Letter to my Daughter

Dear Alexandra,

I saw your Facebook update this week after the Boston bombings.

The one that said, “ANOTHER child abduction? Wasn’t there one like two days ago? A bomb yesterday?!? The shooting at Sandy Hook? The shooting at the dark knight rises premiere?? This world is so sick sometimes!!”

And I’ll tell you. As your Dad, I felt so sad for you – and helpless. When there doesn’t’ seem to be a safe place anymore, with violence at schools, colleges, movie theaters, and now even finish lines.

So, I’ve been thinking about what to say to ease your mind. And I keep coming back to this.

We have to love more than they hate.

Yes, the world can be sick. But it can also be beautiful.

After all, just look at what happened immediately after the bombs exploded. How the first responders, volunteers and others rushed to help, not even knowing if there might be other bombs waiting.

And at Sandy Hook, and Aurora, Colorado, and Columbine, where heroes died, protecting others.

And, of course, the list of honor goes on. For every horrible event tracing back through time, there were corresponding moments of grace.

So, if I can say one thing to you, it would be this.

You are the answer to the evil you’ve seen.

Because, like your brothers, you are compassionate and courageous. And that is exactly what is needed in these bitter days.

We have to love more than they hate.

Yes, you will help lead our world through this madness. You and your generation.

Don’t despair, my daughter.

You are kind. And you love.

And that is more than enough to change the world.

I love you,

Dad

My Good Friend..... Jesus



Ted Neeley, as Jesus in "Jesus Christ Superstar"


I’ve got a friend in Jesus. Literally.

I’ve always been wary of mentioning Jesus in my writing.

Because, as soon as I do, I worry that people will say my message about finding the sacred in moments is only for Catholics, especially since I am one.

But it isn’t.

It’s for everyone.

But that doesn’t dismiss the fact that, all my life, I’ve been drawn to Jesus. Whether I was watching “Passion of the Christ” or “Last Temptation of Christ” or talking to Ted Neeley, who portrayed Jesus in the musical and movie “Jesus Christ Superstar,” after one of his performances. Where I noticed his peaceful eyes and calming voice, most likely borne of a lifetime playing such a man.

And, in fact, I’ve often wished I could have hung out with Jesus. Walking. Talking. Grabbing a snack. Telling jokes. Sometimes cheering him up when he realized how much the world still had to learn about love.

As I said, I feel like I know him.

Now, to be honest, I often struggle between faith and doubt as to whether a man could actually have been the son of God and rose from the dead. But, for me, he didn’t really have to.


For me, it was enough that he died for love. And, for me, anyone who would do that is part of God anyway.

Yes, Jesus’ simple message, love each other, even your enemies, even when it’s hard, in fact, especially then, was more than enough to make him someone I’d admire, and follow.

Love each other.

Simple, yet profound.

Then again, my friend Jesus always had a way with words.

A House Divided

Why is everybody so angry?


Over 150 years ago, Abraham Lincoln used the words, “A house divided against itself cannot stand,” from the gospel of Mark to prophesize what could happen to our country, already splitting apart over the issue of slavery.

And it strikes me how well those words still apply today.

Where so many in our country seem to be so angry, so divided. So ready to jump down each other’s throats, if not actually choke them.

From religion to politics to backup referees, and everything in between, we all seem to pick a side and hold on for dear life, gritting our teeth and our minds against moving.

Then we vent on radio talk shows, post scathing posts, and write Letters to the Editor in all caps.

And I wonder how we got this way.

And why we’re all so angry. So strident. So sure we’re right and the other side is not only wrong, but almost evil.

And I wonder when we’ll remember that we’re all in this together.

That this country is ours. Not yours. Not mine. Not theirs.

Ours.

And I wonder if there’s something in the water. Or if something that was in the water is gone.

Or something that was in our hearts.

So that’s it. No easy wrap-up. Nothing resolved yet.

Just an observation.

We’re angry.

But if this “Great Experiment,” these United States, are going to work, it’s in our hands.

So that, as President Lincoln offered in his later Gettysburg Address, “government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”




@Copyright 2013, James R. Warda. All rights reserved.

An Open Letter to the Departing Iron Monopoly Token

Dear Iron Monopoly Token,

I owe you an apology. Since I was a kid, I’ve played Monopoly hundreds of times. And, all those times, I could have chosen you.

But I hardly ever did.

As a boy, I would typically go for the racecar or dog. Then, as I got older, I'd pick something more eclectic, like the hat, wheelbarrow or cannon.

And when I was really feeling like pushing the envelope, I'd select the thimble, smirking inwardly, knowing my selection would momentarily knock my competition off-balance.

But, in all those times, on all those days, throughout all those years, I rarely chose you.

Looking back, I'm not quite sure why. After all, you tried to be accommodating. You were light, flat and thin on the bottom, and also had a handle that made it easy to move you around the board.

Yet, somehow, I believe that lightness kept me away.

Because how could I hope you'd hold your own against the solidity of the other tokens?

But now that you're going away, replaced by a cat, I'm feeling regret.

How could I have treated you so poorly?

As if you didn’t matter.

And now it's too late. I can write you letters, send flowers, even fill up your voicemail, but I know you won't return my calls. Instead you'll just move on. Probably to another game. In fact, I've already heard rumors that the Candyland people are in negotiations with your agent.

So, I guess I'll just wish you well. And say that, once again, I'm sorry.

And that I've learned my lesson. I'll never take another token for granted. Even those non-descript plastic Trouble pieces.

I wish you well, Mr. Iron.

Press on...

