Paris Jackson has been a superstar her entire life despite being only 24 years old and the second child of the iconic musician Michael Jackson.
Paris has experienced several difficulties since the death of her father. But, the gifted young lady is currently pursuing her own singing career.
Despite the ups and downs in her life, she has now made the decision to talk about her upbringing with her father, known as the “King of Pop.” Few, if any, individuals are unaware of Michael Jackson’s existence.
Michael Jackson – “King of Pop”
You know, you’re not referred to as “The King of Pop” for nothing, do you? Even while we like the late singer’s music, his life wasn’t always easy.
Michael had domestic issues from the beginning, when he performed with his siblings in the Jackson Five, which were made worse by a strict father who was quick to discipline his children if they disobeyed.
Michael Jackson may be considered a product, someone who was created from an early age to be an entertainer and vocalist. That won’t change the fact that his music, dance, and songwriting are all absolute masterpieces.
When Michael Jackson passed away in 2009, the whole world mourned the singer. He had been chased by paparazzis’ and tabloid newspapers for pretty much his entire life, but not even when he was laid to rest for the last time was he spared.
Paris Jackson – Michael’s daughter
Several media helicopters followed the helicopters delivering his body from the hospital in Los Angeles. News about Michael Jackson and his family is still reported on all around the world today.
Nowadays, his family members receive the majority of the attention. His kids in particular have come under attack since the Jackson family is a popular target for paparazzi.
Paris Jackson, the second child of Jackson, has grown up in the public eye. She is now making every effort to distinguish herself from Michael Jackson’s child and become her own person.
She has been suffering from mental illness for a number of years, yet she is actually doing extremely well.
Paris Jackson – early life
On April 3, 1998, in California, Paris Jackson was born. She is Michael Jackson’s only daughter and his second kid.
She and her brother were both homeschooled up until the sixth grade, which made her early years quite private. The kids were carefully protected from the public because Michael Jackson was keen on allowing them to maintain their seclusion. The children in Michael’s family were either wearing costumes or having their heads wrapped in scarves to conceal their faces in early photographs.
As a result, life on the Neverland Ranch was extremely constrained for Paris and her siblings. No one can deny that they were immensely wealthy, but it must have also been difficult.
Speaking with supermodel Naomi Campbell, Paris Jackson opened up about her father, and what her upbringing was like.
She said that Michael Jackson made sure that they were “cultured”.
“My dad was really good about making sure we were cultured, making sure we were educated, and not just showing us like the glitz and glam, like hotel hopping, five-star places,” Paris said.
“It was also like, we saw everything. We saw third world countries. We saw every part of the spectrum.”
Speaks out on her childhood
Paris Jackson lived all over the world during her childhood days, as her father toured across the globe to play in front of hundreds of thousands of people.
She claims to have been quite appreciative of her “rich” upbringing. Paris also discovered early on that she should not feel entitled. Her father made sure that the kids understood the idea of working hard to attain what they want.
“Even growing up it was about earning stuff,” Paris said. “If we wanted five toys from FAO Schwarz or Toys ‘R’ Us, we had to read five books.
“It’s earning it, not just being entitled to certain things or thinking ‘oh I got this’,” she added. “It’s like working for it, working hard for it, it’s something else entirely, it’s an accomplishment.”
Paris was only 11 years old when her father passed away
Tragic passing of Michael Jackson
On June 25, 2009, “The King of Pop” experienced a heart arrest at home and soon after being taken to a neighboring hospital, he passed suddenly. According to Michael Jackson’s will, Paris and her brothers were placed in Katherine Jackson’s legal custody.
Paris, then 11 years old, spoke briefly about her father in front of the entire world during the funeral service that was broadcast on television.
“Ever since I was born, daddy has been the best father you could ever imagine,” she said. “And I just wanted to say I love him so much.”
Paris and her brothers, Prince Michael, 12, and Prince Michael II, 7, were all in attendance during the televised memorial service. In fact, that was pretty much the first time the world caught more than just a glimpse of Jackson’s children.
Then, in January 2010, they were once again were seen in public while accepting a posthumous Lifetime Achievement Award for their father at the 2010 Grammy
Paris Jackson – life after Neverland
In November the same year, Paris appeared on the Oprah Winfrey Show to speak about her father, saying that he was amazing.
“I kind of felt like no one understood what a good father he was, he was the best cook ever,” she told Winfrey. “He was just a normal dad.”
“He made the best French toast in the world,” Paris added.
