Author: Peter Watkins

The Safest, Surest Course

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20031 Comment

Dear Will:

Last month we caved in and finally got our daughter Bryn a dog. She had been working us pretty steadily for nearly a year, a no matter how many obstacles we threw in her way, she still seemed to find a way around them. You might say she was doggedly determined. So as her ninth birthday approached we knew we had little choice: It was time to head to the pound.

We returned home with Barnum, an exuberant little mutt with a propensity to walk on his hind legs, leap up to try to lick your nose, and steal the wiffle ball in the middle of a game of home run derby (Snoopy made a much better shortstop). He is also a submissive pup, inclined to pee on the carpet when he gets in trouble. He is full of energy and prone to mischief, but inasmuch as he adores our daughter (and she him) we have accepted him more or less as one of us.

Not long after we had brought him home, Dana and I were out for the evening while we left Luke, our 13-year-old, in charge of the others. The three kids decided to take Barnum down to Linda Vista School and let him run around. Since they were alone at the school they released the dog from his leash and to let him tear around the grass. They were having a wonderful time when another couple from the neighborhood appeared on the school grounds with a pair of German Shepherds—also off leash. Well, as you might imagine those big dogs spotted Barnum right off and the chase was on. Of course meek little Barnum wanted nothing to do with two dogs three times his size, so he took off at full speed, leaving our children in a panic.

With the help of the extremely apologetic couple, Luke, Bryn, and Seth searched for Barnum for around half an hour. He was nowhere to be found. Worried sick and unsure what to do next, they finally gave up and went home—where they found Barnum lying in the garage, awaiting their return. Needless to say, they were amazed that Barnum knew the way home (he had been with us maybe two weeks at that point) and thrilled that he already recognized our house as his house, a safe haven where he knew he would be taken care of.

As I thought of what had transpired, I was reminded of Jesus’s parable of the Prodigal Son. You will recall that He told of a young man who laid early claim to his inheritance, left home and squandered it on riotous living. Plunged into poverty, he finally decided to return home, beg forgiveness, and ask for a job working as servant to his father. Rather than berate his son for his foolishness, the father instead held a great feast in his honor—for he who had been lost was found.

Jesus told that story to remind us all that no matter how far astray we might wander, when we make the effort to return to our Heavenly Father, He welcomes us with open arms. In that regard, when we find ourselves wandering where we shouldn’t or harried by the evil that surrounds us, it would do us all well to remember what Barnum already knows: that the safest, surest course is the one that leads us home again.

PW

Just the Right Amount of Snow

On By Peter WatkinsIn 2003Leave a comment

Dear Will:

Last month I took my family up to the mountains of Wyoming for a family reunion. It promised to be a fun-filled week in the middle of paradise: a cabin on a private lake filled with good food and the people I love most.

Then it started to snow.

That’s right. Apparently Wyoming missed the meeting about summer beginning June 21, because snow started falling on June 22. My kids—born and raised in sunny California with almost no firsthand experience with snow—were thrilled to see those first few flakes. We told them not to get their hopes up, explaining that the little flurry they were seeing would do little else than wet their noses when they got out of the car. . . . Three days later, it was still snowing.

Needless to say, my family was not prepared to be snowed in. Fortunately we had brought warm jackets (we were at 9000 feet, after all), but nothing in the way of gloves or boots for the kids. Rather than fishing and hiking for a week, we spent a lot of time indoors playing dominoes and reading. It was forced togetherness for a group that had certainly intended to be together—just not that close together for so long.

I suppose I should mention that I have six siblings, all but one of whom were there with spouses and children. We are a close-knit family, I suppose, but we do not live near each other. As a result, we are almost never all together at the same time. This reunion was a rare event indeed (held to commemorate my parents 50th wedding anniversary). So to put the 40 of us together in three large cabins, with nothing much to do but wait for the weather to clear, promised to be an interesting test to say the least. I watched with curiosity to see how we would interact: how the cousins would get along, how the various in-laws would blend together—better yet, how my siblings and I would do, living together as a family for the first time in many, many years.

I won’t kid you; there were a few situations in which we got a little testy for one reason or another. But for the most part, the cabins were filled with laughter and geniality, with moments of tender and sometimes hilarious reminiscence mixed in with quiet expressions of admiration and love. It was, in spite of the snow—or perhaps because of it—what you would hope for from a week together, especially knowing that, with my parents growing older and our various families growing larger and more dispersed, it may be the last time we are all together in that fashion.

I suppose I could throw in a pithy comment or two here about the importance of families and eternity, but you already know all that, so let me just wish you the best of summers, with just the right amount of snow to keep you near the ones you love.

PW

A Lesson for Dad

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20031 Comment

Dear Will:

Father’s Day provides me a great excuse to tell you why I love being a dad. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but at the same time the rewards are immeasurable. Allow me to illustrate:

The other day my four-year-old Seth informed me that he had planned a “lesson” for me. He said that as soon as I was done with what I was working on I should come upstairs and look for the pachycephalosaurus, a small plastic dinosaur which would indicate where I was to sit. It’s hard to say no to an offer like that, isn’t it?

Of course, I finished as quickly as I could and headed to the “classroom.” As it turned out, the “lesson” was broken up into two parts, starting with a play in which I was to take the role of a pachycephalosaurus while Seth played the part of the triceratops. (Some advice: Should you ever have to play that pachycephalosaurus role, you’ll avoid the wrath of the director if you keep in mind that the pachycephalosaurus walked on two legs, not four. Who knew?) The play was followed by a rousing game of Go Fish, which I lost as usual.

The whole sequence of events was a marvelous pay-off for a dad. When Seth informed me that he had prepared a lesson for me, he was saying, in essence, that he wanted some time with me. What a flattering, wonderful thing. He has other ways of communicating that to me as well. On Monday, for example, I stayed home to work from my study rather than go into the office. Every half hour or so, Seth would get bored with what he was doing and, without saying a word, he would slip into the office and snuggle up in my lap. It made it hard to go through my email, for more reasons than one.

The day will come, I’m sure, when my little buddy tires of me and would rather hang out with friends or (gulp) a girl. But for now, I’m still his best pal, a title I bear with great pride. I will do whatever I can to hold onto that position in hopes that we remain pals throughout his life, even when friends and other interests begin to occupy his thoughts and time.

Of course, even as I write this, Seth is trying to figure out how to climb up into my lap. And so I must set down the laptop to attend to more important matters. I hope you understand.

PW

Photo by Kelli McClintock on Unsplash