Lorne Jackson: Michael Jackson was a sad Peter Pan of pop

Jun 28 2009 by Lorne Jackson, Sunday Mercury

MY OTHER half, Riki, is convinced that our three year-old son Ben is a genius of Einsteinian proportions.

I’m more of a realist.

“But look how fast he completes a 40-piece jigsaw!” she says.

“He’s also pretty adept at turning our ornaments into jigsaws,” I retort. “And there are more than 40 pieces, once he’s finished with ‘em.”

As much as I adore Ben, it’s hard for me to envision him evolving into Albert any time soon – especially when one of his favourite pastimes is barrelling round the living room with a bucket jammed over his head.

However, a couple of weeks ago Einstein Bucket-head genuinely impressed me.

Riki and I took him to see the spectacular new version of Peter Pan, currently playing in London.

Most kids would have gibbered and quaked at the sight of the swaggering Captain Hook, or the snarling crocodile.

Not Ben.

He immediately realised such monsters were merely red herrings, obscuring the real terror at the heart of Peter Pan – the terror of growing up.

At the end of the play, Peter – who has stayed behind in Neverland – flies to London to visit Wendy, the little girl with whom he has shared so many adventures.

Unlike Pan, Wendy is now an adult.

It was during this scene that Ben – for the first and only time – tumbled into horrified hysterics, screaming, “Where’s Wendy? Where’s Wendy?”

The lesson of Peter Pan is that growing-up is an ugly business.

No wonder Michael Jackson was a fan.