I’m glad I was stranded at O’Hare for seven hours last week when the news broke about Michael Jackson’s death. There weren’t any TVs in the kid’s area, and I wasn’t willing to pay $7/hour for Wifi, so my friends, several who texted me at the same moment with the news, were my only source of news. Since I’m usually a glassy-eyed news junky, I thought I should be sucking up every tiny bit of news on the subject. I was surprised that I was actually glad to not be sucked in.

Since returning home, I’ve followed the story a little bit. Enough to know that it’s a fucking circus. As Keith Olbermann said on Tuesday night, “This carnival’s gonna be in town for a looooooooooong time.” Ain’t that the truth.

Honestly, I don’t care. I’m irked that CNN’s website looks more like People than, you know, a news website. Finally tonight, they posted a new story about the situation in Iran, which as best as I can tell, came to a grinding halt the second Jackson died.

But I’m 36 years old and was weened on American pop culture. I have to care a little.

I realized I cared today, when Clara Jane and I were making a quick coffee stop. We were listening to The Record Sto and heard the first few seconds of “I Want You Back” before I had to turn off the radio and place my order. I saw the look on Clara Jane’s face before the music stopped – pure, utter glee. I’m pretty sure that was the first time she’s heard anything Jackson-related, since I have exactly one Jackson song in my 11,000+ song collection – “ABC” -  which I played for her after we got our drinks.

Oh my word. You know this kid loves music. I’ve posted enough videos of her dancing to damn near every genre to prove that. I have never seen her go as bonkers over a song as she did over that first listening of “ABC”.

I’ve since lost count of how many times she’s listened to it in the past 12 hours. Enough times that she’s choreographed her own moves.

With Clara Jane, there’s no history attached to the song. No allegations of horrific stage-parenting. No experience of watching an extremely talented and charismatic child morph into something that often seemed not quite human. No accusations of terrible acts against innocent children. No chimps or Brooke Shields or Neverland or dangling motherless babies or flaming Pepsi hair burns or hyperbaric chambers. Nothing but a damn fine piece of music.

I was a few months younger than Clara Jane is right now when Elvis died. I don’t think I remember it. My mom’s told me where we were when we heard the news, so I’m not sure if I actually remember it or have just formed a picture in my head based on her description. I do know that I’ve always loved Elvis’ music, and it was a long time before I learned what a troubled person he was.

Clara Jane doesn’t know who Michael Jackson is or anything about him, unless she’s been reading TMZ behind my back.  Which I wouldn’t put past her. I’d like to keep it that way. Let her enjoy the music and dance like a maniac. She’ll find out soon enough.

This is what gets me – with the culture of celebrity, there’s this expectation that the exceptionally talented are just like everyone else. They put their pants on one leg at a time, right? No. Talented people aren’t just like everyone else. If they were, they wouldn’t be talented. Their weirdos, freaks, and spectacles. That’s not necessarily bad.

You know how Bruce Springsteen is so often viewed as being an American “everyman”? Did you know he got kicked out of college for being “too weird”?

How many immensely talented, famous folk have bipolar disorder? A lot.  Panic disorder? A lot. Asperger’s? A lot. Not that any of these conditions are license to entitlement or a ticket to do really horrible things and get away with it. But the fact is, these conditions can make people think differently, which is a good thing. But it doesn’t necessarily make them fit in. Or pleasant to be around.

I can’t even get started on what effects childhood abuse in any form. Kids retreat into their own worlds to escape and some amazing things can come from it. So can some really damaged people who don’t always have anyone looking out for their best interests.

I guess what I’m getting at is, I hope we can move past the Jackson carnival. If he did horrible things, well, perhaps retribution’s being divvied. I don’t even pretend to know. I just know that I’m rediscovering some amazing music that I never appreciated during its time.

I’m pretty sure I’m the only person born in 1972 who has never owned a copy of “Thriller”. And no, I’m not rushing out to buy one. Mainly because over the weekend I learned that my husband, who was well into his metal head years in 1983, still has his vinyl copy of it at his parents’ house.

Regardless, I liked Michael. Had some posters during the “Thriller” era but was over it by the time the next album was released. I think I’ve always resented him a little because he interrupted the musical path I was on. I got my first radio for Christmas in 1982, MTV shortly after, just in time for the “Thriller” bombardment. Before that, I was getting my music info from … I have no idea where. All I know is the first 45 I bought was Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” and my first LP was Blondie’s “Parallel Lines”. One of the first songs I latched onto when I got that radio? “Rock the Casbah”. Definitely more in tune with the path my tastes eventually took. “Thriller” derailed me.

Still, it was fun. I loved messing with my best friend, who was terrified of the long-form “Thriller” video. Michael’s ever-presence was worth it for that.

At any rate, that’s where I am. Sorting through what music was amazing and what wasn’t. Reliving memories of my childhood in which his music was the soundtrack. Trying to not be heartbroken when I hear that sweet voice on those Jackson Five songs, knowing what life would hold for that sweet, talented, innocent child.