It’s funny how we can neglect a person, whether in actions or thoughts, because they appear strange or distant. Imagine the joy that Michael Jackson brought to millions, young and old over the last four decades. His music certainly brought joy to me and my friends when I was young. For forty years he was a superstar, yet because of his apparent “freakishness” over the last 10-15 years, society took it upon itself to cast him aside and make him a target of our collective mockery.

He had some psychological problems perhaps. Who wouldn’t if they’d gone through what he had; raised by a family hungry for fame and fortune, thrust into the burning spotlight at age five. Tossed around by the media over the years, affected by health problems which turned him white and gave fodder to his detractors to mock him further, and accused and acquitted of abusing children. Bankrupted too. Who would fare better? But in an instant his death has turned the tide. He’s a hero now.

Hopefully this means we can collectively forget the last few years and get on with celebrating an amazing artist, somebody who pushed the boundaries of music and in his own way, race relations. As Al Sharpton said last night, in race terms, he did for music what Barack Obama did for politics. But I can’t help feeling sad about the low depths Jackson reached, and how the fickle public and media derided him with no regard for his well-being and humanity.

I’ll always remember as a child, feeling happy listening to my favourite Jackson songs: Dirty Diana, Billie Jean, Bad, Thriller, Beat It, Black or White… As a child of the 80s, as a big MJ fan, it feels like a big chunk of my childhood has died too.