I
don’t know if it’s everything going on in my own life right now, or if
it really is just the fact that he’s gone… maybe a little of both… but
it’s been all I can do to keep myself from breaking down in tears since
finding out about the passing of Robin Williams. It’s a little
embarrassing to feel this distraught over the loss of someone I’ve never
met and probably never would have met.
Someone
who wasn’t a friend or member of my family, or even remotely connected
to anyone that falls into one of those categories.
A celebrity.
I’ve
had moments in the past, reading tributes or heartfelt thoughts on
other celebrities upon their passing, where the sentiment and the
empathy would choke me up a little, but nothing like this. This is
affecting me like I lost someone close to me.
And maybe there’s good reason for that.
When
I was a kid, our family time was generally gathering in the living room
to watch an evening of television. We only had the handful of channels,
and I was not only the remote control but the antenna rotor operator. I
could find just the right spot to turn a blizzard on the screen to a
few flakes of snow going relatively unnoticed. My brother, later plural,
and I lying on the living room floor while Dad reclined in his Lazy Boy
knockoff and Mom curled up at her end of the couch (sometimes with a
book, depending on what was on that night) was a nightly event.
Saturdays gave us the Love Boat and Fantasy Island, Saturday Night Live
after the news. Sunday night was M*A*S*H* before bed. Tuesdays brought
Happy Days and Laverne & Shirley…
I
remember the episode of Happy Days that introduced us to Robin
Williams. I remember thinking what a goofy, funny, weird dude he was. He
was different than anyone I’d seen before. I was five. And I wanted to
see more of him.
Thursday nights provided Mork & Mindy.
From
that point on, Robin Williams was my comedy hero. He was never not
funny. At least not that I can recall. I tuned in whenever he was on. As
I was coming of age, still too young to see his stand-up, the first
comedy album I ever owned was “Reality… What a Concept.” I listened to
it over and over. I had to use headphones, however, as my parents
couldn’t know that I owned this recording full of foul language. At one
point I had the whole act memorized. I had to look things up that I
didn’t understand. Not only did it make me laugh, it made me learn. I
tried to be as funny as him. I tried to be as quick witted as him. He
was molding me somehow.
When
nothing was going right, he was there to make me laugh. I had music, I
had Robin Williams… life wasn’t that bad. And then he started making
movies.
Holy crap! The man can act, too!
The World According to Garp.
Dead Poets Society.
Awakenings.
What Dreams May Come.
Good Will Hunting.
The motherfucking Fisher King.
These
are some of my favorite movies of all time. Movies that weren’t even
necessarily funny. He was amazing in them. They made me think. They made
me feel. They made my own problems and worries disappear for two hours
here and there.
He was brilliant, he was amazing, and he was incapable of not
entertaining. He opened my eyes to a world of comedians and comedy. He
had me watching dramatic films when everyone else was watching the
latest “Coreys” flick. Through him I discovered Carlin. DeNiro. Kinison.
Lithgow. A host of mind expanding personalities that shaped my thoughts
and changed the way I viewed the world, and no matter who or how many I
discovered and took into my stable of entertainment and escape he was
always there. Always my favorite. Always the standard bearer.
He was a part of my life.
And it hurts that he’s gone.
Oh Captain, my Captain!
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