David Rakoff died last Thursday. I didn’t
realize until then how much I liked him. But now, I’m searching for online
appreciations, for YouTube videos, and looking forward, much more than I think
I ever have before, to listening to This American Life this weekend which will
feature a full hour with a man, I realize now, was my friend and an advocate of
my writing, my coming out, my being myself.
Why couldn’t I realize that while he was alive, so I could
have at least written him some fan mail? And said, “Thank you for speaking the
truth in such a humorous way. Thank you for being out, but not being out and
proud so much as being out and just your genuine neurotic self. Thank you for
sharing that talented, caring and cynical self with the world. You made my
world better because you were here.”
If I’d have known it would have been my only chance to
actually meet him, I’d have probably hung around trying to get an autograph
when he appeared at Kingsbury Hall a few years ago. But I didn’t know he was
going to die, and I didn’t know how much really liked him until last Thursday,
until it was too late.
Or is it? I haven’t read his books. They’re no different now
than they were when he was alive. And if I really believe my religion, I’ll see
David again. Who knows maybe he’s already met my mom and dad and stepdad and
grandparents. Maybe they’ve told him what I could not, “Our bisexual son and
grandson, really appreciated you. Your voice on the radio kept him company on a
lot of weekends.”
And maybe it’s not too late to learn once again to value
people here and now. And, maybe, just maybe, if you love someone, to tell them.
Face-to-face.
If you don’t know of David, here’s his Wikipedia bio. And here's a vid of him talking about the difficult process of writing. If you’re
interested in hearing more, catch This American Life this weekend.
As I think of David, I find myself hearing an old Bob Dylan
song:
While riding on a
train goin’ west
I fell asleep for to
take my rest
I dreamed a dream
that made me sad
Concerning myself
and the first few friends I had
With half-damp eyes
I stared to the room
Where my friends and
I spent many an afternoon
Where we together
weathered many a storm
Laughin’ and singin’
till the early hours of the morn
By the old wooden
stove where our hats was hung
Our words were told,
our songs were sung
Where we longed for
nothin’ and were quite satisfied
Talkin’ and a-jokin’
about the world outside
With haunted hearts
through the heat and cold
We never thought we
could ever get old
We thought we could
sit forever in fun
But our chances
really was a million to one
As easy it was to
tell black from white
It was all that easy
to tell wrong from right
And our choices were
few and the thought never hit
That the one road we
traveled would ever shatter and split
How many a year has
passed and gone
And many a gamble
has been lost and won
And many a road
taken by many a friend
And each one I’ve
never seen again
I wish, I wish, I
wish in vain
That we could sit
simply in that room again
Ten thousand dollars
at the drop of a hat
I’d give it all
gladly if our lives could be like that