When Michael Jackson passed away, Paris Jackson moved into a mansion in Calabasas, California, with her grandmother Katherine Jackson, as well as other members of her family.
When she turned 19, she decided to move into Michael Jackson’s private studio at the family compound, which she transformed into a dorm-style bedroom.
Losing your father is hard as it is. But for Paris, it was much more than that. All of a sudden, she was expected to carry on her father’s legacy.
“I tried to grow up too fast”
Upon starting seventh grade, Paris decided to attend a private school. At this point, the only ones accepting her for who she was were the older kids, and it didn’t turn out perfect.
“I was doing a lot of things that 13-, 14-, 15-year-olds shouldn’t do. I tried to grow up too fast, and I wasn’t really that nice of a person,” she tells us.
Around the same time, social media had become a thing, and Paris faced cyberbullying.
“The whole freedom-of-speech thing is great,” she explained. “But I don’t think that our Founding Fathers predicted social media when they created all of these amendments and stuff.”
Paris went through a lot of trauma as a teenager. She even tried taking her own life following a very serious incident, but that was also somewhat of a turning point.
She spent her sophomore year, as well as half her junior year, at a therapeutic school in Utah, which was great for her.
“I’m a completely different person,” she said. “I was crazy. I was actually crazy, I was going through a lot of, like, teen angst. And I was also dealing with my depression and my anxiety without any help.”
Paris Jackson – career
Paris graduated high school in 2015 – one year early – but by this point, she had a lot on her mind. She was one of the heirs of Michel Jackson’s billion-dollar heritage, and everyone saw her as a celebrity, even though she actually hadn’t done anything.
Now, though, Jackson is heading in the same direction as her father: the entertainment business. She’s taken her father’s advice seriously: if you want something, you have to put in work to get it. During the Naomi Campbell interview, Paris stated that she was a “full believer” that she should earn her own success.
For someone born into ridiculous wealth, as the child of one of the most famous people in modern history, this is something we truly adore Paris for. No matter what has happened in her past or who her father is, she wants to do her own thing.
She grew up around only adults except for her siblings. When she left Neverland to go to a real school, it was a big change for her. She grew up as the child of Michael Jackson, but for her, the world was more than that. And in the beginning, it sure was hard.
“Once I got introduced into the real world, I was shocked. It blew me away,” Paris explained. “Not just because it was sexist, but misogynist and racist and cruel. It was scary as hell. And it still is really scary.”
Modeling and music
So what did Paris do? Well, she went her own way, starting out working as a model. And she has a real talent for it!
In recent years, she’s been on the covers of some of the world’s most influential magazines, including Rolling Stone, Vogue and Narcisse to name a few.
For Paris, modeling is a very therapeutic and natural thing. Many were shocked when her father transformed via his many plastic surgeries. But in this age of social media and cyberbullying, Paris understands his choice.
“I’ve had self-esteem issues for a really, really long time,” she said. “Plenty of people think I’m ugly, and plenty of people don’t. But there’s a moment when I’m modeling where I forget about my self-esteem issues and focus on what the photographer’s telling me – and I feel pretty. And in that sense, it’s selfish.”
Through her Instagram page, Paris’s followers can see her life as she seems to like spending time with her friends, doing all the things in life she couldn’t really experience at a younger age.
Released her first album
She released her debut album Wilted in 2020, following in her father’s musical footsteps. Paris Jackson is doing music, but her CD is indie folk rather than the R&B and pop style for which her father was famous.
“It’s mainly just a story of heartbreak and love, in general, and the thoughts and feelings that come after it doesn’t work out,” she remarked.
Paris Jackson grew up with her father’s music, and she says she knows all the words to his songs. At the same time as she created her own sound, it’s inevitable that Michael Jackson’s taste in music influenced her.
“He loved classical music and jazz and Hip Hop and R&B and obviously the Motown stuff,” she says.
Paris Jackson has paid tribute to her father on her body, acquiring more than 50 tattoos. Nine of them are devoted to Michael Jackson.
She has learned to cope with the devastating loss of her father rather than believing that time will make everything better.
She remembers Michael Jackson visiting her in her dreams, so she knows he will always be there with her.
“I live life with the mentality of ‘OK, I lost the only thing that has ever been important to me.’” she mentioned. “So going forward, anything bad that happens can’t be nearly as bad as what happened before. So I can handle it.
“I feel him with me all the time.”
People who have experienced parental loss may undoubtedly relate to Paris and the pain she is going through. Nobody, however, has had the same level of experience growing up as Paris Jackson had.
