He's Already Gone, Chief

It's time we talked about David Letterman.

On my various feeds over the last few days, half of the internet has written heartfelt (and almost heartbreaking) recollections of the talk show host and what he's meant to their lives. The other half of the internet didn't find time for that --as the internet does-- and simply noted on Facebook and Twitter that between the ages of 12-19, David Letterman was there for them.

I want to dissect that latter sentiment for a second, because it was far and away the only thing I think the internet, and maybe culture as a whole, has pretty much agreed on. By that, I mean, like, ever; as in the history of the planet (if that history has existed for the 33 years that Dave was on TV). From your physically awkward and emotionally angsty fart joke years to your entitled and terrifying post high school well-shit-what-do-I-do-now limbo, David Letterman was there for you. He was there for me. And, like most of us lapsed-Letterman true believers, I had ceased watching his show and basically all of late night comedy for years since then. But these last two weeks have done more than stir my nostalgia with the affixed rose-tinted glasses, it finally gave me a chance that only an adult can have upon reflecting on those formative television years to understand. See, I finally figured it out, this thing that is David Letterman. Let's share that together.

Dave, really, was teaching a master class insecurity, disdain, and cynicism almost every night of his show. I know how that sounds, and I can imagine how it reads, but hear me out. Upon his leaving of NBC in the early 90s, the decision to replace Tonight Show host Johnny Carson with Jay Leno would always follow Dave and even dog him no matter what network he found himself on and what show he decided to do following Late Night. Dave is a smart guy, though. Affable, maybe, but still bruised by the wound of being passed for promotion, he turned the insult into armor, and it galvanized his comedy with it for the next two decades. Remember all of those people that said that the years of 12-19 belonged to Dave? That's because they might speak English, but they understand insecurity, disdain, and cynicism better than anyone. Dave, in his way, was teaching them to laugh at the laughter; to poke holes at the bullshit. Dave left NBC for CBS and took his show with him, but you couldn't really say it was a metaphor for going your own way because he took what worked and ditched what didn't from the old show. But the wounds actually left scars, and he would occasionally show them to the world and then make fun of them. Then he would make fun of where they came from. A 14 year-old up a little too late to maybe catch the musical guest would see that and be enlightened. He was our high priest.

As a kid, I watched more TV than I probably should, and my brothers and I could collectively recall whole seasons of reran shows line for line. It was at this moment in my life that I discovered Letterman, and made a point check in with him every night of the week, saddened as no teen should be at yet another Dave-free Saturday at midnight (high school was weird). When I got to college, some strange switch flipped inside me and I ceased watching television completely. For years, all of that burned-in knowledge of the Simpsons, Seinfeld, GI Joe, and whatever else slowly slipped away from me, drifting out of my memories like evaporating rain. These past two weeks of re-acquainting myself with Dave has filled a hole in my chest that I had simply covered up long ago with other things. I'm fine only remembering "Homer at Bat" and "The Marine Biologist" as my favorite episodes of those specific series and letting everything else slip away. With Dave and the Late Show, though, it's harder to reconcile those memories and favorite moments. There would be no syndicated reruns of all 33 years to remind you of the good times and bad, just a few "greatest hits" moments you can probably find on the internet for the highlights.

That's not what life is, just those highlights. For David Letterman to let the Foo Fighters play Everlong last night and take a final kiss goodbye, he was taking what was years of his life and the entirety of mine thus far for a ride into the sunset. He taught me how grow up all those years ago. Now, with the Late Show's passing, he's finally teaching me how to be an adult. He's teaching me to move on.

I could tell you how much his humor in entrenched in me. I could tell you about the low times in my adolescents where he was the just the right kind of stable security every night at 11:30. I could probably tell you, too, how his influence, strangely, directly led to my parents buying me a double-breasted suit for Christmas (that I loved more than a 15 year-old probably should). But I needed to tell you that I get it, Dave.

And thanks for the lesson.