To Be Writers Journal 2 - Paul Newman died

Last Friday, Paul Newman died. He was 83 years old.

When I picked up the Sunday newspaper, his picture was on the front page. He looked old and still good. I don't know much about him, probably because he is from another generation and I do not especially follow actors' lives. I did watch some of his movies, though. I remember seeing 'the Sting' - one of my father's favorites, but Robert Redford is the one that I remember better. In 'the color of money', Tom Cruise was the one - I was a teenager.

Paul Newman's picture on the front page kept on getting in my sight, and finally I could not refuse to read the article. He was not the regular super star. He had a modest lifestyle, lived in Connecticut instead of Hollywood, was married to his wife for 50 years and he used his fortune and fame for charity. It sounds like a good 83 years he had, I hope it for him.

I look at the picture again. An 83 year old dead man. Why does his picture stays in my head, why am I fascinated with the article? I just try to refuse writing what I am actually thinking in the last three paragraphs. He makes me think of my father. It is not the fact that they both have those striking blue eyes; it is something different. It is the old face surrounding the eyes, it is the fact that my father is getting old too. And he is so far away, that I can go and see him just once a year; and every time I am there, I realize he got even older. Paul Newman is now dead...

I look at Paul Newman again, thinking about the time I was still living home. My father would get a childish sparkle in his eyes whenever one of his favorite movies was on TV for the first time. He would look at our reaction through out the show. He would get this triumphant smile at the end: 'you see, I knew you would like it!'. Funny how your parents seems so old when you are a child. When I think of those days, I realize that my father was then young.