Tuesday, July 07, 2009
I went to visit my seventy-five year-old dad on last Tuesday, June 30. He asked, "You know that guy who can really dance, the one you had all over your walls died."
"You remember that!"
"Yea! You had him everywhere."
We sat in silence. I finally said, when I was 11 through 15 probably even older, I was in love with him."
"I remember all the pictures."
"That hurts," I said.
"That's something," he added.
Micheal was a big part of my life as a teen as he was to most people. I remember the concerts and how my cousin came from Mississippi to attend. Dad bought our tickets and matching clothes for the two concerts I remember attending. (When I find my pictures I will post them)
At one I waited in the back of the Kiel Auditorium and screamed for him. That was a sight to see. Finally the limo pulled out and I stuck my hand through the window grabbing his hair. I was 12. Another teen pulled down her tube top and laid on the front window of the car baring it all.
The newspaper I now write columns for regularly played into my obsessions with Micheal when I was 11. The owners' nephew who was about 15, worked for him. His name was Walter. He always went backstage to most concerts for interviews. He and Micheal became friends. When I was about 13 I could not go to the concert. I don't remember why. But I cried like a sick baby. My brother who was good friends with Walter told him. The night of the concert, Walter called me and let me speak to Micheal. My brother asked him to do it.
Walter was on the local news last week. They sought him out to discuss his friendship with Micheal. It brought the memories back to me.