John Witherspoon was the dad I idolized growing up.
After dinner, I'd sit on the couch and watch his seminal works — Friday, The Wayans Bros., and Soul Plane — while my spaghetti and meatballs digested, captivated by his performances. He was goofy, charming, and knew how to masterfully use his body for the butt of a joke (pun intended). But when things were serious, he always returned to a central place of zen, where self-assuredness coincided with learned wisdom and a firm delivery. I came for the laughs and tacky suits and stayed for the realness.
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