Prologue: The Family & How It All Started
Our story begins in the business hustle-bustle of Gary, Indiana. Joe Jackson returns home after a long day of work in 1963 to his family of five children, and wife, Katherine Jackson. Now, you might think, “Wow, if they have five children, how do they live comfortably?” Well, that’s just it. They don’t. Sir Joe Jackson, as “smart” as he may be, only makes four dollars an hour. If he had just finished high school… He and his family would probably be living in a mansion.
Sad, right? I mean, if Joey had only finished the last two weeks. . . His children were young, the oldest being 14. Jermaine was the oldest, and then came Jackie, shortly followed by Tito and Marlon. The youngest, at the age of five, was little Michael. The eldest three brothers formed the music group, “The Jackson Brothers”. They had just started the group a month ago, and though they weren’t too horrible, they needed a lot of work. Joe insisted they be perfect. For example, one day, Jermaine was slacking off, and Joe decided it was appropriate to beat this poor child with a belt. “So when I tell you the key of the song is G Minor, what key are you going to sing in?” he would sternly ask his son. He would timidly reply, “G Minor…” And that was the typical day of the Jacksons. Joe would come home; the kids would try to be perfect, fail, get beaten, complete their homework, eat dinner, and go to bed.
After a few months of tireless rehearsing and beatings, the group, and Joe, realized that something was missing. They just hadn’t realized what. There were lots of times where Tito would try to sneak into their father’s closet, and practice on his prized possession, the “God-almighty-I-still-have-no-idea-how-we-could’ve-afforded-that” bass. Michael watched in amazement as Tito’s progressions got more and more serious, until it occurred to him that his older brother had a serious talent. Now Michael, as small as he was at the time, was very smart. Very coordinated for his age. When the washer and dryer were hugga-chuggain’, his feet were always tappa-tappin’. Before you could sense it, Michael was singing and dancing to his favorite songs by artists such as Diana Ross, and Whitney Houston, all to the simple beat of the May Tag washer and dryer in the laundry room.
And that’s when it hit Katherine. “Joe! Joe, gee-whiz! It’s Michael! Michael is the missing piece of the boys’ group!” Joe wasn’t at all convinced. “Katherine, really. Don’t get the boy’s hopes all up in the sky when you know it won’t proceed to his expectations.” “Joe, you really need to see your boy over there swing and belt out a tune or two. You’d certainly be surprised at how mesmerizing that boy is.”
That’s how the prologue of my life would be as a book in second person POV. Of course it would be an extremely long prologue, probably taking up a few pages. Anyway, hi. My name is Michael Jackson. Maybe you’ve never heard of me…but I don’t care. This is how my story really begins.
Chapter 1: The Beat[ings]
Eventually, Dad did let me and Tito in on the “magic” of the Jackson Brothers. It wasn’t very spectacular at all. I remember lots of yelling and beating. And the belt. Boy that belt had us all on our toes. It was probably one of the most frightening moments of my life, the first time he used that belt on me. I screamed and my mom, like the dear heart she is, reprimanded him. “Joe, come now, he’s just a child, they all are!” I quickly ran to my mother and collapsed in tears at her feet. She quickly took me up in her arms and cooked me split pea soup. It has since been my favorite type of soup, right up to this day.
My dad, he wanted everything to be perfect. Now, I don’t blame him for that, but what I do blame him for is the dirty-rotten way he treated us. He stripped us of our childhoods. He didn’t realize, that being a child celebrity can make or break your life. For me…well it did a bit of both. On one hand, I had major popularity, prestige, celebrity friends and acquaintances, respect. On the other hand, there are still five fingers. There are many things I have to be independent about. Celebrity friends are great, but how can I tell if they really want to be my friend? What if they just want to be my friend to be “fresh”? And there are things about being a celebrity that I can’t escape. Crazy rumors. Can you believe, people are telling me that I bought Elephant Man’s bones? What would I do with that? Medical Research, sure, but that’s definitely not my field of expertise. And I didn’t have a childhood. After the age of five, I could never ever go play at the park, simply, be a kid. It was always rehearsals, tour, rehearsals, events, and that completely filled my time outside of school.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever forgive my father. I mean, would you forgive yours for doing something like that? Sure, fame is the glamorous, amazing life that everyone just wants to get their hands on, but really, is it worth it? Is it worth all the pain, physically and mentally in my case, loneliness as well as crowding, the scrutiny, the rumors…? Are a few number one hits worth a lifetime of stress? I don’t blame you if you don’t think it is. ‘Cause I sure as @#!*% don’t. But when you’re in the moment, singing and dancing, it feels like, if just for a moment, that it’s worth all the pain in the world, just to be in the spotlight, to hear the crowd screaming your name, the adrenaline rush you get from the beat, when you’re moving and grooving, it’s like you’re nowhere. You’re in the sky; you’re in the clouds, you’re hyper and relaxed at the same time. Sorry for that run-on there. But that’s just how contradicting that @#!*% feeling is. I mean, @#!*% ! It’s the best feeling in the world. It’s like that feeling of relief a crack head gets after going a week without the ‘cain, and they finally get their chance to snort. Know what I’m saying? I’m saying it’s like a drug. And to me…it literally was.