I don't recall walking forward or picking up my feet for much of second grade.
We spent hours moonwalking the smooth elementary school hallways, honing our moves. That summer at the beach, where we could actually get MTV, we forced Poppi to watch Michael Jackson again and again.
I never saw Michael live or got obsessed over him like some other BW staffers, but the Kurman boy went to a concert and came back with a glove and I got to touch the glove. And I basically self identified as a Smooth Criminal for a while. Part of me still does.
I am at a newspaper conference in Tucson this morning. Do you think my fellow journalists will engage in a silent moonwalk for the Michael? Probably not, but I just did.