Read Into This Whatever You Want

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20262 Comments

Dear Will:

My mother, God bless her, tried mightily throughout my childhood to turn me into a reader. Our home was filled with books which I mostly ignored. When she took me to the library, I would skip past the Newbery Medal winners and come home with Great Running Backs of the NFL instead. When I had to fulfill a specific page count to satisfy my elementary school teachers, I would re-read my tattered copy of Sports Shorts or (not making this up) paperback collections of comics from “Tumbleweeds.” Given the option, I always preferred to shoot hoops in the driveway instead. How I ever became an English major remains one of the great literary mysteries of our time.

It wasn’t until my senior year of high school that Mrs. Zastrow, my English teacher, succeeded where my mother had not. When she compelled me to read Walden by Henry David Thoreau, I fell hard. There was something about the off-the-grid experiment at the Pond combined with Thoreau’s excellent prose that just grabbed me. To this day, I consider Walden one of the all-time greats, a favorite that has survived multiple re-readings and still remains on top (ahead, even, of Sports Shorts, if you can believe it). One thing I have discovered, however, is that no one remains neutral when it comes to Walden. You either hate it (most people) or you love it (cool people).

In college I also discovered John Steinbeck, and he remains one of my literary heroes. Of his many books, two stand out for me: The Grapes of Wrath (of course) and East of Eden. No one is better than Steinbeck at helping you see the world through very different eyes and getting you to feel for people who are nothing like you. One of the things I admire most about his writing is how he sometimes takes you right up to the dramatic moment and then begins the next chapter after the moment has passed. He leaves it to the reader to connect the two. It’s great.

I think the most beautiful prose I have ever read can be found in Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury. I can’t even begin to describe it. I read that book as an adult while sitting through the tedium of jury duty. I remember being so blown away by the language that I kept wondering why everybody wasn’t talking about this book even though it had been written 30 years earlier. The story in the book is not my favorite, but the language is so stunningly rich and evocative that it remains among my favorite books without question.

Along the way there have been many other books that have impressed me for one reason or another. In no particular order, here’s my Honorable Mention list of books I continue to recommend with enthusiasm: 

  • Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathon Safran Foer (which you MUST read in print—no audio books or electronic readers, please)
  • To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (so good)
  • Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison (which I recommended to Dana while we were dating, and although she didn’t like it, she married me anyway)
  • Just about anything by Barbara Kingsolver
  • One True Thing by Anna Quindlen (she makes good writing seem so easy)
  • Peace Like a River by Leif Enger
  • Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton
  • Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain (which is just brilliant)

I also not-so-secretly enjoy the works of Elmore Leonard, who I discovered when I needed something to read on a weekend getaway to Lake Arrowhead (it was Get Shorty, I’m pretty sure). There’s nothing “classic” about his books, but he does know how to tell a story and people it with clearly drawn characters, which makes him perfect for reading at the poolside on a weekend getaway.

One final note, which I share with you as a public service: I’m not sure I ever hated any book as much as I did The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang Goethe. I am not a violent man, but I think if I ever met young Werther I would want to punch him in the nose—he is just that annoying. Perhaps if I had not read it as an 18-year-old college freshman I might have reacted differently, but (I cannot state this strongly enough) I am not willing to go back and find out.

But Sports Shorts? I’d read that again in a heartbeat.

PW

Photo by Matias North on Unsplash

How I’d Like to Be Misremembered

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20264 Comments

Dear Will:

Someone asked me once how I’d like to be remembered. I thought the question was totally unfair. If after I’m gone people remember me—truly remember me—their memories will be awash with all of my character flaws and shortcomings. No, thanks. What I would prefer it to be misremembered, for years and years receiving credit for virtues I never actually mastered while my annoying quirks, bad habits, and weaknesses would be lost forever. That I would sign up for. In a heartbeat.

I realize I’m not really in a position to negotiate, but if I’m allowed a suggestion or two, in that future someday I’d like those false memories to look something like this:

I’d like to be remembered as the guy who said just the right thing in that moment when it really mattered. Someone who was there in the middle of that one memory that you’ll always treasure. A central figure in the story that you tell over and over at social gatherings and everybody has a good laugh. Someone who you always associate with one of your very favorite things—that song, that place, that book, that special treat. So that when you think of any of those things, and smile, I’m part of that smile.

