Hannah

Luke & Daddy's Sixth Year and Three Quarters

Outnumbered by girls two-to-one, the four boys of the 1st grade Otter Class are a tight crew. You call yourselves “The Gang.” On the playground, you play together, hard and fast, like boys play. But one afternoon, a game of chase got out of hand. Your friend Haddis, pursuing you but loosing ground, lunged and grabbed your shirt wheeling you around. You lost balance, flailed and whacked Haddis hard in the face. You bust his lip.

The Gang and a Special Someone

Any hint of blood at River School lands you in the principal’s office, or the equivalent anyway: Rachel XXX’s desk. By the way, you beat me to the principal's office by two years. In third grade, Gregg Brown and I landed in Principal McKenna's office for mock fighting in the lunch line. Fortunately, you treated the situation more seriously than me. Where I snickered uncontrollably infuriating the rather stiff principal at Sope Creek Elementary, you were remorseful, in tune with the severity of someone getting hurt. 

The day of the incident, Rachel and I got a phone call from the school. They said it was  an accident. We came and picked you up as a family to ensure you got the message: this wasn't acceptable, accident or no. As punishment, we took away a few privileges to reinforce the point, but we were careful not to overdo it.

Consequences are funny things though, rarely efficacious through parental means. Rather, they worm their way in organically and not always in proportion to the offense. In your case, the day after the playground incident, you discovered The Gang had evicted you -- they would no longer play with you.

You were hurt, and as parents, we were heartbroken. We fought the instinct to intervene because we wanted you to deal with the adversity yourself. Living in a protective bubble never breeds tolerance to germs.

Still, dealing with the twists and turns in friendships is tough. Self identity is partly a reflection off friends. So I was terribly impressed with your matter-of-fact approach to your banishment. Sure, you were disappointed, but you objectively contemplated ways of dealing with it. With input from your mom, you decided to seek out new playmates rather than pandering for readmission. You decided to be your own man.

Executing on that plan took discipline, and you had it. For the next couple weeks, you played with other kids and developed new friends, allowing time and space to heal wounds. Soon, The Gang invited you back into the brotherhood. I was impressed that you didn't get swept away by the hurt, but were able to put it aside and act on a plan.

I hope the experience reverberates because such enlightened behavior isn't a noted trait of our family. We have a particularly notorious event in our history, the story of Hannah Dustin, a story Grangie excitedly shares with you guys (to my embarrassment). I've asked Grangie to share that story here below:

Picture a beautiful woman looking wild, furious and dangerous holding a tomahawk across her chest. That is your 16ish times great grandmother, Hannah Dustin. You are direct descendants of this powerful, heroic and intrepid woman from Massachusetts. In 1697 her village was raided by Iroquois braves in search of whisky. Hannah had just given birth to Martha four days before. Her husband fled to safety with her 8 other children. She stood ground. Hannah witnessed the killing of her neighbors and fought with the baby in her arms. An enraged brave dismounted and seized the baby from Hannah and brutally killed it by striking it against a tree. 

Thus began a historic retaliation. She enlisted a companion and followed the Indians to to New Hampshire. She found them asleep by a fire in the moonlight. She killed and then scalped 12 of them and escaped. She was the first woman in the United States to have a statue erected in her honor for bravery in defending her village. The irony: some of her own family later married Iroquois and Mohawk Indians. 

Much controversy follows this story, since the Indians suffered greatly too. Scholars have studied this case for many generations and defend her case with stuff like self defense and emotional trauma. Hannah's later generations married into the Cheney family, creating the most famous and prominent family in New England.  Your great grandmother (my grandmother) was Mary Dustin Cheney and she married Andre Joubert ("Andrew"). I called her Molly. That's how I became a Joubert (before becoming a Weller).

Unfortunately, the story has captured your imagination. I caught you and Darius acting out the events, screaming, "Take that Indians!" Imagine the horror of your teachers when you turned in this comic strip:

Yep, that's the Hannah Dustin story, in living color, scalps and all! Two steps forward, one step back.

Love,

Dad

Dragon Story

Cash & Daddy's Fourth Year and Three Quarters

A parent's popularity with his or her children ebbs and flows over time. A new "favorite" rises every week or two amongst mom, dad, dog or cartoon character as predictably and repeatedly as swells in the sea. However, I recently realized my Cashy tide had been out for a while. I hadn't achieved top status for a time so I started wondering if I was doing something wrong.

