It was early summer and I had flown to Dallas with a student who was a finalist in a contest called The Great Debate. His counselor, his mother and I were there to cheer for him. If he won he would receive a hefty check that he might apply to the cost of college in the near future. He was well prepared but a bit nervous. His opponent was representing an exclusive private high school. The battle seemed to be one between David and Goliath, but my student was determined to give it his best. He had wisely decided to wear a suit and tie to indicate his respect for the process. His opponent had come in jeans and a t-shirt, but his casual confidence took a downward turn when his competition walked in resembling a Harvard trained lawyer. My student cast a spell on the room as he entered with his head held high. Nobody would know that he lived in the shadow of downtown Houston in a tiny home or that he traveled for miles each day to attend a public charter school designed to lift up young people who might otherwise be lost in mega high schools located in rough areas of Houston. 

Soon the two young men were sparring, each holding his own. My student seemed relaxed and confident as he stated his points and factually rebutted the issues that his opponent set forth. Of course I favored the young man that I had accompanied to the event, but I worried that the elite panel of judges might not see him with the same affirmation that I felt for him. It would be anyone’s guess as to how they would ultimately rule. 

As we waited for the results the two debaters warmly congratulated each other. They earned each other’s sincere respect in a battle of young men from two very different worlds. It was a valuable learning experience for both of them. The feeling was that both had already won even though only one would walk away with a check. 

There was a nervous moment of chatter as the judges filed back inside. They delayed the final announcement of the winner by critiquing the performance of each of the young men. It was obvious that choosing a single champion had been incredibly difficult. Finally the words that we had hoped to hear came from the head of the committee. My student had won. His performance had been outstanding in every regard. 

We were celebrating while photographers from newspapers and television stations pointed their lenses at my student. He handled the attention with humility and joy. I was quite proud of him in that moment and looked forward to celebrating with him and the rest of our entourage. Suddenly the joyfulness of the occasion was interrupted by a breathless by stander who asked if we had heard that Michael Jackson had died. 

We were all stunned. Everyone in our group had been a fan of the super star. We knew that he was rehearsing for a world tour which was schedule to launch that summer. He was only fifty years old so it seemed unreal that he had died so young. Somehow MJ’s death overtook the rest of our conversation that day. My student more than anyone became quite philosophical about what it is like to be black in America and noted the irony that even a black man with great wealth suffered from the same kind of health issues that plague the African American community. It was a point he had hammered home in defense of a national healthcare program in the debate that he had just won. 

We flew home less animated than we had earlier been. Somehow Michael Jackson’s death had meaning for each of us beyond just loving his music and his talent. For me it was sadness for a young man who had struggled to find his true identity in a world that all to often attempts to judge with great prejudice. I believed MJ to be a sensitive soul. The songs that he wrote were like entries in a very personal diary. I would listen to his music for days afterward, often shedding tears for the musical genius that we had lost. I also believed that he was finally at peace, something that had continued to elude him in his quest for perfection and pleasing the world. 

For my birthday this year my husband gave me tickets to two events. The first was a Sting concert and the second was to a musical called MJ. Both brought back memories of a time when I was a young and vibrant woman in my thirties who never thought far enough ahead to see myself at the age of seventy five. Sting and Michael Jackson had been musical idols to me. I heard the profundity of their music and lyrics  and celebrated their exceptional talents. It was a great gift to be reminded of the joy that both of them had given me, but it was the story of Michael Jackson that burrowed into my heart.

MJ is a musical featuring many of Michael Jackson’s greatest songs. It begins in a rehearsal room where Jackson is preparing for a world tour. A sidebar involves a filmmaker from MTV who is trying to get a very personal story about the King of Pop. Jackson agrees to allow her to film the rehearsing but only for two days. He tells her that the story can only be about his music and she agrees. The woman interviewing him soon learns how difficult Jackson’s life has been. She sees that he had no childhood under the domineering determination of his father to earn fame for his talented children. Each song and dance seems to be a way for Jackson to explain to the world who he is and why he is the way he is. 

The woman finds Michael to be a gentle soul who drives himself and others to perfection. He has a vision of how music should be choreographed and heard. It all rolls around inside his head to the extent that he is never able to turn off his thoughts, not even when he is exhausted and still unable to sleep. 

MJ is poignant, beautiful and stunning. It builds to a crescendo that brings the audience to its feet in an emotional moment in which everyone shares their love for Michael Jackson and his music. There are tears and joyful shouts. Hands are clapping and waving and people are singing along. Everyone is young again and remembering how they felt when the times appeared to be so innocent. The cast has transformed us and created a show that would no doubt make Michael Jackson quite proud. They capture MJ’s humanity, his love, and his warning to us that change only comes when we look into the mirror and begin with ourselves.