Dante Basco - From Rufio to Zuko

Copyright 2019 Dante Basco

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, contact .

Basco, Dante

ISBN: 978-1-945649-36-3

Fire Nation edition

ISBN: 978-1-945649-35-6

Lost Boys edition

Edited by Safia Elhillo and Rhiannon McGavin

Cover design by Cassidy Trier

Editorial design by Ian DeLucca

Proofread by Rhiannon McGavin

Not a Cult

Los Angeles, CA

Printed in Canada

Im up, didnt sleep at all last night; its been three weekends in a row now that Ive been out of town. On the road, in places I never knew existed until the very moment I wound up there. Then here. Denver, Colorado. ComicCon all weekend (no sleep) and a Monday morning flight so early that the car picked me up at 4:30 a.m. I worried I might oversleep, and that anxiety kept me wired. Now, here I am. Middle of the country. Before the sunrise, but in an airport I know quite well. In my career you zig-zag, and my zig-zags often leave me in limbo here. I grab the same bagel at that one eatery they have in every terminal, then I hit up the same store for essentials. Its not even really a store so much as an enclosed kiosk that sells outdoor jackets. You cant go outdoors at the Denver Airport and Im usually bouncing between significantly warmer cities. Regardless, I wind up buying jackets. I have too many jackets already. Theres a slight concern that I have a jacket addiction. Maybe youll understand it? They seem substantial to me in some way and perhaps I have a deep-seeded fear of being cold. Does that count as a metaphor?

Im writing a book about my life. Its going very well so far, as I assume you can tell. This might wind up scattered. Primarily because I dont think I should be writing a book. Im only 42 years young. Is that old enough to be worthy of a book? Is that perhaps too old to be writing a book at this point? Does anyone want to read what I have to say? Youre here right now, but are you sure that youll see this through to the end? I dont know if I can.

Im writing a book and its going very well so far.

We ended things me and the woman Ive been in a relationship with for eleven years. We ended it, and it went down heavy. Its still heavy. This isnt denial, but Im doing my best not to think about it. I havent written about it yet, not for myself or anyone else. As much as I want to keep these feelings wrapped until they heal a bit more, its like Im bleeding through the bandages. Its all around me. I thought I could do this travel, and abandon this hurt at home. I can almost hear your eyes roll. Youre not wrong. You cant leave a memory like a place. Its a curse that will linger in the air wherever you go. It lives in your breath.

I dont really know what to do about emotional hauntings, so my best bet is to dive in. Put words on the page. Accept what I cannot control and exorcise the rest onto the infinite canvas of a digital page. Truly lose myself in the foreverness of a void.

Im writing a book and its going very well so far.

Hey. The sun is rising in Denver, and well be lining up to board soon. I can escape this airport, this exhaustion, but not the baggage Im bringing with me. Not my carry-on; but rather the oh, you get it. I was trying to be clever but, again, no sleep and too many thoughts. You understand. Now Im thinking about what Ill be returning to in Los Angeles. Ill collapse onto my bed. That part Im looking forward to. Ill need to clean my house. When you live your life on the road, sometimes your apartment devolves into less of a habitat and more of a slightly welcoming closet. A storage unit for myself and the Dante-adjacent accessories. Then I have to talk to my accountant. God, will that come before the sweet embrace of my mattress? I have to file income taxes for myself. I have to file separate income taxes for my businesses. I worry that Ive become a grown-up. A grown-up who pays multiple sets of taxes. Its an odd aspect of adulthood to fixate on, but I feel like I should be more coherent about this. One clear feeling. Thats not coming. With bonafide maturity, does this happen more often? Does everything start to blur? Or does this emotional smudge feel exaggerated because of my identity? The world knows me, first and foremost, as a child actor. An entire generation grew up watching me grow up, whether they knew it or not. Would my transition into I dont know, what phase of life is 42? Does my transition into this period represent a difficult growth, not only for me, but collectively, for everyone who shared in my upbringing?

It is possible that Im too tired to be starting this right now. Does this all track? You still with me? Thanks for your patience. I think this is all going somewhere.

The world knows me as a child actor. And it always will. That was where we started, and I wont be able to change that. I used to fight against this. Ive found a peace with it. I think. I hope. As a child actor, I was one of the only Asian American kids that appeared on film, from the mid-'80s through most of the 90s. On into the 2000s. I still work today, but I remain frozen for most people. In their mind, I will always be the person I was at that very specific point. Even now, in my 40s, I voice teenage characters in animated productions. A director once told me that I was timeless. Its certainly a compliment, but its a complicated compliment.

Even if I wanted to struggle against my careers cryogenic state, I would have to battle the most iconic character of my career. In the film Hook, I played the role of Rufio. He was the leader of The Lost Boys. And The Lost Boys never grew up. Im not a child infused with the magic of an imaginary land. I grew up. But I am still, literally, a lost boy.

Definitely lost right now.

Im writing a book and maybe this isnt the right time.

If youre going to come with me on this adventure, as youve probably come with me on adventures before, I want you to have some concept of where were going. I surely dont have lifes big answers, and I doubt that I know more than anyone else about any particular subject. I dont even have the benefit of time, since Im just dipping a toe into middle-aged. Old enough to be just a bit depressing, but not old enough to wax poetic with any degree of accuracy. Crap.

So my plan is to look back at my own adventure. And the story doesnt belong to me alone. I have a family full of important figures that helped shape who Ive become. Who continue to shape where I will go. Theyre the co-authors here.

In a bigger picture, this isnt even our story. Much of this is about the Asian American experience in Hollywood. And what a childhood in that place can do to you. My family was recognized by the mayor of Los Angeles as the First Major Asian American Entertainment Family. I still dont fully understand what that means, but I have some ideas. It means that we figured out how to pull off creative work in an oppressive environment, and other people might learn from our success. It also means that we have a responsibility in our community. My life has been spent trying to fulfill that responsibility. I hope Im doing well in that regard. If nothing else, I believe Ive paved roads for those that come after me.

Im writing like Im about to die. Im 42. Ill try to be a bit less serious about this moving forward. Sorry, Im feeling this whole thing out with you. I promise Im not going to die before were done.