Hip-Hop Island

When he came raging through the back door yelling for money and rushing her into a wall, I stood at the end of a spiral staircase watching, telling myself not be to scared. And when he sat there sprawled on the floor, drunkenly asking for forgiveness, and being handcuffed to spend the night in the tank, the police officer told me, "Sometimes people make mistakes and they get punished, but people can change." It was the Spring of 1988, my father, now solemn and ashamed, took me for a ride in his cab, which doubled as our spare car, and Michael Jackson's "Man In The Mirror" was the new single of the second from the legend himself. I may have only been 4, but it was the first time I remember understanding the lyrics and looking up at my dad and praying to God he was a changed man. If Mike could change the world, my dad could change mine.

MJ's music has been the seam that's connected my childhood memories. Michael was the voice of anger, chaos and happiness that defined a time when not only was I trying to find myself, but our country as whole was also refining the images of minorities through television. While my parents couldn't fix their marriage, they were determined to not let their children suffer in an environment that cultivated bad ideas. So, that meant moving us out of the ghetto and to the farmlands of Massachusetts. As we somewhat stepped away from our tumultuous life, it was the Michael Jackson inspired rebel in me that wanted to piss off everyone in my new white world. So, I started with the girl next door, who before she met me was still listening to her parents dusty country records. When I introduced her to "Dirty Diana" and "The Way You Make Me Feel," I could see the love burning in her eyes. This country bumpkin went rogue and she was never the same after that.

Finally, when things were too calm for us as a family, we moved back two years later to the urban life we once knew. I remember being 6 and having such a bad-ass rep that I could take on anyone. I was ready to show my new city peers that I could hack it and I was one of them. And to my surprise, my father had managed to find another typical white community. These kids were so white they had never seen color outside of their crayola box. Boston, being one of the the most racist cities of its kind, has never been a place for minorities to thrive. Just when life couldn't suck any more, one great Thursday rolled around when FOX would be premiering the music video for "Black And White." I begged, and begged, and BEGGED to stay up past my 8:30 p.m. bedtime to watch the premiere, and to watch the King of MY LIFE dance with all kinds of races of people (with a soft spot for the Indian girl he coordinates moves with in the middle of the street), smash in car windows and his signature crotch grab was like standing up against racism right there beside MJ.

I was too young to appreciate Michael's Jackson 5 roots and too non-exsistent to know he had a career before my life began, but for every time he was the playback to one of my life experiences, those moments are with me forever. I was 7 when I begged my cousin to take me to the Neverland Ranch, but instead, he took me to Disneyland. At age 8, I (embrassingly) admit to daydreaming that I would one day be Michael's girl. In the 4th grade, our chorus teacher was conducting a group of 9-year-olds to sing "Heal The World" in synchronicity. At 14, we memorized all the dance steps to "Thriller" and took over our local mall for a performance. And even when it wasn't cool anymore, I still bought the sibling collaboration of "Scream" because I was obsessed with the song. It's memories like these that remind me of the iconic power Michael Jackson obtained and for each of us his passing has a unique affect on our lives.