Tag: Seth

Jet Lag and a Trip to the Zoo

On By Peter WatkinsIn 2004Leave a comment

Dear Will:

Last week I found out I have to fly to Korea—one of those glamorous business trips during which you spend as much time going and coming as you do working. Should be awful.

Then I found out it is worse than I thought. The only way to get there in time for the meetings is to leave mid-day on Sunday, September 5. And when I arrive it will be Monday night. Labor Day will have disappeared altogether.

Cheer up, they told me. You get that day back on the return. That’s nice in theory, of course, but the truth is that I will have lost a 3-day weekend that I’m never getting back. And on Tuesday, while I’m schmoozing Koreans in Busan, my five-year-old Seth will be attending his first day of kindergarten. There’s something else I will miss that no crossing of the dateline will ever give me back. Let’s just say I’m not happy.

Seth, to his great credit, will hardly notice. The excitement of his new adventure will surely not have worn off by the time I drag back home on Wednesday night, just in time for . . . Back to School Night at Luke’s high school. I anticipate that the teachers I meet that night will find me charming if but a bit unkempt and maybe catatonic. What is it they say about having only one chance to make a good first impression? Luke’s teachers are sure to be dazzled.

Originally we had planned to spend Labor Day at the San Diego Zoo, but instead we’re going down on the Saturday before. No big deal except it means that I will miss my beloved UCLA Bruins’ opening football game, which I will tape and now watch—what?—a week later. Or probably not at all.

What a rough life I lead.

In contrast, my wife just had her third knee surgery last week. Afterward, the doctor informed her that her cartilage is so badly deteriorated that within a few years she will likely have to have knee replacement surgery. Elsewhere, a dear friend is facing a tragic divorce (is there any other kind?) after nearly 30 years of marriage. And another good friend has seen everything he has lived and worked for taken away from him after a series of bad choices and horrible decisions. His life is a wreck.

And here I’m complaining about jet lag and a trip to the zoo. Makes me so ashamed I’m tempted not to send this letter. But by now you probably know me well enough that my pettiness doesn’t surprise you. So . . . instead I shall take deep, cleansing breaths and try to maintain a little perspective: my kids are happily enrolled in excellent schools; my work is going so well that somebody on the other side of the world wants to pay for a couple of days of my time; and I live so close to one of the world’s great zoos that I can do it in a day trip. And besides, my Bruins are supposed to lose, so maybe I’ll be glad to have missed the game anyway. I’ll still miss that first day of kindergarten, but such is life. Right?

Here’s hoping that my miseries are always this profound—and no more so. And hoping that all is well with you.

PW

What About Jesus?

On By Peter WatkinsIn 2004Leave a comment

Dear Will:

Last Sunday was Fathers’ Day. My kids made me this breakfast that was like a cross between scrambled eggs and French toast—a concoction called “Egg-ceptional Breakfast Bake” that Bryn, my nine-year-old, found in a cookbook entitled New Junior Cookbook. I also got treated to a talent show that included a piano improvisation by Seth (who’s five) and a dance concert involving all three kids, only one of whom is a dancer. And it showed.

It was all good fun. Coming into the day, I told my kids that all I really wanted was some one-on-one time with each of them to talk to them about their faith. Specifically, I told them I wanted them to share with me what it is they believe in.

Seth went first. He said: “I believe in God. I believe that Dinosaurs once ruled the earth. And I believe that human beings lived during the Ice Age.”

OK. Then I asked him, “What about Jesus? What do you think about Jesus?”

“Good,” he said. And that was that.

Jesus himself once asked his disciples (essentially) the same question I had asked Seth. The ensuing exchange was telling, even though it contained no apparent references to T rex or any of his cronies:

When Jesus came into the coasts of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, saying, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am? And they said, Some say that thou art John the Baptist: some, Elias; and others, Jeremias, or one of the prophets. He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am? And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.  And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-jona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven.  (Matt. 16:13-17)

That was a telling moment for Simon Peter. It was, as far as we can tell, his first recorded, verbal affirmation of his faith in Christ. And Jesus tells us that that faith was born of personal revelation, sent by the Father through the Holy Spirit.

It kind of makes you want to stop and consider the question yourself, doesn’t it? What about Jesus? If your answer falls anywhere between Seth’s and Simon’s, it suggests that you yourself have at one point or another been blessed with a moment of spiritual insight that is a rare gift indeed. John the Revelator said, “The testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy” (Rev. 19:10). You didn’t know you might be a prophet, did you?

I don’t know if I’ve ever shared with you before my own belief. Perhaps it has been implied in previous letters. But let me make it explicit here: I believe that Jesus of Nazareth is the only begotten son of God, my Savior and yours. His teachings guide my life, and his grace is sufficient, as the scripture says, to help me to receive eternal blessings in spite of my manifest shortcomings.

And I also believe that dinosaurs once ruled the earth.

PW

Two Swarthy Things

On By Peter WatkinsIn 2004Leave a comment

Dear Will:

Tomorrow is my son Seth’s 5th birthday. He has declared that to celebrate this big event we must go to Ruby’s for dinner. Ruby’s is his favorite restaurant for two appropriately 5-year-old reasons: 1) they serve macaroni & cheese; and 2) every kid’s meal comes with a toy. Inasmuch as his other favorite place is McDonald’s, I think Ruby’s is a fine choice.

The real birthday celebration took place last Saturday when Seth and 10 of his pals gathered for the Pirate Party of the Century. As usual, my wife Dana was in charge, which guaranteed two things: 1) the affair would be over-planned, the loot bags overflowing; and 2) the kids would have a deliriously good time. Because of the theme, I had to stop shaving for a week (don’t you love those rare occasions when sloth becomes virtuous?) and sport a do-rag for 3 hours on a Saturday afternoon. We planned to hold the big bash at the Atlantis Play Center in Garden Grove, a public park which includes, among other things, a slide that looks like a dragon and a pretend sailing ship—the perfect place to fire the imaginations of our little buccaneers.

Provided, that is, that it didn’t rain.

Well, as luck would have it, it did rain, which meant two things: 1) anyone going down the dragon slide was going to end up with a wet bum (yes, there were some tears shed over that little blast of reality); and 2) we had the place literally to ourselves. We were able to stay dry for the most part thanks to the protection of a pavilion which was abandoned to our benefit by another group less hearty than ours. Fortunately, the rain was never really heavy, so when we did venture out into the park (for the obligatory treasure hunt, for example) the kids held up pretty well. Considering the disaster that might have been ours had it really poured, we were pretty lucky—smug even that what we ended up with acres of essentially private park.

What fun it was to see the delight in those children. Dana outfitted each one with a pirate hat, a hook (of course), an eye patch, a cutlass, a bandana with the jolly roger, and just for good measure, a stuffed parrot. They even got fake mustaches. Very scary indeed. Had you seen our swarthy crew (at least, I think that they were swarthy—what’s that mean, anyway?) you would have turned over your gold doubloons on the spot, especially had they let loose with a terrifying “Aaaaar!” (which they did, I should mention, with great frequency). Once they were fully decked out, two things were certain: 1) no buried treasure in the park was safe; and 2) most of those fake mustaches would be in the trash before the day was over.

Needless to say, we’re glad it’s over, and pleased to see that Seth was so pleased. I share this with you for two reasons: 1) I thought it was fun to tell about; and 2) because I knew you’d be disappointed if I didn’t end this letter with two reasons.

How are things with you? Drop me a note some time. I’d love to hear from you.

PW