Reminiscence: Jackson frozen in time for Gen Xer

In 1983, as a third-grader in Oakland, Ca., I had a routine at the beginning of my 20-minute walk to school.

I would attempt to sing Michael Jackson’s hit song “Beat It” from start to finish. This included appropriately placed leg kicks, which I could really snap off (It’s all in the hip). My moonwalk was respectable.

I didn’t know all the lyrics. Some were hard for me to understand. But my favorite verse was:

“You better run, you better do what you can

Don’t wanna see no blood, don’t be a macho man.”

It’s still fun to sing. Try it.

No matter how bizarre Jackson later became, he’s basically frozen in time for me, lounging in a white suit and black shirt on the “Thriller” album cover.

On nights when my younger brother and I were home alone, we’d slip the record on, always starting with “Beat It,” which led into Billie Jean, a beautifully mysterious song to a 10-year-old boy.

Human Nature and P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing), another upbeat favorite, followed. We usually didn’t make it through the last song, the mature ballad “The Lady in My Life,” before flipping the record.

The second side presented a challenge. The first three tunes were pretty good – remember the duo with Paul McCartney? – but the song “Thriller” scared us.

My brother and I had an informal pact: whoever first heard the creaking door and the footsteps that start the song was responsible for dashing to the record playing and lifting needle.

We didn’t have MTV, but the glimpses I’d caught of the Thriller video at friends’ houses or on TV shows intensified my fear of the song.

I’ve never seen the entire video. Don’t ask how this happened.

On Thursday night, I watched a BBC newscaster recount the news of Jackson’s death. In the background, was the tight choreography of the ghoulish dancers in the “Thriller” video. The announcer finished, and the video expanded to take up the full screen. A childhood fear welled up in my chest. Then I laughed. Watch the stupid video, man. I did.

On Friday, a colleague walked into the newsroom singing,

“Beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it

No one wants to be defeated”

I couldn’t help myself. She was leading into my favorite part of the chorus, which I would nail every time on my walks to school 26 years ago. I jumped up from my cubicle and sang:

Showin’ how funky strong is your fight

It doesn’t matter who’s wrong or right

Just beat it, beat it (pause) beat it, beat it