Loved and despised, revered and reviled, Michael Jackson took the world on a journey like no entertainer ever has or ever will.

He charmed us with his amazing musical gifts during a childhood that never really ended. The abusive father who prodded him and his brothers to great fame in the Jackson 5 era may well have laid the groundwork for an adulthood that saw him steeped in a perpetual freeze-frame of behavior that ranged from the bizarre to the perverse.

For a blink of an eye, it looked like his tense and pressure-filled childhood would give way to an adulthood of relative normalcy, if not outright obscurity.

As he and his brothers released their last memorable record, "Dancing Machine" in 1974, Michael's solo career had stalled. Top 5 smashes "Got to Be There" and "Rockin' Robin" faded from memory along with his first No. 1 single, "Ben," a love song to a rat.

After two solo albums purchased by virtually no one, there were no Michael Jackson records for the last four years of his childhood.

But just days before his 21st birthday, an album produced by new friend Quincy Jones changed music history. Curious millions wondering what the "grownup" Michael would sound like snapped up copies of "Off the Wall," and when needles dropped on the first cut of the first side, the six infectious minutes of "Don't Stop 'til You Get Enough" blew open the door to an era that would lead to the biggest-selling album of all time, "Thriller," just three years later.

The chart dominance of Elvis Presley and the Beatles is the stuff of eternal legend, but there may never be a burst of pop culture like the album that filled the mid-1980s with indelible images like the "Thriller" video, the sight and sound of "Beat It" and one of the most remarkable songs ever recorded, "Billie Jean."

And that wasn't even my favorite Michael Jackson album.

That would be "Bad," released around his 29th birthday, five long years after "Thriller." The title track was an odd chunk of self-indulgent faux-macho posturing with an accompanying video that was simply laughable, as the increasingly bleached and effeminate Michael led a gang of dance students on a romp through an empty subway station.

But genius lay ahead. The irresistible pulse of "The Way You Make Me Feel." The rock-tinged classics "Smooth Criminal" and "Dirty Diana." The triumphant "Man in the Mirror," both a promise of and an invitation to self-evaluation and self-improvement.

Those were themes he would have done well to adopt as his career began to ebb. "Black or White" gave him one last unforgettable record in 1991; he was the halftime performer at the Super Bowl after the 1992 NFL season.

Then, in 1993, the charges that would wrap themselves around his life story for the rest of his days - a sickening story of a sexual relationship with a 13-year-old boy, never confirmed yet never disproved, culminating in an out-of-court settlement topping $20 million.

Amid a chorus of public opinion that viewed this as an admission of guilt, I remember thinking that I could see how a public figure might open the checkbook just to make the whole thing go away, even if it were false. A tawdry trial on child molestation charges could have damaged him horribly, even if it ended in an acquittal.

What wound up harming him the most, however, was his own grotesque and tragic view of relationships between men and boys. In interviews, while denying ever having actual sex with children, he seemed comfortable with, if not actually proud of, the concept of men sharing completely inappropriate closeness, even beds, with boys.

Child sex abuse charges in 2003 led to a trial in 2005 and an acquittal that settled his legal issues but left a skeptical public unconvinced.

From the unfathomable womb of his sheltered life, his existence as a recluse was burdened by ill health and inexplicable decisions like the day in 2002 when he dangled his 9-month-old son over a Berlin hotel balcony.

The last few years had started to look like an upswing from the foregoing excesses and creepiness, even if measured only by a lack of arrests and new accusers.

Virtually unseen until the recent announcement of a concert tour, Michael Jackson looked surprisingly vigorous at the announcement of a string of London concert dates that would have begun next month, proceeding elsewhere around the world thereafter.

Vigorous, that is, compared to the caricature of his image for the last two decades. Compared to an actual healthy, normal human being, he looked like the frail, waxy mannequin that his health and lifestyle choices had turned him into.

Wouldn't it have been something? Thursday, July 16, would have been his first show at London's O2 Arena, the first of dozens of concerts, spread out one every few days through the end of February, all at the same venue. The roughly 1 million tickets sold out in the blink of an eye.

It would have been the comeback story of all time, although I don't know what I would have thought of that. I would have been awed by the history, and I would have hoped for the shows to be some semblance of the greatness that was once Michael Jackson.

But deep down, I can't help thinking that he probably did some unspeakable things to little boys. It is a belief I can neither confirm nor shake.

And that's why his death is such an occasion of mixed feelings for me and, I presume, for many others. I want to honor the amazing contribution he made to my life through his art, yet I could have nothing but contempt for someone who would do what I suspect he did.

I do not believe he was a predator with no regard for the subjects of his deviant affections. I believe he was a genuinely caring man whose instincts had been twisted by an abusive upbringing, an entourage of enablers and the complete absence of influences that could have provided a rudder back to normalcy.

There were people close to him who loved him, but there were also liars and bloodsuckers who added to his pain and dysfunction.

Since we will never know the answers to the dark and disturbing questions about Michael Jackson, I absorb the news of his death by opting instead for the slide show that runs in the head of anyone who remembers his whole life:

The beautiful little boy with the powerful and angelic voice.

The gifted and startlingly talented young man with dance moves that seemed not of this world.

The unforgettable performance of "Billie Jean" in 1983 at the Motown 25th anniversary show.

The stadium crowds of the 1984 Victory Tour, as he and his brothers reunited for an evening unforgettable for its music and sheer size.

The mini-movie of the "Thriller" video - the makeup, the dancing, the Vincent Price laugh, the tragic/comic foreshadowing when he tells actress Ola Ray, "I'm not like other guys."

The guitar chords of "Black or White," sung in 1991 by a still-sharp artist who appeared to be neither.

"I feel that calling once again," the words that accompanied the news conference announcing the comeback tour.

And finally, an ambulance backing out of a driveway headed to the UCLA Medical Center.

One wonders if Elvis sensed his time was approaching in 1977. One presumes John Lennon did not in 1980. I wonder what Michael Jackson thought when he looked back at his 50 years of life.

Did he see pictures of that little boy and feel like it must be someone else? In a way, it undeniably was. But in other ways, he remained the same Michael through the years - adored by fans and friends, with a kindness and generosity that benefited countless people.

The things that rest on the other side of the scales of his life are now between him and God. What I want to remember most today are the gifts of talent God gave him and what he in turn gave to us.