Oh Captain, My Captain

With many others, I mourn the loss of Robin Williams: the actor, the comedian (for a laugh, watch this stand-up show from 1978. It’s hilarious.), the father, the man. And strangely enough (but not so strangely), I am more saddened by his death than I have been in response to any other celebrity death in the past. This (and I’m sure this is it) is probably because I grew up with him. I was raised on his humour, his drama, his self. They were there from then ’til now.

As a child I remember watching Mork and Mindy, Good Morning Vietnam, and Dead Poets Society. They instilled in me a sense of humour, an awareness of my societal surroundings, and a love for the creative arts. When I hit my teenage years I laughed alongside Mrs. Doubtfire, I felt the excitement and joy of Jumanji, I wondered at What Dreams May Come, and I felt the inspirational impact of Good Will Hunting (It’s not your fault…). Finally, however, after leaving the throes of my adolescence behind, I freaked myself out with Insomnia, hid under the blanket during One Hour Photo, and laughed my buttocks off with Death to Smoochy.

Throughout my life, Robin Williams, the actor, the comedian, the man, was there. He made me laugh, cry, and shout (YAWP!).

O captain, my captain. We’ll miss you.

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