Dr. Saunders and Your Family from Tim Yeomans
Re, Boz, Moin, Nan & Mrs. Saunders
After viewing the wonderful slide show at least eight times and reading the words that have been written by you, Allen, Winne and Dave, it has taken me a bit of time to pull myself together and reflect on the deep connection and importance that your family and your father has for me. The picture that you posted with all of us around the dinner table... all eight, ten or twelve that happened to be present on any given night reminds me of some of the very happiest memories of my life... and after a few moments brings me to tears. Like Allen I always greeted your father as Dr. Saunders yet inside I felt no distance. Without fail he greeted each of us, each day with a wonderful enthusiasm that made me feel as though we were each very special. I can close my eyes and here him say, "It's Winne!", and see Brian break into a big smile as he joined the assembled masses for another wonderful day of games, Subbuteo, irreverent banter, the odd argument about something very important at the moment, and best of all feeling like a part of your family. I used to wake very early nearly every weekend day and watch the clock until it might be a semi-reasonable time to arrive and spend the next nine hours at your house having the most fun, and feeling a sense of deep connection that I find very difficult to explain to those who did not experience those years of my youth. I am certain that there may have been a day that your father and mother might have wished deeply for the din and chaos of our activities to subside just slightly... yet they never gave us any other message than, "you are always welcome... we are glad you are here... and would you like to stay for dinner?" Whether it was Monty Python rolled into the dining room on the TV as we ate, or an endless steam of laughter as we recounted the day's heroics on the Brookside pitch or the Subbuteo table, my memory of your father was one of wit and happiness as he joined in with us to start us all laughing again, or received a collective groan from a "witty pun". I remember him getting up from the table during one of our many meals as the phone rang and answering it, "Saunders home for wayward boys!" I smiled and laughed... and hoped dearly that it not a call for me to return home. I loved every minute that I was part of your family.
Dr. Saunders, your dad and husband, taught me many lessons that I have applied to my work and my life on a daily basis. Belonging to something special that feels much bigger than yourself is a nearly universal desire of people. While I was never as good as your father at greeting someone in a way that they feel as though they are the most important person who might have possibly come through the door, I found that this simple act, done on a daily basis, has been the most effective practice I could have ever put to use. I have had scores of struggling students mention that the school office was the only place where they felt like someone was really happy to see them. It was, and still is, a pleasure for me to tell them about the first time that happened for me, at your house from your dad, and how that made me feel every time I arrived.
A second lesson I learned from your father was to look beyond the immediate impact and see what the long term outcome may be. I have very vivid images of turning my gaze during one of our countless competitions in your front yard, and seeing your father patiently pruning the flowers or Rhododendrons, as we turned the lawn into a beaten mass of fallow earth day after day, and then descended upon your kitchen trailing the dirt and mud. I do not remember anything other than a patient smile and an encouraging word. As I drove by your family home last summer I noticed that the grass grew back and that the yard looks beautiful... I think he knew it would. I think he knew that it was boys, not a lawn, that was growing in that yard. That means a great deal to me now that I have enough life experience to understand it.
The third lesson I learned from your father was that being yourself, in the best way you are able... and doing what is right, in the best way you can... is the real measure of a man. I also remember seeing your dad riding his bike to the UW before anyone else thought about the carbon impact. I remember watching him place his boat in the water at the Civic Club and go for a paddle on the lake. I remember seeing him gently greeting your mom after we and the dogs had once again reduced every common room in the house to a shambles. I learned what it means to be gracious and thankful for the blessing and good fortune that we have received. That family is the greatest of those blessings.
When I saw your father this last summer he was suffering, yet he wanted to know about my family and what was going on with me. I had the very same feeling of caring and belonging that was created so long ago. It made me feel so good to hear my last name said in a way that made me feel like I was the one person that he was waiting to see, knowing always that this is how we all felt.
I will miss you Dr. Saunders... thanks for being "our" dad too.
