The downtime we experience on our way
to work is mostly spent in thought. During that time we find
ourselves going to that private place where no one can follow.
It is what happens on that journey where the heart of this
book lies.
Each day I put my car in gear and drive
to the Magic Kingdom® at the Walt Disney World Resort.
Though some may view it as an uncommon commuter’s journal,
this book is better described as a journal of thoughts we
all share in common.
Here is a reading of the opening chapter
of “THOUGHTS ON THE WAY TO THE KINGDOM.”
LET’S START AT
THE VERY BEGINNING
My journey each day begins in Windermere, FL. Known as the
city of lakes, this quaint village is nestled along a series
of Bay Lakes in Southwestern Orlando, Florida. A more tranquil
setting one would be hard pressed to find. You would not know
it was just a few minutes drive from the most attended theme
park in the world.
In some ways it is as if this hamlet has been
ignored by the world. Spider webs hang from street signs.
And one has this sense of being somewhere undisturbed and
hidden away from the troubles of the world.
For a resident it feels appropriate that the
speed limit is only 25 miles per hour. The small but omnipresent
police force, enforcing the tranquil tone of the community,
catches many a driver disturbing the ebb and flow of a community
that one feels nature has created. In return for their hectic
sojourn through town, speeders are rewarded with a healthy
souvenir calling for contributions payable to the Windermere
City Hall.
As they hurry to and fro, some would find
that enforced pace an inconvenience. For me it is a chance
to capsulize my thoughts as I travel down the two lane road.
It winds past groves replete with oranges hanging from each
limb and crosses shimmering lakes surrounded by large shade
trees covered with spanish moss.
As I round the bend the sun catches my eye
through the trees and the humidity in the air brings to light
every ray of sun. In an instant I flash back to another time
and place when the sun caught my eye in just the same way.
One of the earliest moments I can recall in my life that I
will remember till the day I pass from this earth.
This time the sun shines through the bedroom
window from where I saw the world as a child. As if to place
a spotlight on a stage, I notice the lint in the air making
its cosmic dance within that spectrum of light. As I become
more aware of the surroundings, in just a matter of seconds
I realize sounds of sobbing fill the room.
I glance across the room to find my mother
and four year old sister sitting on an adjacent bed. The ray
of light separates us from the darkness of that moment in
time.
“What’s wrong?” I asked,
rubbing my cheeks to wipe the sleep from my eyes. “Bo
Peep has died,” my mother softly said.
A shock ran through my system and a deep anguish that is hard
for any 7 year old kid to measure wraps itself around my heart.
Bo-Peep was my dog. For many it may seem a
funny name but a white fur ball of fun and joy she was to
my life. A steadfast friend who would always be by my side
when others would reject me, I felt she loved the sound of
my voice and would run to my way whenever I called her name.
Her tail would wag approval when I arrived home from school.
She’d forgive me lest I ever forget to feed her in my
rush to play with my friends and she’d sleep by my bedside
just to let me know she was always there should I need her.
Though he never showed it at the time, my
father must have felt his own sense of anguish at the loss
of Bo-Peep. In his rush to leave home that day for graduate
school he did not notice Bo-Peep under the back wheel of his
car. I dare not imagine his feeling when he realized he had
backed over her in the driveway.
It never hit me at the time but at that point
in my dad’s life, he had known that dog longer than
he had known me. The memories he shared with my mom and the
dog he raised from a pup when they were just starting out
their life together must have been quite strong and vivid
for him.
When my dad returned that day from school
we held a private ceremony for Bo-Peep. My dad and I placed
her in a box and buried her deep in a corner of the backyard.
I placed a shiny penny on her chest. Something of value to
a young boy to give to a friend I had known all of my life.
Many years later when I grew to adulthood
I had the opportunity to share to a large community group
the story of my first pet who had meant so much to me. Providing
support as they always did, my parents were there in attendance.
While sharing this story, I noticed my father from a distance
sitting in the audience. As his mind went to that place inside
where all memories are held in reserve for us to recall, I
saw tears flood his eyes. I wanted to reach out and touch
him and say dad, its okay. After the speech I said nothing
to him about what I saw.
Perhaps there was too much pain and sorrow
from that time in our lives to bring it up again. I guess
I felt it more important to allow him the opportunity to remember
that moment in his life undisturbed and unencumbered by others.
My father is gone now. Sometimes I imagine
he and Bo Peep sitting together enjoying the beauty of the
day and waiting for my mom, my sister and I to join them,
if only for a moment.
A few years ago I happened to be back in my
hometown and I dropped by the old house that held so many
memories for me. I found myself drawn to the backyard where
my old friend had been buried. Though there was a cold breeze
in the air, I felt the warmth of the sun on my face. And in
the spot where my old friend had been laid to rest was a large
tree filled with buds ready to bloom.
