I was less than a year old when Michael Jackson’s Bad was released. And Thriller, which may or may not be the best-selling album of all time (I’m looking at you, Eagles), came out years before that. In fact, MJ spawned many of his greatest hits before I was even born. I sang along to “Black or White” before I had any real grasp of what race was. And, for that matter, I probably moonwalked before learning there was a satellite orbiting the earth.

He was a constant, consistent presence, and I couldn’t have imagined a world without him. So much so that I have no distinct memories of the first time I heard his music; it simply felt like he had always existed, and would always exist. I don’t claim to be a diehard MJ fanatic–just take one look at the footage of women spazzing out at his concerts. But when it comes down to it, I loved the man. And you probably did too.