Some days you gotta dance

I wrote the following column in the July 3 edition of The Rep for many reasons. I am appreciative of the late Michael Jackson's talent and I found myself reminiscing about my childhood after his death. 

So much can trigger a memory. Whether it is hearing a song on the radio that was played during your first high school dance or the smell of a stranger that reminds you of your favourite aunt — sometimes it is the little things that can out a smile on your face. 

For me it was, and will always be, the music.

Don’t blame it on sunshine 

Don’t blame it on moonlight 

Don’t blame it on good times 

Blame it on the boogie -Jackson 5

I learned to dance because of Michael Jackson. 

When I was about eight years old, my friends Lyndsay, Crystal and I would gather in Crystal’s basement and her mom would turn on the 8-track and we would dance. Destiny by the Jackson 5, Off the Wall by Michael Jackson and various Bee Gees tunes would roar through the house, and we would move to the beat. I loved to dance. It was a great outlet for a fidgety kid, who loved to lip sync and learn a step or two.

The death of Michael Jackson caught most of us by surprise. We had been hearing in the news popular 70s pin-up Farrah Fawcett was battling cancer and news of her death was not a shock. But when I read online the first reports of MJ’s death I was saddened. The MJ I knew represented a large part of my youth. 

Let me take you back…

For Christmas of 1982, I got the only thing I wanted. There is no other gift from my youth that I can remember so vividly. I remember like it was yesterday: the day I got Michael Jackson’s Thriller album. 

I was seven years old, and after saying goodbye to the 8-track player in my room, I had a record player. Trust me, this was a big deal — with a record player, I was moving into the big leagues! 
At that point, my album collection consisted of The Muppets Volume 1 and 2 (which I still have), Mickey Mouse Disco (still have) and Anne Murray’s classic, There’s a Hippo in my Bathtub (guilty as charged – still have it). 

Then I got Thriller. Carefully pulling the record out of the sleeve, I set it down on the turntable.
I played it over and over (and over) that Christmas morning, until my parents told me we should be listening to something more… festive. So, I turned the radio on for them, and kept listening to MJ with my headphones on. And I danced.

When the day was over, the guests went home and I brought my record upstairs. I carefully put that shiny new 12-inch on my stereo, laid in bed and sang myself to sleep. By the next morning I knew all the words and was pretty pleased with myself. As my friends had gotten the album too, no matter whose house we were playing at, we could dance to MJ all day long.

As the years went by, the record player was replaced by a tape player and new songs came bellowing out of my room. It never failed though. If a Michael Jackson song was playing on the radio, the volume would be turned up and the words I had not heard in years came out of my mouth as if I had just learned them the day before. And I danced.

In my late teens and early 20’s, I went to clubs in Toronto every weekend. And it never failed — if people started vacating the dance floor, all the DJ had to do was throw on Wanna be Startin’ Something by Michael Jackson and the dance floor would fill in.

I have an iPod now, and yes, it has Michael Jackson and the Jackson 5 on it. My iPod had his songs on it before his death, as I had bought his HIStory album — I know they are now CDs, but I still call them albums — when it came out in 1995 and when I got my iPod, MJ was one of the first artists I put onto it. Why not? It makes me dance.

The music of Michael Jackson played a big part in my youth. I learned a few moves, fell in love with music videos, and found a common bond with friends. I never did make it to see him perform live (although as an homage to the 8-track, Anne Murray was my first concert), but in the end, I did have a lot of fun getting down to the beat.

While Anne Murray’s Snowbird was my first 8-track, Thriller was my first album. Not one of my brothers’, not one of my parents’, but mine. All mine. 

I have moved nine times in 34 years, and in a tote that conatins Michelle’s Memories, buried beside my Brownie outfit (and my Muppets, Hippo and Disney Disco album) is my Thriller album.

I may be a little older, and most nights need to be in bed by 11 p.m., but I can still get down with the rest of them. 

Blame it on the boogie.