Cecilia's Write Of Passage: Peter Pan at 61

When I met Peter, he had just graduated from Villanova and was waiting for his Peace Corps assignment. It was taking a long time, so he booked a flight to Alaska with the plans to become a fishing guide.

I never met anyone like him. An outdoorsman, a humanitarian (or so I thought), and an adventurer. Growing up in Poughkeepsie, NY, with conservative IBMers, I knew little about the world. In case you didn't know, IBM created suburbs where their families were insulated from just about everyone BUT "beamers".

But my dad was a doctor and we were Asian, so we never really did belong. When I met Peter, who was a loner forging his life on his own terms, I was intrigued.

We had the best relationship I could have ever hoped for because from the beginning, whether he went off to Alaska or Africa, as he'd hoped, he was never going to stay. I didn't have to fear I'd do something to push him away, because staying just wasn't an option.

Even though he did wind up canceling his trip to Alaska, opting to stay with me in New Jersey until the Peace Corps finally did come through. But when it did, he did leave, as promised.

As he said good bye to his mother, instead of saying he'd return safe and sound he said, "I’m going to hunt lion." which caused her to cry all the more. Who does that? Peter does. That's the kind of guy he was and at times still is.

Twenty years later, he moved me and our two young children back to Botswana to run a game reserve. It didn't just fall in his lap. No. He searched www.findajobinafrica.com for years, never once told me, then one day asks me to sit down so he could drop the bomb on me. Who does that? Peter does.

While we were there at the game reserve, he got a call from our babysitter. Ofentse said, "Mr. Peter, there's a cobra in the rabbit hutch and Macallan won't stay away. She wants to save the babies." He got off the phone, turned to me and calmly said, "I'll be right back." Off he went.

I would find out later how the maintenance and housekeeping crews were all there watching the cobra swallowing the baby bunnies as Macallan looked on. Peter found a forked stick and as he stood in front of the cobra, it began to regurgitate the babies. One, Two, Three...there Peter stood frozen. Four, Five, Six...Peter stared on. After the Eighth one, the last one, the Cobra was empty. Instead of Peter trapping it with the stick, he still stood staring in awe at the "primordial" sight (his words) he had just beheld! Staring in awe, that is, until the cobra rose up, flared out, and was ready to strike. "Oh shit!" Peter finally said as he proceeded to go into action. Man, if it were me, I would have run screaming from that cobra as soon as I saw it. I would be of no help whatsoever.

As a matter of fact, there was a Boomslang in our yard another time. Peter went to get it but it slithered through a fence and was making its way to our home. Peter said, "Keep an eye on it." as he ran around the fence. But no sooner was he gone when that damned snake also disappeared. "Where is it?" he asked when he finally got around the enclosure. "I don't know. It was right there one minute and gone the next." I said. He did eventually find it. Again, the maintenance crew stood vigil. "Are you afraid, Mr. Peter?" someone shouted to him from a healthy distance. "Fuck yeah." he responded, but that never stops him.

I have a book-full of Crocodile Dundee/Steve Irwin-type stories with crazy stuff Peter has done...enough to fill a my memoir and more, I assure you, and that's just with things I laid witness to; trapping an escaped crocodile on Father's Day; being charged by an elephant matriarch protecting her herd; hunting with the Bushmen.

Oh, the things I've experienced with him...Driving to a Lion Research facility in the middle of the middle of nowhere, where we drove through a huge puddle that engulfed our Land Rover. The water came over the engine and into through the vents, mud everywhere. We looked at each other and crossed our fingers, hoping the motor didn't seize because who knew when someone would find us. Coasting for miles along a deserted roadway, hoping we make it to a gas station...at one point, Peter mutters under his breath, something like, ‘You know, if we do make it to the gas station, I sure hope it's still open.’ Ugh! And one time, as he lead a three-day salt pans endurance trek, all of the support vehicles got stuck in mud but we needed to be 50 kilometers away and have the camp set up before the 65 trekkers arrived! Wasn’t happening.

Adventuresome was an understatement. His jobs pretty much say it all. He flew falcons at JFK airport to rid the runways of geese. He (we) ran a game reserve in the capitol of Botswana. He volunteered with his engineering firm to inspect the structural integrity of the roads after 911. He helped with Hurricane Sandy Recovery. And most recently, mitigates for the US Virgin Islands territory after the two Category 5 Hurricanes in 2017. Who does that? Peter. Peter does that.

. . .

On his 61st birthday, he seems to have matured a lot. Just yesterday, he took me the scenic way home. A rough and ready road that has gotten overgrown in the year since we last traversed it. He did say, “I'm not sure this is the road I wanted to go on, but it's pretty, right? Let's keep going.” And then he stopped. Not because I said, "Can you stop?" so that I could videotape butterflies flitting about; or take a pic of a flower blooming on a vine; or some plant I planned to google once we had internet again. He stopped and said, "Hmmmm..." and then he got out. "What are you doing?" I asked. "I just want to see..." his voice trailed off as he slowly walked away from the truck.

There was pink tape strung up to our left. As I craned my neck to I looked over the hood of the Tacoma, I saw that the grass fell away, exposing deep dips that we would most likely bottom out trying to go over, nevermind the rock face to the right and the washed-out path to the left. The "road" was not wide enough for us unless we tried to go forward at a 90 degree angle. No thanks.

He got back in. "What’s going on?" I asked. "It's probably do-able." he said as my eyes bugged out and I got ready to object. "But it's not worth the risk." he responded as he put the truck in reverse.

And that's the difference between the guy I met who never thought he'd see 30, and this guy I've been married to for over 35 years.

During one tense/intense "adventure", Peter turned to me to say, "I'm here to protect you. Nothing bad can happen to you. Not on my watch." he said. But, as I once again stood clinging for my life, I said to myself, "But who will protect me from you?"

. . .

Nowadays, I need not fear that.

Decisions he'd made where I thought he was careless has lessened over the years. But, thankfully, the boy who wanted to go to Africa, isn't afraid to reach under rocks or go 65 mph down a snowy slope is still there. He makes my life more exciting, and for that, I'm grateful.

They say, Peter Pan never grows up. I don't know. Maybe he does, and because he does, he gets to do all those fun things for many more years and shares them with his wife and kids, enhancing not only his life but theirs as well.