Returning home from junior school in the early 1970s the cartoons of the day were Wait Til Your Father Gets Home, The Flintstones, The Wacky Races, Penelope Pitstop, Scooby Doo.  Not any of the aforementioned had a leading black character in them until the cartoon adventures of the Jackson 5.  It was almost unbelievable to see animated black kids, a little older than myself, on the TV screen.  At last, I had something to identify with on terrestial television and whenever they were on it was such a boost for my then very low esteem.

Of course I was a fan of the music too and my friends and I tried to imitate the steps and spins of the Jackson 5 routines and everybody wanted to sing I Want You Back just like Michael.  Solo hits like Ben and Got To Be There displayed a ridiculous talent and the way Michael Jackson performed with his knowing glances, addressing the camera and showing a confidence way beyond his years was a joy to experience.  For a ten-year-old black boy living in an abusive children’s home, Michael Jackson was the coolest kid on the planet, he really was.

By the time I was eighteen I was a confirmed reggae rootshead and my friends and I built a sound system that we named Crucial Rocker.  At blues raves, parties and hall dances we normally played hard core reggae and lovers rock.  But whenever we felt that the crowd needed to get up on the dancefloor and get their groove on, we flipped through our record box searching for Michael Jackson’s album Off The Wall.  Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough was a bonafide guaranteed floor-filler and would even get the most dreaded of dreads tapping their feet and nodding their heads.  Off The Wall became a staple of our late night sessions and I don’t think any reggae sound system that was operating in 1979 was without a copy.

So when I think about Michael Jackson now I do not dwell on all the scandals and controversies.  I reflect fondly on our sound system sessions and the way his music freed up everybody to dance.  Then I think back of that young black kid who was staring open-eyed at a black and white television set watching Michael Jackson perform his songs.  I remember with great affection the fun cartoons.  I recall how he made me feel.  I used to think, my God!  He’s only a little bit older than me and he’s black.  So much pure talent.  Michael Jackson, RIP.