I’m fleshing out a story. It’s like watching for an opening in traffic then jumping in when you see your chance. It’s a little scary at first but then, after you stress a bit, it’s actually okay.
I haven’t watched any television today but I know Michael Jackson’s funeral service was covered all day from top to bottom. Here’s my thought on Michael Jackson. I think of him as that sweet, talented, beautiful little boy who had his whole life ahead of him. I see his little face and wonder what happened. At what point in his life did he come to the fork in the road that led him down his sad path? Where are our forks? Our children's?
I don’t mourn for the man Michael Jackson became but the young innocent boy he was.