I’d like to be remembered as someone who put others first, mostly, or who left you glad in those instances when he made a selfish choice and dragged you along with him. A guy who filled most settings with positive energy and light. Someone who found a way to include those who might otherwise have been left out. Who made others feel that they belong.

I’d like to be remembered as a man who loved easily and openly, judged generously, found ways to give others the benefit of the doubt. Someone who made those around him want to be better and do better. A guy who consistently showed up and made others glad that he did. Someone about whom you might tell tales that inspire others far beyond his lifetime. A doer and a difference maker who left the world, or his little patch of it in any case, better in ways that you could name right off the top of your head.

All of that would be GREAT. But I would forego any of it (or most of it, anyway) if only I could be remembered as someone who was good at the relationships that matter most: husband, father, brother, friend. Someone who left those in his closest inner circle with the absolute certainty that he loved each one deeply and eternally and showed that love in a hundred different ways both large and small. Someone who, in memory, could make you feel that way again and again, long after he’s gone.

Alas. 

If I died tomorrow and you remembered me that way, it would be clear that you were not paying close attention. But since I don’t expect to die tomorrow, or anytime soon thereafter, that idealized, fictionalized image of myself gives me something clear to shoot for. It will take lots of work. There is almost certainly not enough time or divine intervention to close the gap between who I am and who I’d like to be. But on the other hand, it’s nice to have a project, isn’t it?

Facing those high aspirations and impossible odds, I find hope in the scripture that promises: “My grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.”

So what it seems to be saying is there’s a chance. I hope and pray that’s true. For everyone’s sake.

PW

Photo by Kirk Cameron on Unsplash

Everyone Singing from the Same Song Sheet

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20251 Comment

Dear Will:

A couple of weeks ago we attended the annual Holiday Wassail Concert at Chapman University. The event, showcasing the Chapman University Orchestra and various choral groups from around campus, featured an array of songs from across the spectrum: from popular, just-for-fun secular numbers like “Sleigh Ride” to sacred and sublime traditional favorites like the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s “Messiah.”

It’s hard to say exactly why, but the night kind of snuck up on us. Something about the spirit of the season, perhaps, made us vulnerable, and Dana and I found ourselves feeling emotional from the very first note. The choir and orchestra opened the evening with “O, Come All Ye Faithful,” the much-loved Christmas hymn. All at once the house lights came on and the conductor turned toward the audience, inviting us to sing along.

We tried. We really did. But soon we were fighting tears and choking out, “Sing, choirs of angels; sing in exaltation!” And so they sang . . . but we could not.

Perhaps our favorite song of the night was a magnificent Jewish hymn with which we were unfamiliar: “Hine Ma Tov,” with Hebrew lyrics taken from Psalm 133. The King James translation renders its message like this: “Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!”

Indeed, that is the message of the season, and we were feeling it to our very core. Those choirs of angels had sung something similar on that first Christmas night: “Peace on earth, good will toward men and women everywhere!” That invitation to love and unite transcends both time and religion. It beckons each of us to stop fighting with one another, to break down barriers, to come together as brothers and sisters, fellowcitizens, children of God.

Jesus himself was a Jew, one well familiar with scripture—including, no doubt, Psalm 133. He might very well have preached that same message of unity while sitting on a hillside or standing in the synagogue. His most famous sermon, given on a mount in Galilee, included these words of counsel that still echo across the generations: “Blessed are the peacemakers. . . . Be reconciled to thy brother. . . . Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” He called on us to judge reluctantly and generously, to treat others as we would wish to be treated. He taught that love is the ultimate mark of discipleship. He commended those who fed the hungry, welcomed the stranger, visited the sick and the imprisoned.

His empathy knew no bounds.

To some he was a great philosopher, to others a prophet among many, and to others, like us, the very Messiah himself. At this time of year especially, Dana and I celebrate his life and teachings full-throatedly (if we can choke out the words). And to his teachings, we add this prayer of our own: May the feelings we share in December pool within each of us, providing a well of living water from which we can draw throughout the year ahead.

Hine ma tov.

PW

Photo by David Beale on Unsplash