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I don’t remember much about the day Elvis died, August 16, 1977, except for what my mother has told me. We were on our way back from Orlando, Florida, having visited Walt Disney World for the first time. I was 5. It would be years later that I would discover and truly appreciate the King of Rock and Roll and his music.

Late Thursday afternoon, my manager had just given me my annual evaluation. When I returned to my desk, my coworker broke the news to me that Michael Jackson had died. I was shocked. But that was it. No tears, no real sadness. I watched a portion of Dateline’s special later that night. I read the updates that poured out of Twitter and Facebook, a mixture of sadness and mockery. Not wanting to get sucked in, I avoided it like any other media event Michael Jackson was involved in.

News of his death brought back memories of “Billie Jean”, the Moonwalk on the Motown 25 special, Eddie Van Halen playing on “Beat It”, the “Thriller” video. However, I steered clear of being a fan when the weirdness took over. I really thought he could put out a new album of great music, but I think he tried too hard to top himself instead of being himself. And the media circus always outdid what he put out from the studio. From the plastic surgeries to the accusations to the trial, I cared less about Michael Jackson.

After nearly 2 days since the announcement, the sadness is starting to kick in. I tried searching for my copies of Thriller and Bad but could not find them. Frustrated, I played disc 1 of HIStory, and I had forgotten how awesome his music is; my childhood has come back to me. He will be missed by millions, myself included. Rest in peace, Michael Jackson.