Comment: I watched it.

Well, I did it. I watched Michael Jackson’s memorial service. The whole thing.

And I cried mainly at the following points: when Brooke Shields was on, when Jermaine Jackson cried while singing, and when Usher lost it by Michael’s casket.

I’m sure I wasn’t the only one sobbing.

Is it disingenuous or fake to be sad about someone you’ve never met, and at least recently, hadn’t paid much attention to? Is it hypocritical to practically canonize someone whom you thought odd or weird when they were alive? Is it true that Michael Jackson really was out of the ordinary, and that we’ll never see the like of him again? Are we all, in the end, voyeurs living vicariously through others' joy and (especially) pain?

I don’t know the answers to any of these questions, except the last one.

I’m more of a secular humanist (with Buddhist aspirations), so the religious parts of the service didn’t particularly do it for me. But when a glowing and pregnant Jennifer Hudson came out in white dressed like an angel, singing about the spiritual, well, that was a pretty powerful image.

I watched all this while my kids played on their computer and badgered me to put on PBSKids. I said, “You get to watch whatever you want every day, today it’s my turn.” And I was indeed mesmerized.

For those of you who, willingly or not, missed the service: it wasn’t tacky, it wasn’t ostentatious, and it wasn’t cheap. It was prone to hyperbole, sure, but that’s what happens when someone dies. We remember all the very best things about them and they overshadow any foibles or defects of character, perceived or real.

It is tragic to see a mother lose a child. And it’s also tragic to see children lose a parent.

How could you not shed a tear over that, at least?