As I took inventory of my behavior, I realized two things. First was that our family flight pattern led to me missing time with you. Any time Rachel and I divided to conquer where Mommy goes one direction, say to the store, and Daddy the other, you went with Mom and Luke with me.

This entrenched behavior was a relic of your infant years. When you were little, Mommy taking the baby was a necessity as food was integrated with her body! Well, you are not the baby any longer, but we were unconsciously stuck in the grove. 

My overly efficient mindset was the second problem. When dressing, brushing teeth or eating breakfast, I expected the capabilities of an older child. I was pushing you too hard and too often you were facing impatience. That's no fun to be around.

Putting together the lack of together time and the impatience when we were finally together ... well, no wonder you were not jumping for joy! You probably inferred colors of preference and, no matter how incorrect, concluded you hadn't achieved favorite status yourself in a while! Run the path of cause and effect as a parent and you'll often land at your own back door.

Stricken by my poor self-awareness, I set out to rectify these issues. Divide and conquer scenarios turned into jump-balls balancing time allocation between sons. I relaxed my obsession with speed and put a smile on my face when I saw you. One secret to human connection: nothing sets the stage better than a smile. It opens people and, inexplicably, brightens your own mood.

My standing with you improved markedly, but I still hadn't achieved a 52 week high. My salvation came in the simple art of listening. As a young family, the roller coaster of each day leaves shockingly little time for full attention, for true listening. One night as I put you to bed, fortunately, I was present and listening as you asked a favor.

"Will you tell me a dragon story?"

What?! Ok. I conjured a story about a little boy who followed a shooting star as it fell from the heavens. Locating the fallen star, he discovered cracked crystal, and inside, a baby silver dragon. The pair grew up together and eventually saved their village, repelling an attack by an evil jade dragon. You were delighted, and every night afterwards you requested another story.

Imagining a new tale every night stretched my creative limits, but somehow I managed and introduced creatures like a parrot-dragon, a water breathing serpent dragon, a moon dragon who couldn't stay awake, and a farting dragon whose gas was a more formidable weapon than the searing flames of Smaug. One night at the end of my story, you hugged me close and said,  "You are the best daddy ever!" You meant it. I felt like a dragon.

This quarter the family went to Aspen with the Magruders. Going into the the trip, you were incredibly fired up about skiing. We had no idea where the passion came from, but upon arrival you pointed those skis straight down the hill as if you'd been skiing a hundred years. Daredevil!

Charmingly, as you hurtled down the hills, you would sing to yourself. You do this often, singing to yourself, when engaged in favorite activities. Its very cool, even more so because you do it for yourself and only yourself.

However, that musical nature didn't quite prepare us for a scene at the Pine Creek Cookhouse after a nice dinner with a group of parents and kids. A band kicked up some tunes and, when some of the kids commenced dancing, you rushed the floor with a towel and starting swinging it above your head like a mad metal rock head. Like a daredevil.

Love,

Dad

Winter 2013 Roundup

Top three household events this quarter:

1) Sold the MacArthur house!

2) Rachel went to Barcelona.

3) Rachel's second River School Auction succeeded!

Three Songs I’ve been listening to:

1) Change, Churchill, EP (released 2012)

2) Safe and Sound, Capital Cities, EP (released 2012)

3) Where the Kids Are, Blondfire, EP (released 2011)

Heroes Attack

Luke & Dad's Fifth Year and a Half

A horde of alien robots has colonized your bedroom. They’re formed up in two neat rows on a wooden chest, waiting at attention for the commands of Mr. Makuru, the chief architect of Makuhero City where the machines originate, a leader that masquerades as an earthbound six-year-old.

The robotic heroes are pledged to uphold peace and prosperity for the universe, but they look menacing to me. The automatons stand watch over a mess of clothes and toys whose disorder stands in stark contrast to the robots’ orderly phalanx. But don’t be fooled, in chaos there is order; everything in that room has its place apparently. I pity the soul that dares move anything. 

That is, if you can make it in. Ever since the invasion, the entry to the robot sanctorum is a portal sealed. Wayward humans, particularly those greater or less than six years old, are restricted access. Mr. Makuru protects his minions. Enforcement of the “keep out” practice is a new phenomenon, one I’m not thrilled with since I paid for the hardwood within those bounds. But that hasn't been as bad as this:

"Dad, Lego Hero Factory is cooler than Lord of the Rings." 

