He was the happiest man with the saddest eyes. From time to time, as I'm going about my day, the thought crosses my consciousness that there will never be another Robin Williams film to make me laugh and feel.
I was standing in the accessories section of the Irvine Spectrum Target. It was the middle of the afternoon on a weekday; I was unemployed and wandering aimlessly, calmly. "Robin Williams is dead. Yeah, Killed himself" is how a stranger in the next section chose to break the news to her friend on the other end of the telephone. She almost sounded excited to be the bearer of such news - she had beat her friends to TMZ that morning and was being rewarded. I remember stopping dead in my tracks, my heart doing that thing where it skips a beat and plummets to your butt. "Was she serious? Surely she was just joking. I didn't hear what I thought I heard, did I?" I quickly went to my phone for answers - I don't have news apps, nor do I frequent Twitter so I had received no alerts. Sure enough, as soon as I opened Safari, the statement of the wretched woman in the next section was confirmed.
When my brothers and I were little, our dad used to take us down to the beach on Saturday mornings to let our mum sleep in. We'd get breakfast, play on the rocks, run away from the crashing waves, and return home absolutely exhausted to a well rested mummy. We had this giant, poofy, faded, brown corduroy sectional sofa in our family room so upon returning from the beach, in a parental effort to keep the mellow Saturday vibes going, we'd put on a movie. The five of us would curl up on the big comfy couch Bear Cub style. Bear Cubs is just as you're picturing it: nestled and curled up amongst one another like bears in a den, we found our resting positions. Mom's curly spot (that little pocket created behind the legs when you curl up while laying down) was the hot ticket - you had to claim that one fast! The movie would begin. The movie was Hook. As we grew older, the movie transitioned to Fern Gully, then Aladdin, and Mrs. Doubtfire, until finally we were old enough for films like Good Morning Vietnam, Dead Poets Society, and The Birdcage. The Bear Cubs portion of the movie-watching experience may have faded, but the togetherness never did (and still hasn't).
I could go on talking about all the instances, big and small, where his movies effected my youth, but I'll leave it at that one - perhaps the most profound.
Thank you, Robin, for enriching the lives of my family!
