Dear Family, Sophie alleges in her most recent letter that our family is “not all that interesting.” She writes: “We do the [Sunday] crossword together every week, we send our daily Wordle attempts (and little else) into the family group chat, and we occasionally like to muse on the exciting potential of last names better…
Author: Timothy Willis
Managing Editor of The Famlet Monthly
On the agony of being an Eagles fan, the ecstasy of snow days, and the meaning of Hanukkah (vol. xxviii, no. 1)
Dear Family, I suppose I’m not in a position to claim that Peter Cannon Willis’s missionary farewell address was the finest one ever given. But it was quite possibly the best I’ve ever heard. And I’ve listened to some pretty great ones, including two by daughters of mine that were considerably better than most. (Admittedly,…
On multiple run-ins with the fire department, an unconventionally magical Christmas, and the underrated virtue of “making a joyful noise unto the Lord” (vol. xxvii, no. 12)
Dear Family, The morning of December 5th began the way most Tuesdays do. Crystal’s alarm went off at 5:00 and she immediately sprung out of bed while I lay there for a few moments with my eyes closed, trying to remember what day it was. We usually arise together on Tuesdays. Crystal dons cycling gear,…
On reindeer apostles, nonstop piano recitals and general, all-around gratitude (vol. xxvii, no. 11)
Dear Family, Full disclosure: I am beginning this letter on Thanksgiving morning. I will not finish it until sometime next week (prior to my self-imposed month-end deadline). The delay will owe in part to some choir-related stuff in the coming week that I will probably want to record for posterity. But I am beginning now…
On back-to-back marathons, unconventional birthday celebrations, and the questionable utility of breasts (vol. xxvii, no. 10)
Dear Family, Now that all my children are grown and two of them are writing their own monthly missives, it at times occurs to me to wonder what I’m supposed to keep writing about every month. But then I remember that, while many of these letters make at least passing reference to my children’s (and…
On forbidden cupcakes, overstimulated amygdalae, and the underappreciated art of registering one’s dissatisfaction without making a scene (vol. xxvii, no. 9)
Dear Family, Attendees of Carrie’s wedding in Portland earlier this month may have heard something about a boorish (and possibly inebriated) guest who, only seconds after being told for the tenth time in two hours that the dessert table was still off limits, angrily thrust his right paw into the center of a large plate…
On beautiful vistas, happy reunions, and finding solace around the holes our departing children leave (vol. xxvii, no. 8)
Dear Family, A week or two ago, a fellow member of our neighborhood’s informal cycling club was depositing his only child – a girl of extraordinary academic and athletic achievement whom Grace has known since elementary school – at a certain prestigious university in Pennsylvania. He shared with our group of mostly middle-aged dads (and…
On day-dependent patriotism, Sophie’s exhausting-sounding social life, major awards, and the legend of Gabe Ossi (vol. xxvii, no. 7)
Dear Family, I have a complicated relationship with the Fourth of July. This has nothing to do with patriotic ambivalence. Notwithstanding the insanity of our road system, too many d@mn cars, and the lack of a viable political party where I feel I belong, I feel fortunate to have been born here. I am grateful…
On the virtues of tolerable graduation ceremonies, avoiding Beach Week debauchery, and embracing Taylor Swift (vol. xxvii, no. 6)
Dear Family, Certain relatives (and my old friend Colby Jenkins) might be interested to learn that I just signed up to run the St. George Marathon on October 7. Why would someone travel more than 2,000 miles just to run a marathon? I’m so glad you asked! I have completed 13 marathons in my life…
On Grace’s last everything, ill-fitting suits, and yet another new church job (vol. xxvii, no. 5)
Dear Family, If you would have asked me five years ago whether I planned to show up for Grace’s “clap-out” ceremony – that thing where underclassmen line the the halls and clap in recognition of the seniors as they parade around the school and out the front door on their last day of class —…