The Michael Jackson Tapes by Shmuley Boteach

oh!” And Michael corrected his misconception. “No, it’s nothing bad. It’s to tell the world that I love you.”
    Michael’s speech conveyed an important message of healing:
    You probably weren’t surprised to hear that I did not have an idyllic childhood. The strain and tension that exists in my relationship with my father is well documented. My father is a tough man, and he pushed my brothers and me hard, from the earliest age, to be the best performers we could be.
    He had great difficulty showing affection. He never really told me he loved me. And he never really complimented me either. If I did a great show, he would tell me it was a good show. And if I did an okay show, he told me it was a lousy show. He seemed intent above all else on making us a commercial success. And at that he was more than adept. My father was a managerial genius and my brothers and I owe our professional success in no small measure to the forceful way that he pushed us. He trained me as a showman and, under his guidance, I couldn’t miss a step.
    But what I really wanted was a Dad. I wanted a father who showed me love. And my father never did that. He never said, “I love you,” whilst looking me straight in the eye, he never played a game with me, he never gave me a piggyback ride, he never threw a pillow at me.
    But I remember once when I was about four years old there was a little carnival and he picked me up and put me on a pony. It was a tiny gesture, probably something he forgot five minutes later. But because of that one moment, I have this special place in my heart for him. Because that’s how kids are. The little things mean so much to them, and for me, that one moment meant everything. I only experienced it that one time but it made me really feel a lot differently about him and the world.

    But now I am a father myself, and one day I was thinking about my own children, Prince and Paris, and how I wanted them to think of me when they grow up. To be sure, I would like them to remember how I always wanted them with me wherever I went, how I always tried to put them before everything, including my albums and my concerts.
    But there are also challenges in their lives. Because my kids are stalked by paparazzi, they can’t always go to a park or a movie with me. So, what if they grow older and resent me and how my choices affected their youth? Why weren’t we given an average childhood, like all the other kids, they might ask?
    And at that moment, I pray that my children will give me the benefit of the doubt. That they will say, “Our Daddy did the best he could given the unique circumstances that he faced. He may not have been perfect, but he was a warm and decent man who tried to give us all the love in the world.”
    I hope that they will always focus on the positive things, on the sacrifices I willingly made for them, and not criticize the sacrifices circumstances may have forced upon them or the errors I have made and will certainly continue to make in raising them. For we have all been someone’s child and we know that despite the very best of plans and efforts mistakes will always occur. That is just being human.
    And when I think about this, of how I hope that my children will not judge me unfavorably, and will forgive me my shortcomings, I am forced to think of my own father, and despite the part of me that denied it for years I have to admit that he must have loved me. He did love me, and I know that.
    There were little things that showed it. When I was a kid I had a real sweet tooth—we all did. My favorite food was glazed donuts, and my father knew that. So, every few weeks I would come downstairs in the morning and there on the kitchen counter was a bag of glazed donuts—no note, no explanation—just the donuts. It was like Santa Claus. Sometimes I would think about staying up late at night so I could see him leave them there but, just like with Santa