Take care,

James Warda

Writing is Running is Life

Waiting to run the Chicago Soldier Field 10-Miler

I write. I run. And I’m alive – at least I am after I’ve hit the snooze button a few times.

And each of these has something in common.

The blank.

With writing, it’s the blank page. Sitting there. Waiting. Sometimes the words crash through you upon it like a wild artist throwing paint. And sometimes it simply mocks you.

With running, it’s the open road ahead. It also waits. Sometimes it’s easier to start. You feel good. The air is cool. Your muscles quickly find their groove. Other days, there’s a bulldozer on your back.

With life, it’s waking up to the new day. Sometimes you quickly focus in, remember your purpose and get at it. Other days, you’re worn down and don’t even remember where you put the car keys.

And each blank asks.

   

Are you willing to do what it takes?

  

It asks, knowing though that, at some point, probably many points along the way, it will get hard.

Moments in which you’ll want to give up. When you’ve failed and tried and failed again.

You’ll sit at your computer, staring at that blinding whiteness.

Or you’ll get to that fourth mile and feel your hamstrings screaming.

Or you’ll try to start you own company, and still not know how to get from here to there without benefits and bi-weekly paychecks.

But when you make it through that wall of pain or doubt or fear, or possibly all three, you will learn the truth – that you are indeed someone who can make it through.

Which is the true prize.

So, if you’re ready, let’s go, my friend.

We’ll do it together.

    

And it will be glorious.




Copyright 2011, James R. Warda. All rights reserved.

9-1/2 Things I Love About Disney World

1. It truly is the “Happiest Place on Earth.” Whether it’s because Orlando sits in some weird dimensional time shift or the laws of physics are suspended there, it is physically impossible to be somber at Disney World. In fact, even frowning is frowned upon.

2. The minute you arrive, you become part of a fairy tale. Unfortunately, when you get home, it’s hard to come back to reality. In fact, I’m still trying to convince my boss that I’m King James and have a Princess Daughter. Though it’s not as hard to convince my daughter.

3. Walt used to love walking through Disneyland in the morning before anyone else had arrived. When we take advantage of Extra Magic Hours and walk down Main Street in the Magic Kingdom, before the park has officially opened, we know why he did, and what he was probably feeling.

4. Watching old B-movies with our kids at the Sci-Fi Dine-In Theater. After all, where else can you be harassed by carhops, dunk French fries in your shake, and tell your kids to stop poking each other in the back seat, all while enjoying the nuanced storyline of “The Giant Gila Monster”?

5. The Kitchen Sink dessert at Beaches and Cream in the Beach Club Resort. Eight scoops of ice cream covered with fudge, fruit, caramel, nuts and candy bars – with an entire can of Whipped Cream on top. But don’t worry; I always ask for a diet drink.

6. Every time you go to Disney World, something will happen that you’ll remember the rest of your life. On our most recent trip, my nine-year-old daughter forgot her purse – with her cell phone inside – on the monorail, which meant that life as we knew it stopped. After sharing our story with Security, they radioed the train we’d been on, and asked the conductor to drop it off at the next station, so another train could pick it up on the way back. Within half an hour, I was giving Alexandra’s purse back to her. While Disney had given her something even more important – the belief that magic does exist.

7. Watching my family’s faces as they try the different Coca-Cola products at Club Cool, especially the ones they don’t like. As for me, when I drink “Beverly” from Italy, I end up looking like Yoda. Or Ernest Borgnine.

8. The Friendship boats that take you between the parks and resorts. In fact, just saying “Friendship” makes you feel good. It’s definitely better than “Acquaintance Flotilla.”

9. The miniature village and trains in the Germany Pavilion at the World Showcase. I don’t care how old the man, the minute he sees those trains, he becomes seven again. And he doesn’t even want a refund on his adult ticket.

9-1/2. Why a half? To remember that you can’t do anything halfway at Disney. You have to commit, like Walt did. After all, he’s the same man who bought a first class train ticket for Hollywood, to try to become a director, after his Laugh-O-Gram company in Kansas City failed. When his wife Lillian was asked later why Walt would buy such an expensive ticket when he had almost no money, she said it was because “he always liked the best way.”* And, all you have to do is ride “Peter Pan’s Flight,” watch “Illuminations,” listen to the detailed “backstory” behind the Tower of Terror, or sit wide-eyed on the Kilimanjaro safari, to realize that Walt’s commitment to perfection endures.

What are your reasons?







*“Walt Disney: The Triumph of the American Imagination” by Neal Gabler, pp. 77. (2006, Vintage Books)

Copyright 2011, James R. Warda. All rights reserved.

You're Going to Change the World Today

You’re going to change the world today.

No, don’t try to deny it. And you know, I understand that it can be a little overwhelming, to have the entire world depending on you. But I know that you can do it.

Actually, I knew you could do it when I first met you. When I first saw the hunger in your fingertips and the fire in your eyes.

When you spoke in just that way, with just those words, in just that rhythm that said, “I’m going to change the world. Gonna make it a little better, a little sweeter, a bit more true.”

And I remember the way you said that nothing on this or any other planet was going to stop you. Then you turned and walked away, confident and clear.

And I remember thinking to myself that you were amazing, that I’d never met anyone quite like you, and I was sure that, if you put your mind and hands to it, there was nothing that could break you.

So there you sit, knowing that today’s the day. Because I see the way you’re shifting nervously in your chair, the way your body crackles and zaps, the way your grin says that you’ve decided that there is no time like now to move.

You’re going to change the world today.

I’m just glad I was here to see it.

*Excerpted from "Where Are We Going So Fast?" by James. R. Warda (2001, Rowman & Littlefield)

Copyright 2011, James R. Warda. All rights reserved.