This is an admission to my brief obsession with the King of Pop, R.I.P. But, I counter that with: Wasn’t every eight-year-old girl in 1984 obsessed with Michael Jackson?
I was taking tap and ballet lessons. I loved dancing. I imagined I would one day lead any famous ballet troupe as the prima ballerina. My first special outfit was a pink tutu. I especially loved dancing to Michael Jackson’s Thriller. Not just the song—the entire album.
One song after another I would jump and twirl and shake it (as any 8-year-old would do) until I induced sweat. I pretended I was in Flashdance. Only the song was not Man Eater, it was P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing). Actually, P.Y.T. wasn’t nearly as fun to dance to as Beat It and Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’. But we could spend all day debating the merits of Thriller songs.
I thank MJ for all those afternoons (and mornings) his music inspired me to keep on movin’. While I am a far cry from the prima ballerina I imagined myself to become so many years ago, I know that those youthful dreams would not have been nearly so tantalizing if not for a little dose of Thriller.