A Letter to Robin

Dear Robin, 

When I was much younger, I used to take family vacations to the beach every summer. Like clockwork. Sometimes a different beach, but either way they were trips I sometimes enjoyed and other times was too much of a brat to understand what they meant. At the end of each day's sunburns and sand-covered sandals, our family took comfort in watching t.v. together. Sometimes I was showered. Other times my over exhausting infatuation with the night's programming "disabled" me from a good clean-off. One by one my family members would drop like flies to the day's fatigue, but my eyes were still glued to the screen as if being downloaded information from a computer. Once everyone was in for the night, I'd curl up on the floor – pillows perfectly fluffed behind my head for maximum comfort – and start my Nick at Nite late night leg. Between The Munsters, The Monkees, The Wonder Years, Taxi and Happy Days, I could have been struck by lightning right then and there. One of the fondest television memories I have was seeing Mork for the first time on Happy Days. Now, I claimed I was no stranger to this show and knew it inside and out, but when my father asked me about Mork one time all that was heard were crickets. How could I have not met Mork yet? At the beach, while on the floor, all alone, Mork was introduced into my life. 

My teen years were a combination of strangeness, pimples and mostly rebellion against my parents (now looking back at it, in ways that would not even measure a two on the teen-angst richter scale). When the door slowly creeped open to reveal Mrs. Doubtfire, I was stunned. I watched. And I watched. And I watched some more. At that time in my life, I was watching without a clue as to why. I do, now. It showed me an adult level of parenting and the hardships that come along with it. Family takes work. But Mrs. Doubtfire showed me that in the end, warts and all, family is worth everything. Thank you for showing me this. 

I am not going to rattle off all of your films. It would not be honest to say every film or television show of yours touched me in some significant way. I have seen many, but only want to highlight a select few that genuinely altered my way of thinking for the better – meeting Sean Maguire is one of these moments. When I first heard Sean speak, I was taken aback by his subtleness. His cloaked sense of kindness mixed with a slow burning, factual demeanor made me lean in closer to the screen. I wanted to hear every piece of advice he had to give. Not because he was overly smart or some self-proclaimed sage, but because he was truthful with his advice. He did not hold back with what he said, but was there to pick you up after you hit the bottom. After my teenage years, I thought I understood the world. Every damn bit of it, inside and out. Thanks to a few hard-hitting slams of warm apple life, and the below scene, I understood that it is fine to not understand everything. 

I never fully realized how big of a part you played in my life until now. Part of me is ashamed of this, but the other part of me is happy to realize it. Your knack for laughter (understatement) was beyond comedy, it was a cure-all. It lifted. It inspired. It propelled. Thank you for this. 

https://www.youtube.com/embed/49TeSoo4Sx8

A Guy You Made Laugh,

Jameson

Photo: The Guardian