Peter Rukavina's Podcast

Many, many years ago I happened to be present on the day that Stefan Kirkpatrick was born. His parents were good and trusted friends, and I was happy to be a part of both that day and the early part of his life that followed. When Stefan was two-going-on-three years old, I was, for a heady couple of months, his nanny. In El Paso, Texas. Which is a longer story for another day. One of the elements of our daily life during that period, Stefan and I, trapped in suburbia on the cusp of America, was a cassette tape of The Three Little Pigs. Stefan loved that tape, and wanted to listen to it over and over and over and over. And over. I am, I think, a patient man at heart, but the 339th listening of The Three Little Pigs almost pushed me over the edge. But I survived. That I was able to emerge with my faculties intact from that nannying experience was, in no small way, what gave me the confidence to think that I had it in me to be a father; I owe him a great debt for that. Young Stefan is now slightly less yo