The sweep of the movie Forrest Gump is largely reflective of the events of my life. As with Forrest Gump’s friend Bubba, my best friend, whose name was John Roberts died in combat in Vietnam. In the fictionalized book, on Forrest Gump’s life, Bubba died in 1967. John was killed in 1970.
Bubba and John both died at 25 years of age. Bubba wanted to be a shrimp boat captain. John wanted to be a U.S. Senator. The Vietnam war was a pointless and brutal exercise but friendship isn’t. I say that against the backdrop of having two friends recently pass away and wondering where my life will take me next.
Mykelti Williamson is 64
Mykelti Williamson, the actor who played Bubba has recently turned 64. My old friend John, God-willing, would have been 76 had he not been blasted to hell in the Tet Offensive.
I was in the army at the same time John was in the army. He went OCS, became an officer, and was shipped to Vietnam within weeks of graduating officer’s school. I went into the medical corps, got assigned to a stateside unit, and there I stayed. I did not develop survivor’s guilt until many years after.
I never found my way to Vietnam, but I did get to be a New York City Paramedic. One day, a paramedic partner and I had a particularly lousy call. He turned to me and said, “Well, you just had your Vietnam.” Maybe.
Why Bubba? Why in the world do I think about him now? The “scene” I love between Forrest and Bubba, is when Bubba starts recalling all of the ways that shrimp could be prepared. The list was seemingly endless. In addition to being funny, it also gave the audience another view of Bubba: he was not stupid, he was born into poverty, into segregation (Bubba’s mythological birth date was 1943), and had a substandard education. But he was not stupid; only Black and living in the south when no one gave a damn about Black Lives Matter.
So, Bubba and Forrest are scrubbing the floor with their toothbrushes. I’m sure you remember it. Bubba is rattling off hundreds of recipes, and then he abruptly stops with the line: “That’s about it.”
That’s about It
I think about that line a great deal as of late. I do not doubt my mortality. I am under no delusion about living to 110. I have been given many gifts in my life, among them the ability to write and having been, albeit decades ago, a big city paramedic.
As far as being a writer is concerned, in addition to my book projects, I write for several clients. They are each, good people. I like each one for a different reason. They have blessed me, but should my latest book get published, I must be like Bubba. For the freelance well is running dry. With each sentence I write for my clients, I am getting closer to saying, “That’s about it.”
I love what I do, I just want to devote more time doing it for myself. I owe it to the past and to whatever future remains.
