Michael Jackson Imagines and Short Stories

I Remember

I Remember: 7

I remember the initial shock of hearing the stranger's voice scared me, and I froze. I thought that we would be in big trouble, caught up in a fury of paparazzi. My dad, however, jumped into action. He immediately stood up and shook the stranger's hand.

"Yes, I am Michael Jackson."

"Oh my goodness!" The fan breathed, and he slapped his forehead. A smile swept through all of his features, and then he said,

"I am a huge fan! I love you so much! I have all of your music and I know all of your videos. You are just amazing and I can't wait for your next album!"

"Really? Wow... thank you so much. I love meeting fans like you. That means tons to me."

"You bet. You know, your true fans know not to believe the media. We're behind you, Mike! We know the true MJ!"

"Well, thank you very much for your love and trust in me. It is fans like you," he pointed to the fan, "that keep me motivated and able to get through the tough times..." I just listened as he continued. My dad spoke with the most genuine tone that could make anyone feel that they were important. He looked at them in a way that made it seem that whatever they were saying was truly impactful. He did it because, to him, what the fans had to say was very important and always greatly touched his heart in a way that only they could. He cared.

My dad and the fan talked for a bit, and I just sat at their feet, taking it all in. I thought to myself,

"So this is a true superstar."

And I was proud.

My dad confirmed in me that the image of an inaccessible enigma was not true entertainment royalty. He understood that his connection with his fans was all that he had. They were the ones who allowed him to live his dream, and his recognition of that made him a true star. He was my icon, my hero, and my example of what it was like to take on that responsibility.

The fan, who's name turned out to be Siv, eventually asked for a photograph and, of course, my father complied. He had taken down Siv's number, and promised to call. Siv left with the biggest smile on his face, and I marveled at how my father, The King Of Pop, could make someone feel so good and so happy. My dad looked back at me, and saw me staring at him.

"I'm sorry I took so long." He apologized. I just smirked at him; at the fact that he would apologize for being a good example. He smiled back at me and then said,

"C'mon, we have to go." He extended his hand to me to help me up. I grabbed at him with my sandy hands, getting grit all on his.

"Ew." He said, making a goofy face at me. I laughed and tried to put more on him, but he dodged me like he did in water balloon fights. As we were walking back to the car I asked,

"Why did we have to go so soon?"

"Well, if one person found us, then it won't be long until more come. And I want you to be safe." He wrapped his arm around me, and pulled me close to him.

"Oh," is all I could think to say. I hadn't thought of that possibility, and it made me realize just how much my dad had to consider before he could make a move. I guessed that he was probably used to it by now.

As we were driving, we passed a costume store that had all kinds of ghoulish masks, and some that looked realistic. I gawked at the gore and blood, but I thought that it was really cool too. He must have seen me looking becuase he stopped the car and said,

"Let's go in."