We’re ecstatic that she may now go about her business without being followed everywhere she goes by paparazzi. Paris, good luck!
Please, share this article with friends and family if you also think Paris Jackson is a brave woman!
It Took Me 2 Years to Find the House from an Old Photo I Received Anonymously
A mysterious box appears on Evan’s doorstep containing a baby photo with a birthmark identical to his and a faded image of an old house shrouded in trees. Haunted by questions of family and identity, Evan becomes obsessed with finding it. Two years later, he does.
When people ask where I’m from, I always say “here and there.” It’s simpler that way. Nobody really wants to hear about foster homes and sleeping in rooms that never felt mine.
A serious man | Source: Midjourney
But truth be told, I’ve been searching for the true answer to where I came from my whole life.
I remember Mr. Bennett, my 8th-grade history teacher, better than most of the families I lived with. He was the only one who ever looked at me like I wasn’t a lost cause.
I didn’t realize it back then, but his belief in me was the start of everything. He’s the reason I clawed my way to a college grant. But college didn’t care how scrappy I was.
A college class | Source: Pexels
While other students called home for emergency cash, I worked double shifts at the campus café, microwaving three-day-old pizza for dinner. I never complained. Who would listen?
After graduation, I lucked into a job as an assistant to Richard — think Wall Street shark in a luxury suit. He was ruthless but brilliant. He didn’t care where I came from, only that I could keep up.
For five years, I followed him like a shadow, learning everything from negotiation tactics to the art of not flinching in a boardroom.
Businesspeople in a boardroom | Source: Pexels
When I walked away, it wasn’t with bitterness. It was with the blueprint for my logistics company: Cole Freight Solutions.
That company became my pride and proof that I was so much more than just a name on a file in some state database.
I thought I’d finally escaped my past in the foster system. I was 34, too old to be haunted by my mysterious origins when my future lay before me. That’s what I told myself, at any rate. But it turned out my past had more to show me.
A man in a warehouse | Source: Midjourney
I’d just come home from work and the box was sitting on my front step like it had fallen out of the sky. No postage, no address, no delivery slip.
At first, I didn’t touch it. I stood there, hands in my jacket pockets, scanning the street. No one was around. The only movement was the sway of the neighbor’s wind chimes. After a few minutes, I crouched down and ran my fingers along its edges.
It was just a plain old cardboard box, soft at the corners like it had been wet once and dried in the sun.
A slightly damaged cardboard box | Source: Midjourney
I carried it inside, kicking the door shut behind me. It sat on my kitchen table, silent but loud in its own way.
I pulled open the flaps, and I swear, for a second, I stopped breathing.
It was full of toys. Old, battered toys. A wooden car with half its wheels gone, a stuffed rabbit with one button-eye dangling from a loose thread. They smelled like time — musty and sad. Then I saw the photos.
Items in a cardboard box | Source: Midjourney
Faded images spilled out like loose puzzle pieces. The first photo I grabbed stopped me cold. A baby’s chubby face, round cheeks flushed with life. My eyes locked on a small, jagged mark on his arm. My breath hitched.
No. It couldn’t be.
I yanked up my sleeve, heart pounding hard enough to feel it in my ears. There it was — that same odd-shaped birthmark just below my elbow. My fingers hovered over it like I’d never seen it before.
A birthmark on a man’s arm | Source: Midjourney
My gaze flicked back to the table, hands moving with urgency now. Another photo lay beneath the first. This one was different. It showed an old, weathered house half-hidden behind a wall of trees. It looked like something forgotten.
Beneath the photo, faint words scratched across the bottom. I tilted it toward the kitchen light, squinting like that would sharpen the letters.
Two words floated up from the smudges: “Cedar Hollow.”
A man holding a photo | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t have time to process it before I spotted the letter. The paper had the rough texture of an old grocery bag and smelled faintly of mildew. My fingers hesitated as if the letter might burn me. But I opened it anyway.
“This box was meant for you, Evan. It was left with you as a baby at the orphanage. The staff misplaced it, and it was only recently found. We are returning it to you now.”
My legs buckled, and I sat hard on one of the kitchen chairs.
A shocked man | Source: Midjourney
My elbows pressed into the table as I gripped my head with both hands. I read it again, slower this time as if slowing down would change what it said. It didn’t.
The photo, the baby, the birthmark, the house. This box — this stupid, worn-out box — had handed me the key to a question I’d stopped asking myself years ago: “Who are you?”
