MJ Therapy

I find myself thinking a lot about Michael Jackson this week. I can't believe it's been almost a year since he passed. His music and talent impacted my life in so many ways. Here's one of my favorite MJ stories.

The very first concert that I went to was the Jackson family show. All of the brothers took part and Janet was there doing her Mae West impression. I was about three. I'm not sure how much of that experience I actually remember versus hearing stories and seeing clips of the show on tv, but I know it was my first show and apparently I was quite impressed. After that, my parents took me to see Mike every time he went out on tour anywhere near us. Every time. I have great memories of The Victory Tour in Richmond. My cousin, Maria, was with us and told a story of how she ended up in an elevator with MJ. Don't know if that was true, but it sure did make me jealous. But the best story of all was what it took for us to see the "Bad" tour.

It was October of 1988. My parents were having some marital issues and a separation was imminent. I was in high school and my sister was in elementary school. My parents got us out of school early one day and Dad told us that we were going to family counseling. My stress level shot through the roof. No way did I want to sit in a room and openly discuss our problems! Dad assured me that I would enjoy this therapy.

"It's a new-wave type therapy", he told me. "You get to jump around and scream and yell and sing all you want until the stress is gone. They call it MJ therapy."

"MJ therapy?", I thought. "What in the world is that?", I asked.

He wouldn't be any more specific, but kept saying that he was very sure that I had heard of it before.

We were almost 30 minutes outside of our town when we stopped at Taco Bell. (My sister had a thing for Taco Bell at the time.) We got out of the car to go inside when it suddenly dawned on me.

"MJ therapy?! Michael Jackson?! Are we going to the Michael Jackson concert?! Oh my God, we're going to the Michael Jackson concert!!!!!!" I couldn't stop screaming. I'm sure I looked on the edge of insane jumping up and down in that parking lot. Dad was right. The screaming and yelling sure did make me feel better.

So we jumped back in the car and headed up Rt. 29 North towards DC in our Pontiac Grand Am. We were just about to get onto I-66 when the car made an explosive noise. We were able to pull into an Exxon right near the exit. Our car was dead. We were an hour from the Capital Centre and our car was dead. We sat in that parking lot for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, one of Dad's friends showed up to take us to the show.

We made it in time to see everything. We didn't miss a spin, a moonwalk, or a "hee-hee!". He was absolutely incredible.

Late that night, we journeyed back home in a car that Dad's friend loaned to us - a candy apple red Porsche. My sister and I were quite uncomfortable in the back of that car, but I didn't care. MJ therapy had taken care of all of my problems, at least for that one night.