Paris, Prince, and Blanket Jackson at Dad's memorial service yesterday

Paris, Prince, and Blanket Jackson at Dad's memorial service yesterday

How paradoxical the idea of family resemblance in the case of a family like the Jacksons, whose collective enthusiasm for plastic surgery is legendary. But I always thought they looked a bit like Michael. And despite media reports that he may not have been their biological dad, I still kind of think so after getting the first sustained look at Paris, Prince and Blanket at yesterday’s memorial. Or if they don’t look like him, they at least look like he wanted to appear: flowing dark hair, porcelain skin, button nose, the picture of Disney-fied “innocence.”

Having lost my own father and lived through a memorial that (on an entirely different scale) became a disturbingly public spectacle, I feel for them. The “weird” veils and intense privacy MJ insisted upon seem retrospectively wise parenting, considering the glare of the media that they will henceforth be exposed to.

Having no idea if there is a “biological” link between the three kids and Jackson family, I find myself, despite knowing better, trying to scrutinize them for any trace of blackness. Born of surrogates, egg and possibly sperm donors, through in vitro fertilization (one reportedly doesn’t even have a mother listed on the birth certificate) — with Diana Ross, their designated caregiver, should their 79-year old grandmother become incapacitated, delivering a no-show telegram assuring them that she’ll be there should they ever need her — they are the ultimate post-racial, post-human hybrids, “vertically engineered in LA” just like the American Apparel ads.

How perversely appropriate, then, that their public debut should occur in one of the most traditional of community ceremonies, a funeral. The injunction on speaking ill of the dead (“there was nothing strange about your father,” the Rev. Al Sharpton lied) produced an almost surreal atmosphere in which the constantly evoked groundings of faith, friends and family were never more in absence. It was as if we all agreed to momentarily step into the collective delusion MJ shared with his most ardent fans, one last time.

Except, for the kids, this is only the beginning. “The pure products of America go crazy” William Carlos Wiliams warned. Heaven help them.

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