That night, I sat at my desk with the photo pinned beneath my fingers. I scanned it, enlarged it, and ran it through cheap online tools that promised “enhancement” but only made it worse.
A frustrated man working on a laptop | Source: Midjourney
Every blurry line made me angrier. Every click of the mouse felt like I was pushing further from the truth.
Weeks passed. My search history turned into a rabbit hole of maps, old county registries, and forum posts full of strangers who “knew a guy” who “might know a place.”
Every lead ended in a dead end, but I couldn’t let it go. So I hired professionals. Real investigators with access to records I couldn’t touch.
A detective | Source: Pexels
I told myself it was just curiosity. Just a little unfinished business. But I knew better. I knew I wouldn’t stop.
Months passed. The investigators burned through my savings, but I didn’t care. I was chasing something bigger than logic. I stopped taking client calls and ducked out of friend meetups. People asked if I was sick. I wasn’t sick; I was consumed.
Two years later, my phone buzzed at 2:16 p.m. I answered before the second ring.
A man holding a cell phone | Source: Pexels
“You’re not gonna believe this,” said the investigator. “Cedar Hollow. It’s real, and I found it. It’s a house about 130 miles from you. I’m texting you the address.”
I hung up, hands gripping the phone so tight it squeaked.
It was real… the text with the address flashed up on my screen, followed shortly by a location pin. This was it. I was going home.
An emotional man | Source: Midjourney
I drove three hours through back roads and half-forgotten highways. No music. No distractions. Just me, the hum of the engine, and the low thump of my heartbeat in my ears.
The house wasn’t hard to spot. It sat at the end of a dirt road, surrounded by trees that twisted upward like bony fingers. The boards on the windows and doors were cracked. Vines crawled up the siding. It looked tired, like it had been holding its breath for years.
I parked the car and got out.
A neglected house | Source: Midjourney
The air smelled like damp leaves and old bark. My breath came out in puffs of white mist. I walked up to it slowly, one foot in front of the other.
My fingers dug under the edge of a loose board on the back window. It took three hard pulls before it came free, nails popping loose. I hoisted myself through, landing on creaky floorboards with a thud.
The first thing I saw was the cradle.
An old cradle | Source: Midjourney
It was exactly like the photo. The curve of the wood was identical, and the hand-carved stars on the side were the same. I reached for it, touching the edge with my fingertips.
On the small table beside it, there was a picture frame. A woman holding a baby. Her smile was soft and tired, but there was warmth there. I knew that smile.
I knew it because I’d been waiting for it my whole life.
An emotional man | Source: Midjourney
“Mom,” I whispered, lifting the picture frame.
The frame caught on something, stirring up the dust. There was a letter on the table, folded neatly like someone had taken great care. My fingers shook as I opened it.
“Someday you will come here, son, and you will find all this.”
I sank onto the floor, my back to the wall.
A man reading a letter | Source: Midjourney
My eyes ran over every word, etching them into my mind.
“I am very sick. Your father left me, and I have no relatives. Just like you will not have any, since there’s no way I can keep you now. I’m so sorry, my angel. Be strong and know that I had no other choice. I love you.”
My tears hit the paper.
A letter | Source: Pexels
I tried to wipe them away, but they left faint stains on the ink. I read it again. Then again.
“I love you.” I wiped the dust off the picture and stared at my mother’s face. I had her eyes and her chin, her letter, and her love, but it wasn’t enough.
Grief only drowns you if you stay under too long. I stayed under for a week, maybe two. Then I did something I never thought I’d do.
A determined man | Source: Midjourney
I called a construction crew.
The first day, they thought I was nuts. The place was a wreck, a “tear-down” as one guy put it. But I shook my head.
“We rebuild it. Everything.”
So, they put in new walls, new windows, and new floors. I took out a loan and worked like a man possessed to make it happen, but it was worth it.
A house | Source: Midjourney
One year later, I stood on the front porch, hands on my hips. The air smelled like fresh pine and clean paint.
But not everything was new.
I kept the cradle. I cleaned it by hand, sanding the rough edges, and staining it until it gleamed. I also kept the photo of her and me and put it on the mantel.
A mantel | Source: Pexels
It took me a lifetime to find it, but I was finally home.
Here’s another story: When Lucy moves into her childhood home, she hopes for a fresh start after her painful divorce. But cryptic comments from her neighbors about the attic stir her unease. The devastating betrayal she discovers up there forces her to flee the house.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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