As I get older time is moving faster -- much faster. At James A. Garfield elementary school, class ended at 3:15. Everyday I'd watch as the red minute hand would crawl around the dial click after click, until finally that Seth Thomas set me free. 180 annual school days dragged their feet across my freedom, until finally June sparked into a romping, rolling, fishing, biking, camping, childhood summer. September's fast start towards the first day of school, and slow end into a crawling October, meant my next June reprieve was another life sentence away. As a child -- when all you want to do is grow up, time moves far too slowly.I was lucky. I remember every smell, taste, scrape and scratch of an exhilarating and sweaty east coast summer. Mom and Dad just had three demands: practice your Lowrey organ, feed the dog, and mow the lawn. Not bad. I was a kid. My summers were smooth.
Michael Jackson, by all accounts and speculation, must have had a roller coaster childhood. His electrifying performances have energized our lives with the magic of his immense talent, but even when he was young, Jackson's ballads pulled with the tug of someone who had fought tough battles. Time for Michael Jackson probably never moved slow enough as his youth was corralled into some else's cash cow.
When Jackson moved three doors away from me last December, I was thrilled. I still am. Still, the neighborhood has its rules.
I sauntered up the street for the third time,(one, two) to see if maybe, just maybe -- my idea at the last association meeting would mitigate a problem that my neighborhood is fortunate enough to call an issue of concern.