I hugged my pillow hard while I watched “RV” in the darkness of my bedroom. You always played the part of a family man well. I remember how in Mrs. Doubtfire you became an old maid just to be close to your kids. Sure, it was just film. Sure, there were prolly better ways but you had a flair for making a point using comedy.
I remember Flubber. I remember Jumanji. I remember Patch Adams, Bicentennial Man, Night at the Museum. Genie. Robots. Your voice acting was phenomenal; cosmic.
I watched every one of your movies with my family. That’s how clean your jokes were. Well, uh, what was the name of that movie where you had an aging disease and you were a 12 year old trapped in the body of a 40 year old. Jack, I think, it was. Yeah, there was this disgusting scene you all farted into a jar. Gross, and yet, here I am, unable to get it out of my head.
I loved how you talked so passionately about literature in ‘Dead Poets Society’. O Captain, my Captain. That moment your students stood on the tables. Fwooh. I stood up too, no joke.
The world has lost a great Humour Specialist. Your love for the art of comedy has inspired me and countless others in ways you never would have known even if you lived to be a hundred and one.
You made me think about the importance of life choices, family priorities, passion, foreign accents and the essentiality of laughter, even in the midst of loss.
I stand up for you, my Captain. My imagination runs wilder in your footsteps.
Who wants to be 63 throughout eternity?
What Dreams May Come.
I try: 我们会想你。
Thinking of: Heart beats fast, colours and promises, catharsis, a brief history in time and everything Robin William.