CheapThrills

With Michael Jackson's death, so too ends my childhood

My mom made me take dance lessons from the ages of 2 to 15. I started actually enjoying them in 1991, the year Michael Jackson's Dangerous album came out. I was 8, taking Jazz and Tap classes at the Wissahickon Dance Academy in Philadelphia.

I knew lots of people in the classes at Wissahickon. My mom took adult Jazz lessons with the other “old ladies,” as she put it. My best friend took intermediate Jazz with me (even though she had two left feet). And so did my ultimate frenemy from school, S.

S and I had a very peculiar breed of friendship – one based on competition and jealously. I’d buy MC Hammer pants, and she’d have to get a more expensive pair. If she wore a brand new Cross Colors outfit to school, I had to outdo her with an even hipper ensemble. And when it came to boys, there was only one guy for us. His name was Ian and he was the cutest boy in 2nd grade – and maybe even all of Greene Street Friends School. So and I raced during recess – to the gate and back – and whichever girl won “got to be his girlfriend.” I had long, gawky limbs, which came in handy: I dusted her.

When it came time for the Wissahickon Dance Academy recital, our amazing Jazz teacher Leon had a vision: Good vs. Evil. The entire Jazz company danced in vignettes to two songs: The Pressure by Sounds of Blackness and Will You Be There by Michael Jackson. In our dance to first song, “Evil” kills “Good” and the world is a mess. Leon, perceptive as he was, cast S and I as leaders of two warring gangs (think Beat It, except swap the actual gang members for 8-year old Quaker School girls). In the second song, “Good” resurrects herself and shows “Evil” that he too has love inside of him (in the form of a skin tight white unitard).

I keep coming back to the final portion of the dance.

Evil is now wearing that white unitard, and he’s realizing his power for good. He’s doing these incredible leaps and spins across the stage, as the rest of the company configures behind him in a diamond shape. We’re actually all wearing white unitards, marching and doing simple hand movements in unison.

When I watch the VHS tape of the performance, I can always pick out my mom because her arms are 10X longer than everyone else’s. And I can always see my best friend, because she’s a few beats behind everyone else. And S, my frenemy, she’s easy to spot, because she's dancing right next to me.

And then there’s the presence of my childhood. That’s easy to find too. It’s spoken by Michael Jackson:

In Our Darkest Hour
In My Deepest Despair
Will You Still Care?
Will You Be There?

In My Trials
And My Tribulations
Through Our Doubts
And Frustrations
In My Violence
In My Turbulence
Through My Fear
And My Confessions
In My Anguish And My Pain
Through My Joy And My Sorrow
In The Promise Of Another Tomorrow

I'll Never Let You Part
For You're Always
In My Heart.

With MJ’s last words, the song ends. We configure in our final pose, and bow our heads.

I'm now 26. I have a “real” job, a couple bank accounts, a heart that knows how to ache, stress-related muscle spasms in my shoulders, and beer in my fridge. My mom is older. My best friend is married. My frenemy's father recently died. And now, so too has Michael Jackson.

We configure in our final pose, and bow our heads. Childhood is over. But never forgotten.

Vote CheapThrills for the Black Weblog Awards!

Hey! So this is fun. I've been nominated for the Black Weblog Awards in 4 categories:

1. Best Culture Blog (ref: Boston posts)
2. Best Personal Blog
3. Best Political/News blog (ref: Obama election commentary)
4. Best Sex and Relationships Blog (well, no sex, but interracial relationships galore)

To vote for me, just click on graphic below (or the first link in this post). I really appreciate your support (you all make this whole thing worthwhile, after all) :)

CONTEST! Tell me a memory, win a fab skin care product

Update: Contest Closed! Stay tuned: I'll announce the winner on Tuesday, June 30th

I think when people look in the mirror, they’re searching for memories. They want to see in their reflection something that makes them feel radiant – whether it’s a memory that makes them smile, smirk, giggle, maybe even blush.

So when the folks at Perricone asked me to host a contest for a bottle of one of their best-selling anti-aging skin care products, Advanced Face Firming Activator, I knew immediately how I’d judge it. Especially after reading this bit from the product description: it will “…reveal a radiant and healthy complexion”.

