The Lessons I Learned From John Witherspoon

John Witherspoon was the dad I idolized growing up.


Immediately after dinner, I'd sit on the couch and watch his seminal works — Friday, The Wayans Brothers, 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). However as soon as things were serious, he routinely returned to a central place of zen, where self-assuredness coincided learned wisdom as well as a firm delivery. I came for the laughs and tacky suits and stayed for the realness.


In F. Gary Gray's Friday, Witherspoon's degree of not-give-a-fuckness-because-I’m-your-dad habitually stuck out to me as something that couldn’t be authentically translated in a script; it's something you're place on Earth with, a form of charisma marinated to the ultimate, seasoned, sauce. The way he holds his finger down on the air freshener while on the toilet, his forehead creasing in disgust, you can smell it also. You can imagine him embarrassing Craig in public, pulling up to his school with his dog-catching truck and listening to “September” by Earth, Wind, and Fire, with chili running down his face. He was every dad in that way.


Witherspoon's breakthrough role — following a successful career in standup alongside future stars like David Letterman and Jay Leno — was a memorable supporting part in 1990's House Party. He played Mr. Strickland, the conveniently annoyed enemy of teenage fun who was decided to shut off this party as if his life depended on it. He turned that into a little, however essential, role in 1995's Friday as Willie Jones, a loud-talking, financially petty father who valued hard work and hated slackers.


Although Witherspoon wasn’t just Craig’s father, he was mine by proxy. Any time whenever he scolded Craig for refusing to eat his cereal without milk, I felt the heat also. Willie checked his son on his privilege; immediately considering that, he's pretty lucky — at least he has food to eat, dry or not. He made Craig eat the cereal. Although before he even thought about taking an individual bite, he had to take out the trash first.


My parents divorced As soon as I was in fourth grade, so seeing a father figure on my television screen was something I never quite did not remember. He didn't just tell Craig what to do; he taught him how to do it. Some days through sheer fear, although it habitually brought about understanding. I got accustomed to Friday reruns in the early aughts and learned the cereal scene word for word. The smack of grape skin popping between gums while talking was something I incorporated into early middle school jokes. And at house, I stopped complaining about the food on our table. Because at least we had food to eat. (Though, I may never make myself stoop to milkless cereal.)


It wouldn’t be up until years later that another one of Witherspoon's lessons would impact my life: use your fists, not weapons. Soon after Willie catches Craig with a gun — one that he had received to protect himself from a probable confrontation with a local drug dealer — he shows his son that his fists are the only real weapons that he needs. "You win some and you also lose some," he says, holding up his fists, yet at least you live to be able to see another day." Growing up in Hampton, Virginia, I knew people who lost their lives to senseless gun violence and saw how quick situations could escalate from simple disagreements to life-or-death circumstances. This wasn't just another scene in a movie; it felt like real life. And Craig's words — "I'm a male without it" — lingered.


Afterward, Craig gets into a fight with the neighborhood bully, Deebo, and pulls the gun from his waistband like King Arthur withdrawing Excalibur from the stone. As soon as Craig contemplates shooting Deebo, he thinks about his father's words. At the same time, just a couple of feet away, his father stands on the sidelines watching it unfold in real-time. He gives Craig space to create his own decision, to be a male and survive with the implications. It's a test, and Craig, lowering the gun, passes.


I saw my dad again in sixth grade. To this day, we'll sit on the couch and watch Friday with each other. We laugh the loudest any time Witherspoon's on-screen — the way he crunches, smacks, and spits as he nibbles on food, licking his fingers subsequently as if he never has to shake another hand in his life.


However his genius as an actor wasn't in the physical comedy and exaggerations that made his roles in Friday and The Wayans Brothers so unforgettable. It was in the smaller moments between jokes, as soon as his subtle, worldly wisdom seeps through quiet conversations. He discussed to generations, particularly Black males, about how to succeed in a global that doesn’t hand anything to you. A global that gives you cereal without milk. He walked me through my childhood without even realizing it.