I'm the oldest of four children. My youngest brother and I are three weeks short of eight years apart. He is the most imaginative kid I know. Sometimes his imaginary world seeps into the real world. We have a lot of fun stories about Michael.
When he was three, he woke up from an epically long nap, in absolute tears. Now, its normal for toddlers to wake up cranky, but this kid woke up stuck in the worst nightmare any little kid could have; someone had stolen his ice cream, and I was the culprit. "No! I no like that Lizzie! Give me back my ice cream. Mommy, Lizzie stole my ice cream. Where is my ice cream?" Of course, he's three, so ice cream comes out "eyes keem," making it even more pathetically adorable. My mom spent a good five minutes calming him down, explaining that no one took his ice cream, but he can have some after dinner.
Just as his little gasping sobs were starting to get under control, my eleven-year-old self walked into the room, having no idea the incredible injustice I had served him in his dream. The poor kid started crying all over again, accusing me of stealing his "eyes keem." I immediately went into apology mode for something I never did, because there is nothing more sacred to a toddler than ice cream.
When Michael was four, he started introducing himself to people as Michael Jackson. His preschool teacher was rather concerned that he didn't seem to know his own name. My mom thought that while an odd choice, plenty of kids choose to assume alter egos, and we should really be worried about the preK teacher who didn't find make believe normal and developmentally appropriate.
One night, I guess my dad felt like we should at least try to make sure he knew his real name, in case he got lost or something. He spent fifteen minutes trying to convince him that his name was Michael Jacob Dewees. He just kept crossing his little arms, and turning his head away, "No, my name is Michael Jackson." He did concede that Dewees is his "back name," which we figured was four-year-old speak for last name, but that was the best we got out of him.
About a year later, my youngest sister informed him that Michael Jackson was dead. He absolutely freaked out, "MY MICHAEL JACKSON IS NEVER DEAD!" To this day, I don't think anyone in our home has brought up the death of the King of Pop again.
By the time he was eight, it'd been years since he'd gone by Michael Jackson. It was now just a funny anecdote, like the stolen ice cream story. So, we were all surprised when sitting by the pool, "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough," came on the radio. He popped out of his seat and started dancing, then nostalgically said, "I remember when I came out with this song in 1976."
He said that with a little too much confidence for me, so I made my mom look up the year before I completely freaked out. Her answer, "Close, 1979."
Michael responded, still dancing away, "Ah, it was a long time ago. I get my dates mixed up." I don't believe in reincarnation, but I'm just saying, my brother was born about four years after Michael Jackson's death.
This scholarship will help me bridge the gap between public and private school tuition, so I don't have to go far away for school and miss out on too many Michael stories.