Here’s the deal:

1. In a comment on this post or in an email to me, tell me a memory that makes your heart race, your face glow, and your eyes light up.
2. I’ll read them all and select a winner (and commenters, feel free to weigh in on your favs as well).
3. Winner will receive a bottle of Perricone’s Advanced Face Firming Activator – worth 120 bucks!

*The contest will end Friday, June 26. And the winner must live in the U.S (for shipping purposes).

Product Details:
Advanced Face Firming Activator
Corrects imperfections for smooth, youthful, radiant skin
With Alpha Lipoic Acid and DMAE
59mL / 2 fl oz

And a user review (because that’s all we trust on the interwebs, right?):
“I use this product every day and I think its amazing for all ages. Ive noticed a difference in [the] brightness of my eyes.”

For the sake of transparency, I haven’t yet tried the product. So if you win, send me a review and I’ll post it to this blog as well.

Can’t wait to read your memories!

(This is my memory. When I was a little girl, I was obsessed with The Wizard Of Oz. So when I was 5 or 6, my mom dressed me up as Dorothy - though Dorothy didn't have a wand... or crown... but whatevs - and we went to a Wizard Of Oz parade in Springfield, Mass.
- sidenote: who knew Wizard Of Oz parades even existed? Such a specific cause for celebration, right? -

Anyway, that day I just knew that I met the REAL Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, and the positively dreamy Tin Man... I was in love with the Tin Man and his little funnel cap. Well, they seemed like the real deal to me at the time. So I glowed for weeks and weeks after that. My mom always did have a knack for making my dreams come true.)

Black man/White woman interracial relationships: Breaking down my judgment

Over the past couple months, I’ve been surrounding myself with people who all have something in common: they’re the least judgmental people I’ve ever known. They're: 1) unconditionally understanding and compassionate of any given situation – no matter how crazy, weird, or counter-culture it may be, and 2) TOTALLY open about their own lives, in all their outrageous and extreme glory.

How refreshing. To escape the “right” and “wrong”, “good” and “bad”, “black” and “white”.

Which brings me to my point.

During a conversation with one such non-shockable friend, the topic of interracial relationships arose. As I began discussing my own perceptions and thoughts on the subject, something became appallingly clear:

I am judgmental.

Here’s the bare-bones, no-holds-barred confession: I am shamefully judgmental of Black man/White woman interracial relationships. When I see such a couple, I immediately jump to the conclusion that the Black man is trying to prove something and the White woman is trying to piss off her family. I lump the couple into a category, with no desire to dig deeper or even accept their union.

So during this conversation, my friend commented, simply: “Why do you care what choices these other people are making?”

The remark struck me. Yes, why DO I care?  I've thought hard about this. I’m sure when my Black man/White woman aversion took shape, it sprung from jealousy. When I was a little girl, I never knew my true worth (what kid does?). I was so jealous all the time. Of White females, because, in my eyes, they’d always have something special in their pale skin that I could never have, no matter how straight I blow-dried my hair or how blond I dyed it. And of guys (all guys, but mostly Black guys), because they were always the most popular and the funniest… and most of them liked girls who weren’t boyish and gawky and frizzy-haired like me.

As time passed, I (seemingly) got over my childhood jealousies. But also, the “Black man/White woman relationship aversion” became almost second nature. An instinctual eye-roll. And coming from the Black girl who digs White guys… what a perfect storm of cutting irony.

So now I take a step back. I see many of my White girlfriends entering into wonderful, loving relationships with Black men. I see happiness and strength. And when I see a couple that I would generally stereotype cuddling on the subway or holding hands through Downtown Crossing, I really have to check myself. Why spend time passing judgment on things I don’t even try to understand? Why do I continuing to do this, with the roiling emotions of a 3rd-grader?

I've got it. The reality is that I’m NOT over my jealousies. And the problem exists in my own head, not the interracial union. Which is a tad upsetting, but also… again, refreshing.

Because I can’t understand all the complexities of others. But I can accept them. And, even better, I can bask in my God-given joy of delving deep and understanding my own complexities.

There's no place for judgment in self-discovery. So I'm kicking all those judgmental thoughts to the curb.