Letter to my first love

Saturday, July 11, 2009

A letter to my first loveJuly 6th, 2009 by Shameika René in Mingling in the Queen City

Dear First Love,

I Remember the Time when I first fell in love.

I was a PYT when I first heard your voice loud and clear through my parents’ stereo — every note, lyric, and even the beat made me want to Rock With You.

You explained to me how love could be as easy as ABC, but unfortunately, that lesson has yet to be learned, but that’s another story.

As I sat glued to the television watching you debut the moonwalk across the stage. I discovered that just maybe I could one day be a Dancing Machine, but later realized that just isn’t my thing and for that matter neither is singing.

I respected your hustle, because your diligence, creativity, persistence, and phenomenal talent broke down barriers and paved the way for the future. I thank you for that, because who knows where the state of music and music videos would be today.

But boo, you scared the living piss out of me with Thriller. I couldn’t even handle being in the dark for weeks without thinking that a mummy was going to bust out of the floor and snatch me up, but that didn’t stop me from begging for a red leather jacket with a pair of black loafers and trying to get my Smooth Criminal lean on.

I love that there is no other performer that could bring an entire crowd to tears with just their mere stage presence. That ability alone should be the definition of TRUE SWAGGA.

No matter how big of an international sensation you became, you took the time to try to Heal the World.

When others tried to imitate you, I wanted them to just keep it In the Closet because it just wasn’t the same.

While some wondered about your eccentric ways, I knew better. Game recognizes game. You knew just how to strike a chord with your finely tuned public relations team — but when it got out of hand and the tabloids kept hitting you below the belt, you didn’t let that deter you — instead you retaliated and told them in only a way that you can, Leave Me Alone.

Al Sharpton hit it right on the nose — you were never what they referred to as a freak, you just learned how to deal with a freakish situation. No one could possibly understand being in the public eye for more than 40 years.

Oooh, there’s just something about The Way You Make Me Feel every time I hear one of your songs. I admit, at times this thought ran through my mind, I Wanna be Where You Are and of course I imagined that I was gonna be your Girlfriend chillin up at Neverland Ranch (I’m blatantly ignoring those two boo pieces you married for good reasons).

For a couple of years you were Out of My Life. I began my affair with hip hop, and R&B. None of them could hold a candle to you.

When you reappeared, you had a whole new persona. You were Bad. That let the world know you ain’t putting up with ish and mofos could just Beat It. Especially when they see you lighting up the sidewalk like Billie Jean.

As the years went by, I barely recognized you, but, it never really mattered to me if you were Black or White because you were still Dangerous. Besides, with your distinctive style of dance, I always knew it was you.

With every song, every video I knew that you were always gonna Wanna be Starting Something and the imitators would emerge, I think that’s when I realized that I Just Can’t Stop Loving You.
Once again, you dropped out of sight, but were never far from my mind — especially if I hit the club and my Jam came on — or if I had a bad day at work and needed to put my 9 to 5 up on the shelf and live Off the Wall.

You resurfaced once again — still with the ability to give me Butterflies. Who knew you could still Rock My World?

I wanted to Scream in horror as accusations flew and knew that it was only a matter of time before you checked into the penthouse suite at Heartbreak Hotel, but your true fans and supporters let you know that You Are Not Alone.

I couldn’t help but wonder if these same accusers had taken the time to eyeball their own Man in the Mirror; but we won’t go down that road in this letter. I guess its just a part of Human Nature that makes you question why?

Finally in all your “swaggnificant” glory at 50 years old you uttered the words I longed to hear. You announced your comeback tour, I knew that at that moment my king was back and I could once again Smile. Music was about to return to the the way it should be, the way I remembered.

But before you could hit the stage, the unthinkable happened.

Your final curtain call came sooner than expected.

June 25th at 2:26pm (pacific time), my heart shattered into pieces as I watched the news all I could do was blink, because just like that you were Gone too Soon.

Another Part of Me now gone from my Childhood.

Too bad that we couldn’t say Heaven Can Wait but I guess you were needed to entertain the angels.

I don’t know what happened in your final moments, and I guess it really doesn’t matter but one thing is for sure.

I Never Can Say Goodbye to my first love especially to a man that crooned to me I’ll be There.

You will be in my heart Forever Michael.

RIP Michael J. Jackson, King of Pop.

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