Robin Williams starred in one of my sister's favorite films, "What Dreams May Come." In it, he portrays a physician who marries an artist (played by Annabella Sciorra). They later have two children, a boy and a girl, who are killed in a car accident. Although the deaths of their children bring them to the brink of divorce, they decide to stay together. Then the husband dies in a car accident and ascends to Heaven. Grief-stricken and unable to continue on, the wife kills herself and ends up in Hell, not as punishment, but because the pain that brought on the suicide creates Hell for her in the afterlife. The husband attempts what had never been achieved: Leaving Heaven to rescue a soul from Hell to bring to Heaven. He succeeds.
This movie resonates with the African-American Protestant upbringing of my youth to a certain extent: The idea that suicide on earth equals Hell in the afterlife. Like many other African-American Protestants, I was taught that suicide was the one unforgivable sin for which you most certainly would be sent to Hell. "Self-murder," my Baptist mother-in-law called it. My husband, Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB), tells me he learned in his new membership class at his church that suicide is indeed forgivable. How can it not be when someone suffering from mental illness commits the act?
Whenever I hear of someone having taken their own life, I wince with the residue of the beliefs of my upbringing. Now, I question those beliefs. I can't believe a merciful God is incapable of forgiving someone who is so mentally wounded that he can't bear the pain of another day on this planet.
If suicide is indeed a sin and a forgivable one, I pray that God would forgive Robin Williams. If suicide is a sin and isn't forgivable, I hope God makes an exception for Robin Williams.
Growing up, I would have put Richard Pryor at the pinnacle of comic genius. But when you look at the versatility of Robin Williams, tie goes to Robin Williams. He wasn't like some comedians who were only capable of comedy that appealed to those who shared their race, gender, or class; he made comedy that was funny to everyone. His mind was so quick, so sharp, so able to bend into different characters, voices, you name it. And then he could play a dramatic role so moving, such as his roles in "Good Will Hunting" and "The Dead Poets Society," that he reminded you that, yes, he was a top-notch acting student from Julliard. He gave so much joy to the world and did such good works while he was here. He deserves divine forgiveness, assuming he needs it.
What should we take away from this tragic loss? Many things. You never really know what a person is going through, even if you think you do. People who are depressed don't always admit it because of shame and stigma. What looks like addiction to drugs or alcohol may often be self-medication of depression. Depression knows no boundaries -- it strikes the rich and the poor, men and women, and people of all social classes. Just because someone has all of the makings of success -- wealth, fame, etc. -- doesn't mean they are immune from depression or any other mental illness.
If Robin Williams' soul is in the Hell of my upbringing and of the movie "What Dreams May Come," he's worth some soul in Heaven taking a risk to save him.
Robin Williams, may your soul know the peace that eluded it on earth.
Showing posts with label Richard Pryor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Richard Pryor. Show all posts
A Prayer for Gil Scott-Heron to be Free
I recently heard of the passing of Gil Scott-Heron. His passing is truly a loss to African Americans and free-thinking people around the world.
My introduction to Gil Scott-Heron was through my oldest brother, who is eight years older than I am. Growing up in the '70's, I always felt my brother had "radical" tastes -- he had the kinds of records -- and I mean "records," not tapes or CDs -- that my Pentecostal father would have probably broken had he known what was being sung or said on them. My brother didn't have the time or patience for fluffy, insignificant music like disco or arena rock. His tastes included Santana, Marvin Gaye, Curtis Mayfield, Tower of Power, Parliament/Funkadelic, Richard Pryor's comedy albums ("Bicentennial Nigger," anyone?), and, of course, Gil Scott-Heron. It seemed that, in order to make the cut to be included in his musical collection, your music had to have a message or a vibe that resonated with a young black man well aware of all the unfairness America had in store for black men like him. Gil Scott-Heron's did.
As a teenager in the '70's and a young adult in the '80's, I mostly dismissed my brother's tastes as radical or depressing. And Gil Scott-Heron's message about revolutions not being televised, prisons in Angola, Louisiana, and angel dust just were not to the liking of my naive and obnoxiously optimistic persona. Weren't there happier things to sing about?
No, there weren't. Gil Scott-Heron spoke the experiences of injustice and struggle experienced by many African Americans. I was removed from those experiences because I happened to come from a married, two-parent, working-class nuclear family. But that didn't mean I should have been allowed to forget that those experiences were real. The genius of Gil Scott-Heron was that he made us hear those experiences in a way that made us want to listen, even if we had to grow a little older to appreciate those messages.
