"Don't Stop Til You Get Enough"

A major part of my childhood past away last week. Surprisingly, I was more sad than I thought I would be. For many years, I have thought that the Michael Jackson that I grew up with had been dead for quiet a while and that the Michael Jackson of the past 20 years was just bad fake of the “Off the Wall” and “Thriller” Michael Jackson I knew so well. Yet the his tunes have been in constant rotation in my iTunes shuffle since last Thursday. Behind the plastic, the bleached skin, sequins, and the bizarre behavior lies some very powerful music. So this entry is to the man who continues to make my feet tap.

I like to think of myself as a spiritual person. Someone who has a close relationship with God. I’m a big believer in the power of prayer. But did you know that 2 people in particular taught me how to pray? It’s true. My sister Bec and Michael Jackson.

“WHAT???!! Michael Jackson??!!” you say. Tis true dear reader. Bec and Michael Jackson taught me how to pray. Here’s how it went down.

I love my sister. I lover her very dearly. She is greatest sister anyone could ever have. But, when she was a baby up until she was about 3 years old, Bec cried all the time. ALL. THE. TIME. Her favorite phrase was a sobbing “Come here, Momma” with tears pouring down her cute chubby cheeks.

One night on the way home from my grandmother’s house, Bec was in her car seat just crying away. I don’t remember what she was crying for, most likely she wanted to sit with Mom but she wouldn’t stop crying. All the way from Rockwood, TN to our home in Knoxville, Bec cried. And cried. Annnnnnnnnnnnnd cried. Looking back, I can still see the tears rolling down her face and glistening in the light from the passing cars. Right about the time we were passing the Pepsi bottling plant on Middlebrook Pike I had had enough. I threw my head back against the back seat of the car, looked up out the back window toward the stars and said the follow “Dear God, please shut this child up!” I don’t remember if he answered the prayer, but it was then that I knew I had an ally.

On August 10-12, 1984, Michael Jackson and the Jacksons came to Knoxville and played 3 sold shows at Neyland Stadium for 150,000 people. Tickets were $31.50 ($65 in 2009). Michael was just cresting at his popularity. His appearance on “Motown 25” and the debut of the moonwalk had come out earlier that spring. Truly to go to this concert one would be able to see an artist at his peak.

“Sooooo, Laura, how was the concert? Which night did you go?” you ask. I didn’t get to go. That’s right. I did not get to go. Me who had Michael Jackson posters, buttons, records - everything - did not get to go.

I remember thinking as a child that this was some sort of punishment from my parents. Didn’t they understand? Were they not kids of the 60’s? Didn’t they believe in the power of rock and roll? Isn’t this what they were all about? Sex, drugs and rock and roll. Nope. They were all about how can we make this child suffer more! I was denied the Michael Jackson “Thriller” jacket which was on sale at Merry-Go-Round for $100 ($205 in 2009) and now I was being denied going to the concert. Why was I even brought into the world if they were just going to deny me pleasure? Clearly they were hell-bent on making my 11 year old life hell.

Ah-ha!! But I had a higher source!! I would turn to my old ally Jesus. He would find a way for me to go to the concert. Because, after all, every kid I knew was going except for me. Jesus would help.

So there I sat in my hot bedroom asking Jesus to deliver me tickets to the Michael Jackson concert. And to show my devotion, I opened my bible to the book of Psalms and began to read.

I read a lot of Psalms between August 10-12, 1984. Needless to say, the tickets never came. But my relationship with God did not suffer. My prayers were not in vain. Through that experience, God showed me humility and the power to laugh at one’s self. Instead of tickets, he gave me one heck of a good story to remember.

Southern Embellishment

Pssst.

Pssssssssssst.

Hey reader. Yeah, you with the mouse. Over here.

I’m hiding behind the monitor. I know its hard to see me, cause I’m in camouflage. Yes, camouflage!!! Le grand camou, baby. It’s the latest fashion accessory, didn’t you know. Hmmm, guess you didn’t see the memo because it was in camouflage. Well, let me share the good word with you.

In our latest jaunts to East Tennessee, John and I stopped off recently at a couple of stores near Pigeon Forge, one being the BPS Experience (aka Bass Pro Shop). I loath BPS, but I love my husband, so I go. While John is foaming at the mouth over fishing lures, I pass the time by people watching and checking out what else they have in the store that doesn’t pertain to fish. I recently found this interesting number in the Women’s section (Yes Virginia, there really is such a section):



Yep. It’s a camouflage teddy. Now, my first reaction was that there are some ladies (and some men, see “Deliverance”) who really go all out for their man. Some men just might find it right purty that women would be all decked out in some sexy camou. Defeats the whole idea of the setting one’s sites on the target, but I digress. I personally found this hysterical and called John over to see it. Surprisingly, John had a different reaction that I did. He thought it was a great way for women to hide from their man. (I bought 2.) Needless to say, this teddy was the PG-13 version, there were more (or less, so to speak) on sale at BPS but my niece reads this blog so I‘m going to leave it there.

On a later trip, I stumbled upon this find:



A camou duffle bag. Its not that its camou that I find amusing, but that fact that it has decorative black bows on it. Seriously, ladies? Seriously?!?

Now, y’all know that I’m a good southern women and us southern women like to embellish not only the truth but our wardrobes. We’ll monogram the dickens out of everything we own, we can wear high-heeled thong sandals with flowers on them in the dead of winter and wear a string of pearls with a workout suite. But we have officially pushed the boundaries of good taste.
WE HAVE GONE TOOOOOO FAR, Y‘ALL!!

I understand wanting to meet your man halfway and show interest in his hobbies. And I‘m all for equality, I am. But if we are going to out into the woods with our men and go get us a deer, grab your daddy‘s cameo and go. Don‘t slap bows all over everything.

Ladies of the south, I beseech you! We are known for our style and our class, our sense of decorum and good manners, our gentleness and most of all, thank you Jesus, our southern hospitality. But ladies, let us step back and think about what we embellish on our clothes. No need for camou teddy’s and camou duffle bags with bows. Let us resolve to leave such embellishments to our stories and leave the Yankees wandering if we’re telling them the truth or not. That’s a heckofalot more fun than deer hunting anyway!!