I apologize world.
I am sorry I am not currently pregnant, nor do I currently have a child to raise, nor do I intend to become pregnant in the near future.
I am sorry I do not currently own a home, nor do I intend to own a home in the near future.
Instead, I'd like to make a plea, that I stop being penalized for being uninterested in those things.
I cannot begin to count the number of times where I've been made to feel like my life– or the life of anyone not facing those "big life" issues, is less important than the concerns and needs and wants of someone in the throngs of some outdated American Dream.
I do not condemn people who are. I might be jealous at times of people who have their own closets, and I really do love my goddaughter, BK. Babies are cool and I'd love to own a home some day– a Victorian one at that would be awesome. Yet lately, I've reached a place where the number of times I've been told by people that they cannot do something, will not do something because of a child, a growing baby, a homeowners issue or the like, has exceeded rational compromise.
I get it. I get that those are important things. We childrenless renters– or those living with their parents, out of necessity– do have the ability to understand, but it would be incredibly nice, if for once, we stopped playing my least favorite game of "My needs are more important than yours."
I do, whether it is believable or not, have the ability to be sensitive to issues that might arise with these "big life" issues. It is not my intent to be insensitive. All I'm asking for, is to be cut a break because its come to my attention, that the list of so called "burdens" I have to carry has recently come to include whatever the hell category you want to call this.
Call it whatever you will, but it includes too many people for us to each make a public apology, so I'll do it for them.
Sorry on behalf of grad students. Sorry on behalf of those struggling to establish a professional career before taking on these endeavors. Sorry for gay and lesbian couples who've yet to become parents. Sorry for those who can't afford to own homes. Sorry for the 20 somethings, 30 somethings and maybe even some 40 somethings just trying to get their shit together.
We, apologize.
Name the last time someone asked you a question that started with, "Where were you when..."
Was the event that followed one worth truly remembering?
Did it have some serious social, worldly political existence?
Was the exact situation and circumstances of where you were located story worthy– a story you'll tell your grandkids worthy?
I can list a couple of significant ones:
• "... when Obama was sworn in?"– in the office, sitting in a chair folding tape squares while my boss sat on a round red rug laminating neon colored card stock quotes and had his husband on speaker phone while we watched.
• "... when Obama got elected?" – just barely getting home from class; a graduate seminar on cognition and culture
where the girl next to me kept getting updates of which states had chosen him as polls closed on the east coast shocked that it was 8pm and Wolf Blitzer was calling it, did it really happen that fast?
• "... when the planes crashed into the Twin Towers?" – leaving Kie's freshman writing course 'Narratives from the Underground' with Adam and Ghislaine as a classmates 'crazy' roommate screamed 'A PLANE JUST HIT THE PENTAGON'... not believing her until we walked into the college center and we heard it on the radio.
Sometime before 2000, as a 'tortured teen' I saw some news segment about a journal found with an entry written about "seeing the turn of the century." The thought of recording such a thing was so awesome to my teenage brain, that I vowed to do the same, and generally, I do remember where I was when...
I've been pressed by folks in my life to give my take on a certain recent event, but I've been at a mental standstill. Struggling to think of something worthy to say. So I thought I'd start with my now largely thought about question.
"Where were you when..."
Where were you when you heard the news that the King of Pop had died?
Where was I? I was at work. A week long set of workshops we run each year, our sister organization holding their own institute in the same building. No internet. I'd casually done work that required it from my cell phone – a purchase that had until then ridden me with consumer guilt. Taking a break I'd logged into my favorite social networking site and seen a post from a friend in NY remarking something about MJ's health... something about a collapse, I paid it no mind.
Two seconds later a friend of our office, a teacher who had taken part in our workshops last year, but was currently working with our sister org, came running into my room. This man is dope– a big ol' heart, sense of humor and someone I can bond about on all matters concerning Filipino-ness, San Francisco, and how white people dance with their arms.
"MAGTONIC DO YOU HAVE INTERNET? MICHAEL JACKSON DIED." He screams– or yells, or announces, I can't really remember. At a fairly moderate pace, this news not really being something calling me to action, not even calling me to RE-action, I looked it up on my phone. CNN had confirmed it, according to friend's profile.
I felt rather in affected. I still do. Hate on me all you want but while his passing is a great loss, I really don't have much to say about it. I can't publicly mourn, I've spent too much time these past years mourning something. Why bother with this?
Yes the music world has lost a genius. Yes he can finally rest in peace, no longer suffering the psychological trauma(s) that man endured. But what can I really say about it all? Why not leave it to people who have better things to say, like my boy Adam, who guest blogged for Ta-Nehisi Coates about MJ's self image. Or my mentor Kiese, who wrote about how much his mama loved her some MJ and his place in this world.
They say it better than I ever could. They say more than I really feel like saying. I could analyze the shit out of him: race, childhood, loss, friendship, music... but what really bares repeating? It's all been said.
I mean, I may be asking for some serious haterade with this, but in regards to his passing, I've been waiting for this news since his last surgery.
And call it a catch-22, but while I cannot deny that MJ is a part of my life nearly every day (song somewhere, dance somewhere, fashion influence prevalent like no other person to grace the planet) he's also been a celebrity, a musician that I've felt relatively distant from for a long minute. His recent [mis]adventures, undoubtedly making him seem like a shadow of his former self, the one I'd grown to love. Shit, it isn't news that as much as I love me some pop culture, some American culture, I'm not into celebrity. Can't name a celebrity crush, can't mourn a celebrity death.
So of MJ, all I can say is that what he'd accomplished up until this point, is pretty remarkable, and plenty for me. You gave the world more than we could ask for. So Mike, you don't owe me nothing. Go rest your head, because I couldn't ask you for any more, that would be unfair.
But MJ... who my cousin toasted on the 4th of July, my cousin who I can credit with being the person to introduce me to most of the music i love, said HERE'S TO MJ, all I could do was raise a glass and shake my head.
Here's to the man. The legend. Let him truly rest. Let legions of fans rest, in knowing that he doesn't have to play the game anymore. Because the only thought I have after all this, is that the game Michael Jackson had to play every damned day, is a game I would never-ever-ever-ever-ever, want to play.
