit yourself down, take a seat, all you gotta do is repeat after me -I said ABC, as simple as do re mi -
DEF -
GH I'm a gonna teach ya how to sing it out,
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, let me show ya what it's all about -
JKL -
MNO oo oo-
PQRST - t - t- Teacher's gonna show you -
Shake it, shake it, baby -
UV double Ew wee -
XYZ, baby, you & me, girl!
And, in 1, 2, 3 simple lessons, that's how easy reading & rhythm can be!
Next, for math & counting by twos, we cheered "2-4-6-8, who do you appreciate? (Please say that mom is me...)" Well, you get the idea -- our particular form of homeschooling would have been impossible without the curriculum guidance and educational expertise of little Michael and his big brothers.
But, is the "little Michael" qualification really necessary? Yes.
In a twist on the I Was Country When Country was Uncool theme, I was a Michael fan when Michael was uncool and right up until the moment when Michael became too cool - around the time that the Jackson 5 left Motown and became The Jacksons & Michael grew up to ascend Pop's solo throne. In my opinion, that's when his off the wall behavior started. And then, soon enough, the Thriller was gone for me (to manila or bust?). All it took was a few rockous guitar licks and one signature crotch grab, a shot seen round the world, and I beat it. He was Bad, I knew it.
But, that was ok. As the preppy tween-teen crowd clamored to expose blindingly white socks beneath their flooding black pants & worship at the King of Pop's penny loafers, I claimed little Michael all for myself. It seemed I was the only one at the time. While my older brother was romancing his dates with Steely Dan or the Carpenters and the other brother was hard rocking with Van Halen and Pink Floyd, I was perpetually stuck on the likes of Stevie Wonder and the Jackson 5. Decades later, I still am.
[Though, I confess, I make one exception for the elder Michael's efforts. Whenever Chris or the kids ask me to do some extra chore or favor, I almost always agree but they have to pay a heavy price - listening to me sing a few bars of "Got Me Working Day & Night." Usually they turn away by the time I get to the squeals, up kicks, spins & moonwalking... but it's purely strategic on my part: not only do I thoroughly enjoy myself, it's a subtle yet very effective way of keeping requests to the essential minimum.]
In some respects, I had to come to terms with losing Michael Jackson in the early 1980s just when seemingly everyone else began emulating him. It sounds overly dramatic, but especially in these last years - once I had kids and had to explain my a-synchronous admiration and sadness - making those distinctions became even more poignant. Young Michael was the most talented singer I have ever heard, the most mesmerizing and dynamic dancer & performer I have ever seen, as close as I imagine we will come to witnessing a modern-day Mozart - our era's most popular musical prodigy. So, after a lot of practice, that's how I choose to remember Michael today, as well. I hope his someday has come and he can now receive a share of the peace, serenity and happiness that he bequeathed to so many of us.
Leave a comment