I’m certainly not the only one who danced with her siblings on the coffee table day after day, inspired by the Jackson Five, practicing my singing and my dance moves wearing just my stocking feet. I’m not, right? My brother dropped out of our band after the first rehearsal, my eldest sister was soon to follow. Maria and I remained side by side; I got more ambitious with my dance moves now that there was extra room on the coffee table. I slipped off several times, but I got back up. It was so important to practice. I knew deep down inside that this was going to be my ticket out of the hell of my home. It never occurred to us to practice on the floor. We had to be up as high as possible and get in every second of rehearsal we could before my Dad came home. He couldn’t know of our plan, but one day he would see me on TV and be so sorry.
Thriller was the first album I ever owned but it was a painfully long wait. I had a cassette of “Off The Wall” that my cousin made from her copy. I could tell the whole tale of how bad I wanted that record, but I knew that my Mom couldn’t afford it, so I said nothing. I could go into detail about how all of my classmates had it, and I hated them for it, but I consoled myself, knowing that one day they would say they knew me when. The details don’t matter much.
The part that I remember was after the months of longing to own that album, or even just a tape of someone else’s copy, my birthday rolled around. My Dad never bought us gifts, but my Mom would always figure out a way to come up with a little something for us on our birthdays and Christmas. When she handed me that square wrapped in tin foil after dinner I reached out for it, hands shaking, certain that it couldn’t be Thriller. It was a brand new copy, still sealed in plastic.
That’s what I thought about today as I worked in my garden, thinking of Michael Jackson’s death. I have been ignoring the media coverage for the most part, although it’s almost impossible. I just wanted to quietly reflect on the role his music had in my life, and on the hours of joy his songs gave me in what was for the most part a pretty rotten childhood.
Now that I am in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy I am being taught about thinking errors, among other things. One of the examples the therapist used for a thinking error was the thought that life owes you something. I’ve been thinking that for 30 odd years. I still think my plan would have worked. After I saw The Partridge Family I begged my Mom to buy a bus and drive us around so we could make it big.
I have been feeling really shitty this past week, and also incredibly irritable, so I’ve been trying not to talk or write much for fear of lashing out. Anger. I feel so much anger and I have always buried it, equating it with violence and fear. I am frustrated, stressed and afraid. A lifetime to get to this very point and my insurance is telling me my time at the hospital treatment is almost up. Having lived for many years without medical insurance I know full well to be grateful for the opportunity I’ve had. I just haven’t a clue what the next step should be.
' June 27th, 2009 at 02:41am 2 comments
Perhaps the anger means you’ve made progress!
I don’t recall ever feeling like I was missing out on anything in my childhood, and it saddens me no end when I hear stories like yours. Yay on Mom for finding a way to get you Thriller. Yes, say what you want about MJ and his demons, but he was truly a gift to the world. What incredible talent! I still enjoy watching his videos – the dancing still makes me want to get up and try it, even though I’m an old fart.
I am so sorry that you are having to worry about insurance concerns. Don’t let that unfocus you from getting the most out of the time you have. You are making progress, and every step helps!