...okay think circa ten year old Michael, not the shiver-up-your-spine mental picture of the Thing which calls itself MJ and looks decidedly less life-like than its wax counter part at Madame Tussaus. And no, I will not be purchasing Ella her own personal chimpanze to do her every bidding. That's my job.
So, how exactly did my bubbly little Elmo-loving toddler become an "Automatic systematic, full of color self contained, tune that shadow to your vibes..." Dancin' Machine? Well, "Blame It On The Boogie"(Warning: MJ song reference). Okay, I had to do that, sorry.
So El's in her high chair giving a bowl of peas and carrots the once over when suddenly she stops cold--I thought she'd traffic-jammed a pea/carrot in her throat. Well, I'd left itunes playing on the IMac--pretty diverse collection of stuff--U2, Aretha Franklin, Bach and lo and behold, The Jackson Five singing their 1970 hit, I Want You Back (When I had you to myself, I didn't want you around. Those pretty faces always made you stand out in a crowd....I want you back!). You'll see in a minute why I can now recall lyrics with the same dazzling speed I could once down an entire frozen margarita, read on.
Ella just freezes and listens to the song, looks at me and goes "Ella dance with dada...". Being a lifelong RB/Motown fan and not especially a tireless advocate of mixed vegetable medleys I lift El out of her seat and she kind of dances/runs around in circles in front of the computer. Song ends, Ella points to the IMac "Morrre".
So I hook her up. More circles. I tell her its Michael Jackson, then the questions "Dada, talk more about Michael Jackson". I decide any conversations detailing MJ's tragic lapse from childhood prodigy to anorexic, wax-faced pedophile, home zookeeper are better left to her mother. I foocus on happier times telling Ella about little Michael and his brothers, Randy, Jermaine, Tito and Marlon.
Well, we listen to I Want You Back about five times in a row. She's showing no signs of let up so I figure maybe I can find a video of her new friend. Well, easy as "ABC, 123" (yeah, buckle up I'll be cleverly inserting song titles in to the rest of this entry now that I've found a thematic narrative device to drag you along...) I find the Jackson Five singing their hit I Want You Back on the Ed Sullivan Show, 1970. The clip comes on and you'd think Tickle Me Elmo had suddenly appeared in the room. El goes ab-so-lutely quiet.
There's little Michael all of ten years old in flare bottom pants, boots a vest and purple hat pulled down over his 'fro. His brothers are there, the five of them hitting each choreographed dance step like they were born to be doing this Michael even at ten, more effortless than his siblings. And El is transfixed. It ends. She just goes "Morrre".
I hit play. We watch it eight times in a row (I'm not kidding) before she comes up for air. I download another video, The Jackson Five ten years later doing Dancing Machine on Soul Train. Armed with both videos for reference, El immediately constructs her own Michael timeline divided in to "Little Michael" (e.g. I Want You Back) and "Big Michael" (Dancing Machine).
Two days later it starts. We're laying in bed and hear Ella rustling in her crib. I look up, as she pulls herself to standing position and her first words of the morning are "Ella Michael Jackson wants juice...". My wife's eyes pop open. Yeah, you heard her right. Your two year old daughter now refers to herself as Ella Michael Jackson as in: Ella Michael Jackson hungry/wants to go out/is tired.
That lasted weeks. Months? Times a blur when you live with a celebrity. Daily viewings of the videos become so frequent my wife and I began to speak in clipped lyrics, she: "When I had you to myself...", me: "Now its much to late for me...".
Ella discovers if she whacks hard enough on the IMac's keyboard the vid starts up from the beginning. So essentially, after week two she really only needs her parents to prepare meals and download more videos. One morning my wife decides to draw a line in the sand with her gloved hand.
As the last chorus of I Want You Back fades, Ann says "Okay Ella no more Michael Jackson this morning...", at which point Ella bursts in to tears and melts in to a toddler-pool of swirling hysterics not unlike the Wicked Witch when Dorothy hosed her down.
Ann turns to me, face awash with motherly concern and asks "What should we do?". At this point we're in to like a month straight of Ella Michael Jackson. The metamorphasis has become complete. I figure soon she'll be moon walking to her play dates, next step find her some back up singers.
I look at Ella on the floor inconsolable, crying. See the real worry etching itself on to my wife's lovely face. And I realize its time to step up and be both a strong father and a supportive husband. I take Ann's hand, "You need to turn down the treble on I Want You Back, Michael sounds pitchy...".
You know, parenting is all about patience and understanding. We've managed to ration E down to about one viewing a day of MJ. And its only vintage, adorable "Do You Remember The Time?" lovable MJ. When the time comes to explain to E that she and her videotic best friend both share a similar penchant for furry chimps and five year old's on play dates, well as I said before her mother will explain.
And we've expanded E's dance repertoire. To her concentric circle-running and one legged jumps for I Want You Back I added the robot. At the first bridge to Dancing Machine Ella hits it perfectly, old school style. Moves her little arms up and down and her head back and forth while keeping her eyes still.
I don't think there's any hyperbolic sleep chambers in her future and since we can't install a full-size ferris wheel in our one room apartment any aspirations for an Upper West Side version of Neverland Ranch will go unrealized.
There is however a really cute three year old friend of E's, Shayna. Natural sense of rhythm and totally adorable. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I'd ever exploit my own daughter's innocent love of dance and song in to something crass and commercial. I'm not even suggesting that there's a market out there for a song/dance group of two to three year olds who, with the right supporting father behind them could leverage a development deal with say Disney for a demo cd with either a product tie-in like "Grrl Group Barbie" or a promo give away like free Magic Pony's who sing the group's first ballad "Pamper Me..." when you pull their tail.
No, I'm not suggesting that. But if you're the parent of a two or three year old who can clap to the beat and sing back up, email me....
