Reminising - Michael, Michael, LaVerne, and more...

This Saturday, today is a day of reflection for me. I have found a small reprieve from the worries, let us all thank GOD for that and more each day...

Today is a day of reflection on past persons who made my life more plentiful and abundantly happy. For me, that would or must include the trio, LaVerne Twiggs, born first on August 27, 1958, next Michael J. Jackson, born second on August 29, 1958 and finally Michael A. Jones born Third on September 15, 1958 and most naturally, I was born in the mist of this wonderful lot on September 2, 1958....

My thoughts today are proceeded by the fact that I had a dream about LaVerne last night and she was as lovely as ever. With her fair skin, beautiful brown hair that grew always just past her shoulders and her bouncy way of living life, I remember how good friends we were. In spite of the obstacles that inevitable got into our way. The obstacles that caused our split in the middle of a road we had traveled together through our early years as little girls. Her need for drugs and my need for fear of them. I remember though, her bold view of life and the wonder of life and how she took on everything as if it was rightfully hers to take and I admired her for that so much.

But with all of her stark boldness of nature and her deliberate way of living, she never attained whatever it was she was searching for, at least I don't think she did. While her soul searched for the elements of the world, the unseen items that caused all of the actions in Springfield to happen, while all of this was moving and floating and going on and on around her, her insides were decaying, dissolving and melting away. And she left it all without even knowing why and for this I have cried and prayed and still, sometimes she comes and sees me and I her and she smiles and I know all is well...

Then of course there is the incomparable Michael Joe Jackson the world knew. Oh how I loved him too. It has always been hard to explain what Michael meant to me as an individual. I was always so proud to say, "I was born just five days after him you know", as if anyone really cared! So proud of this am I. Because for me, it means certain truths. Like,

We both were exactly 10 years of age when Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy were murdered. We both were exactly eleven when Woodstock happened. We were both influenced by the call of Black Power by the Black Panther Party, and we both had a love of solitude and reflection at a very early age. I do so believe that if our paths had crossed, we may have been very good friends. Because I do not believe there were very many African American or black children coming from project settings who enjoyed watching Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movies as much as Michael and I did, nor would others our age and of our kind been intrigued, even way back then with the likes of someone like Carson McCullers and "The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter". No not many at all... but I knew and I did enjoy these things.

A memory of a Christmas past, 1970 maybe, lying on our burgundy shag carpet, in the living room, in Indian Orchard, in front of the long stereo, the stereo as long as a sofa, with its red speaker lights flashing on each end of the speaker system, I listened to Michael sing "why don't you give love on Christmas day?"... as I stare at the album cover, wrapped in red paper, with a bow, and Michael's beautiful face looking back at me, ... And as we grew, we too flew apart in our lives, me gaining a sense of self in a different realm, and our MJ becoming more and more famous, lost his way by way of the dreadful drugs...

but I digress, because the final figure who assisted in forming my love of life was,

Michael Anthony Jones. There was only one Michael Anthony in a sea of millions. I don't think I have ever met a Michael who was not special to some one, some where, some how. There is just some thing associated with the name Michael that makes the bearer of the name almost prodigal in being. My Michael was a small man of powerful statue. Very sure of himself even as a youth, beautiful of face and smile, with tons of hair that women, girls and even some boys wanted to put their hands in and ruffle. Michael Anthony was my real life Michael Jackson without the benefit of all the talent, because he couldn't dance a lick! But what he lacked in physical talent, he made up for in pure, bountiful human kindness. With all of his beauty and grace and manliness, Michael was one of the sweetest, kindest men I had ever known. I remember once, sitting with Michael in the park at the top of Eastern Avenue, sitting on a wooden bench table top and discussing life and what we wanted from it, and my Michael so sure of himself, knew he would be without a doubt a good father and husband one day, and he was right, he did become both of these things, and then the eventual downfall made itself plain, the demon of drugs took him away too..

And of the three, I think what I miss most is the sense that we would be here forever, the desire of every human soul, to feel during your youth that you will be here, in this existence as we know it, forever. Because that is the ultimate desire of humanity isn't it? So today, I dedicate my thoughts, my heart and love to the Libras and Virgos of the world who are the ultimately sensitive in nature, the ones who cry when lassie walks away in the wilderness, the ones who enjoy the flavor of a pear, more than the flavor of caviar and the smell of a sunflower, more than the scent of a rose...