In third grade I went to Guadalajara, Mexico to visit my family there. Few nations enjoy the King of Pop more than Mexico. So while I was there it was the peak of the Thriller phenomenon. We were walking around in the streets shopping when I saw all these little kids wearing the Thriller jacket and the Beat It zipper jacket. I HAD to have one.

My mom kindly tried to talk me out of it, but I knew I was going to be the coolest kid on the first day of school. So, we get back to the US and day 1 of school rolls around, I’m pumped. I’m gonna throw down on the first day with my badass Thriller jacket.

Needless to say when I walked into the house that day I was not wearing the jacket. My mom asked me about it. “Where is your Michael jacket?” The jacket was firmly pressed into the bottom of my backpack under my history and math book. It was covered in that kid backpack dust/grime/paper shred stuff that always accumulates in the bottom of kids backpacks. I was the laughing stock of the entire playground. I don’t think the jacket made it past morning recess. Plus I couldn’t moon walk.

My mom still has the jacket and is no doubt waiting to pull it out at Thanksgiving or Christmas.

Seriously: I feel a lot of loss for this man. As much of a freak as he was, he was more talented. As deviant as he appeared in the later years, he was a sad and tortured figure. The product of a machine-like childhood that left no room for the development of a normal human. For some who don’t have a lot of money, it seems he was rich enough to cure anything but I don’t think money helps to heal wounds like he had. The freak that he ended up as was the end result of a long and twisted life of public pressure and ridicule, the unending torment by his father Joe Jackson, and living life as a museum piece.

His dance ability was unrivaled (Moon Walk). His natural rhythm was untouchable (Watch him dance and sing together in ABC or Billy Jean). His songwriting skills were also top notch (We Are the World). It is possible to say that there is not another entertainer as impressive as Michael was in his prime. Elvis himself couldn’t write a tune to save his life, whereas Michael wrote much of his own stuff, choreographed it and performed it unlike anyone else. I am sad for him, the life he led, the pain he caused and felt. He will be missed and his loss is big.