Firsts
a young Liu mesmerized by Michael Jackson on tv
It is more often than not that my first experiences of anything will result in the reinforcement of the sense of isolation I seem to have either been born with or developed early on. There is, however, the occasional blessing of moments in which I experience something that strikes a chord deep in the heart of my being- some sort of sensation I can only liken to being reunited with a long lost soulmate. The best part is that there is no discernment as to what the relation is made to: I could feel kinship with anything from another being, to an activity, or even to an object.
One of the first experiences I’ve had of this profound sense of affinity was perhaps around the age of three, when I discovered the music of Michael Jackson. My parents, at the time, had been living in the US for close to five years, but were still slightly out of touch with what was the norm for American children movie and tv programming. They knew they could buy movies for me that had the word “Disney” on them, or anything else that seemed to include color filled cartoons. I too, had developed the understanding that princesses and talking animals were the status quo. But one day, I recall pulling a VHS out of the shopping bag that had on it, instead of the usual princess, a slim man in a hat. At first, I was skeptical, even slightly disturbed, but all too soon, I was taken in. It was a compilation of Michael Jackson’s music videos and concerts, and I was utterly mesmerized by every single thing: the shiny clothes, the crotch grabbing, the “Hee Hee!”s, “Woo!”s and “Ow!”s. But best of all was the sound. I had no idea what I was listening to, or why I loved it so. All I knew was that I was certain that “Beat It” was what would be playing on repeat when a person died and went to heaven.
My love of Michael Jackson followed me through my career in kindergarten without any problems, and I thought the same would be said for my new career in elementary school. The only trouble was, that the kindergarten I went to did not extend into any elementary school system, and thus, I had to be transferred to an entirely new school, with a new set of children, a new faculty- a new world completely. All the friendships I had managed to establish up to that point, the rapport with my teachers, now all seemed to go out the window. I’d have to start over from scratch, but the only consolation I had, was that I had managed to make it though the years of pre-schooling with burgeoning social skills and what I considered, fine taste in music.
I don’t remember many details of my first day of first grade, but of what I do remember begins with me, finding myself due to the alphabetical ordering of names, being placed at a desk in the midst of a group of girls chattering happily with one another. It was clear many of them had already known each other from prior experiences, and seemed too absorbed in their gabbing for me to dare to try inserting myself into their conversation. I observed them best I could without calling attention to myself, and couldn’t help but notice how much more sophisticated they seemed to be than I, with the cadence of speech they adopted, and gestures they made with their hands, as if they were all small versions of New Jersey housewives out at lunch. They referenced people, events, and places that were beyond the scope of the world I lived in, and what’s more, the teacher joined in with the girls, making it clear that indeed, everyone around me already knew one another. She asked them about their family- their siblings, who were in grades above us, their mothers on the PTA Board, and various members in their family serving in various government positions of the town. Everyone seemed so involved, and had their confidence bolstered by the knowledge they possessed.
I was an island surrounded by a sea of little ladies lunching, and I was overcome with a great sense of inadequacy. I didn’t speak like a lady at lunch. I didn’t have a mom in the PTA. I didn’t have a dad in office.
As I ran through the list of all the reasons I felt rendered me incapable of relating to the creatures that surrounded me, the teacher ended her small talk with the girls and stood up. She made the announcement that today was the first day of first grade!- and that we would celebrate this happy occasion with a sing-along.
Yes!- I thought. This would be it! Surely if I couldn’t relate to them through similarities in our lives, I could relate to them through music!
The teacher went on- “I’m going to play a song, and we’re all going to sing along. It’s a song that everyone knows and loves, and is sung by someone everyone knows and loves!”
I was overjoyed. Could it be? Surely she was talking about Michael Jackson! Surely she was talking about “Beat It”!!! I could hardly contain myself. I knew all the words to the song. All the breaks. All the “Hee Hee!”s, “Woo!”s and “Ow!”s! Surely this would cement my place as the cultured one of the class, and I would heretofore never need to worry about where I stood with my peers.
The teacher went over to her boom box, and inserted the cassette. I shook with anticipation. Click click click- the low buzz that comes on before the music hummed, followed by a soft musical overture, then finally came the words, “I love you, you love me”. The children squealed!!! “We’re a happy family!”
My heart sank to the floor. She was playing Barney…the asinine purple anomaly that seems to have a way of reducing children’s cognitive capacities to moot with his droning tones, the epitome of disgrace of both humans and dinosaurs alike, the beast I was certain had been sent from hell with the sole mission of spreading the disease known as Bad Taste.
“With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you!”
This song…so simple…so crude…Where were the complex harmonies? Where was the syncopation? Where was the bass?! Where was the funk?!?! Where was the pleasure and beauty of music? And why was everyone so pleased with this sad, formless collection of noise?
I looked around me- everyone, the teacher and all the children, were smiling and singing. Smiling, singing and swaying along…
I floated alone on my island:
- My life is a lie. My life is a sham. The world is cruel and crude, and there is nothing I can do to escape its crudeness. Michael Jackson, with his wavy low bun, flowy white shirt tucked into his slim black pants, and crotch grabbing was the only thing that was real in this world. Everything else is a lie. Everything else is a conspiracy for mediocrity, and it will be a fact that I will have to endure for the rest of my life.
“Won’t you say you love me too?”
-Wont I? I wish I could. I wish I could be just like all the other children, hypnotized by the despicable warblings of your purply mouth, but I am, sad to say, cursed with an immunity to it. I am destined, it seems to live out my life as an un-relatable, curmudgeonly child. I cant seem to help whatever this is.
“I love you, you love me…”
And thus began another round of the curséd verses, with another round following them thereafter- each refrain pushing me further and further away from all of my peers, and further and further into my strange little world I could not, for all my efforts, seem to get out of.