In honor of Ro's second birthday, I thought I'd share the story behind his name. It is derived from an experience Wyatt had when was 19-years-old and served a mission for our church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Here is the story in Wyatt's words:
Wyatt as a missionary in New York City
I started my two-year
mission in September of 1997. After two-months
of Spanish language training at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, I
was flown to the New York New York South Mission. I remember the excitement of the very early
morning travel to the airport and the flight to New York City. It was a clear
day as we descended and the circuitry of the city stretched out further than
anything I had seen before. There was a haze of pollution that gave the
buildings an eerie glow.
We landed at JFK airport and
were picked up by the missionaries serving in the mission president’s office. We were asked to retrieve our flip-charts from
our luggage and were loaded into a white passenger van. As we sped through traffic, at times it
seemed on two wheels, on our way to an unknown destination in Queens; we were
promised that the New York New York South Mission was the best in the
world. It was explained to us as new
missionaries, that to thrive in the New Your New York South Mission it was
necessary to be fearless.
We pulled into a busy
neighborhood. There were tightly constructed homes that lined the street and
the noise of the city intensified as we walked to our destination. We came to a
street lined by international stores loudly playing Salsa, Meringue and Bachata
music. Every ten-minutes the 7 Train passed
overhead along that street on an elevated track drowning out even the loudest
music. The sights and sounds of the city
were exciting but also a little overwhelming for me, a quiet kid from
Oregon.
With flip-charts in hand, we
walked to a busy corner under a train stop where a group of missionaries were
gathered doing what I learned was called a “Street Sweep.” The idea and function of a Street Sweep was
that a group of missionaries would meet in a busy place and try to speak to as
many people that walked by as possible. As we approached, I noticed that in the middle
of the group of missionaries someone had placed a milk crate, and I wondered
naively what that might be used for.
We arrived at the group of
missionaries and I was given an explanation of the purpose of the milk crate. My first action as a missionary in
the field was to demonstrate my fearlessness. I was instructed to stand on the crate and
preach the gospel. So, nervously and
with some self-doubt, I stepped onto the milk crate, held up a picture of
Joseph Smith, and bore my testimony in Spanish. 15-seconds later when I had
exhausted my Spanish vocabulary, I tried stepping down. However, I was told I was not done yet. So I stayed on the milk crate and repeated
what I knew over and over until it was another missionary’s turn.
The name of that busy street
was Roosevelt Avenue. That experience of
stepping-up and facing my fears to testify for something right has been a great
lesson in my life. For this reason we
gave our son the name Roosevelt. So that he too might learn to be fearless in
his life.
Ro hanging with his favorite person, Dad.