I had the pleasure of seeing Gil Scott-Heron perform in my college dormitory. Yes, my dormitory, Ujamaa, at Stanford, in the early '80's. It would be generous of me to say that he looked hard, as if he were still struggling with addiction or had recently overcome such a struggle. It was then that I became a fan. He had no entourage, no trappings of stardom. He just played, sang and spoke. I don't remember if he played this song then or if I heard it later, but this one Gil Scott-Heron song would become one of my favorites, so much so that I have always wanted it played at my funeral: A Prayer for Everybody. The lyrics begin:
This is a prayer for everybody
In the world
For I am you and you are me
And we need each other . . . .
As I got older and more appreciative and understanding of the message Gil Scott-Heron was providing in his music, a message I wasn't prepared to hear as a teenager, it struck me that the fact that a man who sang so much of oppression and injustice and struggle could sing such a simple and beautiful song recognizing the humanity and interconnectedness of all of us was a testament to his genius -- his ability to deliver a message that we all needed to hear in a manner that would make us want to listen.
To me, losing Gil Scott-Heron is like losing Richard Pryor or Curtis Mayfield or Marvin Gaye. He was part of that generation of messengers who made us listen and, for some of us, made us grow up and take notice of what was happening in the world.
Godspeed, Gil Scott-Heron. I pray that you are free. Thanks to you and my oldest brother for freeing my mind.
My introduction to Gil Scott-Heron was through my oldest brother, who is eight years older than I am. Growing up in the '70's, I always felt my brother had "radical" tastes -- he had the kinds of records -- and I mean "records," not tapes or CDs -- that my Pentecostal father would have probably broken had he known what was being sung or said on them. My brother didn't have the time or patience for fluffy, insignificant music like disco or arena rock. His tastes included Santana, Marvin Gaye, Curtis Mayfield, Tower of Power, Parliament/Funkadelic, Richard Pryor's comedy albums ("Bicentennial Nigger," anyone?), and, of course, Gil Scott-Heron. It seemed that, in order to make the cut to be included in his musical collection, your music had to have a message or a vibe that resonated with a young black man well aware of all the unfairness America had in store for black men like him. Gil Scott-Heron's did.
As a teenager in the '70's and a young adult in the '80's, I mostly dismissed my brother's tastes as radical or depressing. And Gil Scott-Heron's message about revolutions not being televised, prisons in Angola, Louisiana, and angel dust just were not to the liking of my naive and obnoxiously optimistic persona. Weren't there happier things to sing about?
No, there weren't. Gil Scott-Heron spoke the experiences of injustice and struggle experienced by many African Americans. I was removed from those experiences because I happened to come from a married, two-parent, working-class nuclear family. But that didn't mean I should have been allowed to forget that those experiences were real. The genius of Gil Scott-Heron was that he made us hear those experiences in a way that made us want to listen, even if we had to grow a little older to appreciate those messages.
I had the pleasure of seeing Gil Scott-Heron perform in my college dormitory. Yes, my dormitory, Ujamaa, at Stanford, in the early '80's. It would be generous of me to say that he looked hard, as if he were still struggling with addiction or had recently overcome such a struggle. It was then that I became a fan. He had no entourage, no trappings of stardom. He just played, sang and spoke. I don't remember if he played this song then or if I heard it later, but this one Gil Scott-Heron song would become one of my favorites, so much so that I have always wanted it played at my funeral: A Prayer for Everybody. The lyrics begin:
This is a prayer for everybody
In the world
For I am you and you are me
And we need each other . . . .
As I got older and more appreciative and understanding of the message Gil Scott-Heron was providing in his music, a message I wasn't prepared to hear as a teenager, it struck me that the fact that a man who sang so much of oppression and injustice and struggle could sing such a simple and beautiful song recognizing the humanity and interconnectedness of all of us was a testament to his genius -- his ability to deliver a message that we all needed to hear in a manner that would make us want to listen.
To me, losing Gil Scott-Heron is like losing Richard Pryor or Curtis Mayfield or Marvin Gaye. He was part of that generation of messengers who made us listen and, for some of us, made us grow up and take notice of what was happening in the world.
Godspeed, Gil Scott-Heron. I pray that you are free. Thanks to you and my oldest brother for freeing my mind.
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