More Than Enough: A Tribute to Malcolm-Jamal Warner

Here we are yet again. Culturally rocked to our core by another fallen icon. A high school crush. An adopted brother. Everyone’s favorite cousin in their head—Malcolm-Jamal Warner. 

Fortunately, unlike most, I did not learn of his tragic passing from the often abrupt and unwelcoming news that opening our respective social media apps unwillingly launches us into each day. In fact, it was a rare day that I needed the noise silenced and logged into nothing. What I received instead was a call from my sister whose conversation opened with a question we’ve both asked each other more times than we care to count over the years when the untimely passing of an icon rocks us to the core: “Did you hear who passed?!  

Michael. 

Whitney. 

Prince. 

Kobe. 

Chadwick. 

Malcolm….

Ironically, it’s often the loss of those icons who aren’t intentionally in our faces; the ones not commanding every moment or needing constant adoration that hits the hardest. It’s something about those modest yet illuminating souls that seem both related and relatable, like that HBCU professor uncle that shows up for Thanksgiving dinner or the entrepreneurial goods-baking aunt that makes a rare appearance at the family reunion that are those persons who are doper than they ever realize but who elevate just from their mere existence; by showing up in those familiar places, departing wisdom, and showering us with love. When that effortless outpouring and tangibility leaves a space, a void is indeed felt whether you knew them personally or simply watched them on TV. And that is what Malcolm meant to me and so many of us left in the sunset of his tragic passing on July 20, 2025.

It's a void that has hit me harder than I expected, much like the painstakingly heartbreak I felt from the death of movie star-yet-fellow-Howard-University alumna Chadwick Boseman in 2020. Perhaps with Malcolm, the pain is compounded by my habitual daily routine of watching the 80s award-winning television institution known as “The Cosby Show," which cemented Warner--and all of those Cosby kids--in a forever place in our hearts and as a permanent relic of our childhoods despite the swift passing of time. Yet having not deep dived into the many lives Malcolm carved out for himself post child actor to adult star to poet to musician to podcaster to husband to father, whenever and wherever his face appeared, he still felt familiar; comforting; tangible—a superpower in itself particularly in an industry known for stripping (child) actors of any respectability or normalcy. And for which countless celebrity peers have all praised him for being: that all-around good dude who took the time to encourage others, depart wisdom, or simply flash that all-too-familiar smile, which will undoubtedly be cherished and missed the most.

Not surprisingly, a plethora of clips have flooded social media the past few days posthumously paying tribute to and giving us more glimpses into the many facets of Malcolm’s life. Yet most notably for me was a snippet of a 2017 interview with late famed journalist Larry King posted on Instagram by Oscar- winning actress Viola Davis. In it, King closes his interview with a series of rapid-fire questions posed to Warner ranging from weirdest job he ever had to the actor he most wished to work with (it was Davis, by the way, most likely motivating her to share the video). However, most haunting yet most humane was one of King’s concluding questions to Malcolm: 

“Tell me something people don’t know about you?”

Malcolm’s answer: “I have more of a struggle than people realize with owning that I’m enough….”

Unfortunately, it’s usually not until we leave this earth when the best speeches, accolades, and adorations are heaped upon us. When we’re no longer here to hear those impactful sentiments that we might have used as motivation to achieve our next goal or as the acknowledgement we needed to hear to fully settle into the satisfaction of what we’ve already accomplished. Instead we struggle with imposter syndrome; the imprisonment of ego; the suffocation of delusions of grandeur; and the unfashionable nature of faking it 'til we make it, making it oddly comforting to know--despite his celebrity--Malcolm may have juggled and been saddled with those same doubts many of us share, unknowingly moving through time and space, blindly unaware of exactly who he was and what he meant to so many: Trailblazer. Icon. Star. Family Man. Human.

Yet for him—like for all of us—my prayer is that he eventually found that assurance that ultimately silenced the wondering. I suspect, as most parents do, that was ushered in by the simple joy of raising his only child—a love he displayed in a impromptu social media video he posted in which he wore a lone dandelion behind his ear given to him by his 8-year-old daughter; a daughter who we are now learning he was with just moments before on that tragic day--a day when fate transitioned him into a guardian angel for her and all of those he loved. Eternally still loving. Still watching. Still giving. 

Enough. Malcolm, you were. 

Rest in peace, brother, and thank you for your legacy but more so for being a steady reminder of what a cool, calm, collected, talented, and culturally aware Black Man looks like in a time when the world wants us to forget the relevancy, power, and impact of such. From sporting your infamous Gordon Gartrell shirt as Theodore Aloysius Huxtable to donning scrubs as Dr. AJ "The Raptor" Austin to belting out tunes as the front man of Miles Long to so many other countless accolades, your star will forever shine brightly for all of us who need a reminder that when all else fails, consistency, authenticity, and integrity is not only sufficient—it’s the standard. 

Photo Credits: N/A

No Copyright Infringement Intended