Tim Yeomans
After viewing the wonderful slide show at least eight times and reading the words that have been written by you, Allen, Winne and Dave, it has taken me a bit of time to pull myself together and reflect on the deep connection and importance that your family and your father has for me. The picture that you posted with all of us around the dinner table... all eight, ten or twelve that happened to be present on any given night reminds me of some of the very happiest memories of my life... and after a few moments brings me to tears. Like Allen I always greeted your father as Dr. Saunders yet inside I felt no distance. Without fail he greeted each of us, each day with a wonderful enthusiasm that made me feel as though we were each very special. I can close my eyes and here him say, "It's Winne!", and see Brian break into a big smile as he joined the assembled masses for another wonderful day of games, Subbuteo, irreverent banter, the odd argument about something very important at the moment, and best of all feeling like a part of your family. I used to wake very early nearly every weekend day and watch the clock until it might be a semi-reasonable time to arrive and spend the next nine hours at your house having the most fun, and feeling a sense of deep connection that I find very difficult to explain to those who did not experience those years of my youth. I am certain that there may have been a day that your father and mother might have wished deeply for the din and chaos of our activities to subside just slightly... yet they never gave us any other message than, "you are always welcome... we are glad you are here... and would you like to stay for dinner?" Whether it was Monty Python rolled into the dining room on the TV as we ate, or an endless steam of laughter as we recounted the day's heroics on the Brookside pitch or the Subbuteo table, my memory of your father was one of wit and happiness as he joined in with us to start us all laughing again, or received a collective groan from a "witty pun". I remember him getting up from the table during one of our many meals as the phone rang and answering it, "Saunders home for wayward boys!" I smiled and laughed... and hoped dearly that it not a call for me to return home. I loved every minute that I was part of your family.
Dr. Saunders, your dad and husband, taught me many lessons that I have applied to my work and my life on a daily basis. Belonging to something special that feels much bigger than yourself is a nearly universal desire of people. While I was never as good as your father at greeting someone in a way that they feel as though they are the most important person who might have possibly come through the door, I found that this simple act, done on a daily basis, has been the most effective practice I could have ever put to use. I have had scores of struggling students mention that the school office was the only place where they felt like someone was really happy to see them. It was, and still is, a pleasure for me to tell them about the first time that happened for me, at your house from your dad, and how that made me feel every time I arrived.
A second lesson I learned from your father was to look beyond the immediate impact and see what the long term outcome may be. I have very vivid images of turning my gaze during one of our countless competitions in your front yard, and seeing your father patiently pruning the flowers or Rhododendrons, as we turned the lawn into a beaten mass of fallow earth day after day, and then descended upon your kitchen trailing the dirt and mud. I do not remember anything other than a patient smile and an encouraging word. As I drove by your family home last summer I noticed that the grass grew back and that the yard looks beautiful... I think he knew it would. I think he knew that it was boys, not a lawn, that was growing in that yard. That means a great deal to me now that I have enough life experience to understand it.
The third lesson I learned from your father was that being yourself, in the best way you are able... and doing what is right, in the best way you can... is the real measure of a man. I also remember seeing your dad riding his bike to the UW before anyone else thought about the carbon impact. I remember watching him place his boat in the water at the Civic Club and go for a paddle on the lake. I remember seeing him gently greeting your mom after we and the dogs had once again reduced every common room in the house to a shambles. I learned what it means to be gracious and thankful for the blessing and good fortune that we have received. That family is the greatest of those blessings.
When I saw your father this last summer he was suffering, yet he wanted to know about my family and what was going on with me. I had the very same feeling of caring and belonging that was created so long ago. It made me feel so good to hear my last name said in a way that made me feel like I was the one person that he was waiting to see, knowing always that this is how we all felt.
I will miss you Dr. Saunders... thanks for being "our" dad too.
Tim Yeomans
Labels: Family Friends
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