Blasphemy!

Your Hero Factory robot "addiction" (your word, not mine) does have a wonderful side effect: igniting your entrepreneurial spirit. Early this fall, you decided to make some coin by writing and illustrating a book about these mechanical creatures. The inspiration to write, a task you normally adroitly avoid, says a lot about your passion for these characters.

You slapped on a 50¢ price, took over our color copier/scanner and turned into a salesman. You sold copies to my mom, the Kramers, a plumber and our painters among others. You learned that the first book is the most expensive to develop but that copies are near free -- the economic cornerstone of software economics too! 

I bought a copy. Here is the work:

Heros Attack by Luke Weller   50¢

When the Heros were in their hideout, the Heros saw the bad guys. The Heros fought and fought.

The Heros won. When the bad guys were in their hideout, they were plotting their next move.

The bad guys figured out their next move. They built a robot. When the Heros returned, the robot zapped them with its laser beam. The Heros destroyed the robot. Hurray for the Heros!

Since creating this piece, the quality of your writing has vastly improved. Rachel has been a big part of the reason, but I recently uncovered another source of motivation during a River School field trip.

I drove you and a little girl named Sophie XXXX to a DC aquarium specializing in indigenous fish species. I noticed immediately that you acted, well, older around Sophie. Evaporated were the antics you normally engage in with, say, Charlie McGruder where I am an target to harass. 

This time I was a source of infinite embarrassment. A Sherlockian observer would've put things together but your dense father only figured it out later when you asked one too many questions about girls. 

Luke, you have your first crush! And, surprise, Sophie is the best writer in the class.

Love,

Dad

The Box

Cash & Dad's Fourth Year and a Half

As I entered the River School gymnasium for the Beaver Class Thanksgiving lunch, your teacher, Mrs. Insley, grabbed me by the arm and guided me to a large paper turkey pasted to a wall. She was giggling. The source of her mirth mystified me. For the handwork of four year olds, the turkey looked passible. She then pointed at the splayed tail feathers. Within each feather was a quote from a beaver student answering the question:

“What are you Thankful for?”

Reading through the quotes, I saw the children were universally thankful for their moms, dads, dog and cats -- constituents that buy presents, provide food or love them. The exception was one lone red feather. This child was thankful for:

“The Turkeys that are alive.” - Cash



Seeing me guffaw, Mrs. Insley joined me in outright laughter. What is it with this kid I said. She responded, “Cash just thinks outside the box.”

You do, often publically, entertainingly. Unfortunately, River School makes it regular practice to post student responses to such questions -- a sort of exposition of cuteness I suppose -- at their community events. Your signature practice is to deliver answers that, well, give pause and a laugh. As your parent, I am both proud and a little embarrassed. Other parents must wonder what kind of household we run.

Let’s look at an instance from last year. The question was: “What would you bring on a hot air balloon ride?” Every kid brought his or her parents, siblings and/or a few toys. Then there was this:

“I would take my dog and some money. I would not take Luke in the balloon because he is very silly in a balloon. I want to be in the balloon by myself. I would also bring my movie called Star Wars.” - Cash



Imagine Rachel and me reading this in a crowd of class parents. Embarrassed. Yes. Proud. Even more. Cash, you truly think outside of the box.

I am astounded by the connections you make, how you can turn a thought inside out, and at such a young age. You understand deadpan humor. You know you are being funny. Woody Allen started out this way.

The irony is that a few days ago I witnessed you climbing INTO a box, a cardboard box that you instructed Luke to tape shut once you were inside. He did so delightedly. Rachel spent several tense minutes looking for her lost son before puzzling out your ruse. You enjoyed your joke a minute or two before you realized that, without aid, you were stuck in the box.

The panic that ensued should serve as a lesson, that even the most outside the box thinkers can get trapped in the box!

Love,

Dad

Fall 2012 Roundup

Top three household events this quarter:

1) Rachel joined the board of River School!

2) Daddy went to Burning Man.

3) Thanksgiving Grand Junction visit.

Three Songs I’ve been listening to:

1) The Veldt (featuring Chris James), Deadmau5, > album title goes here < (released 2012)

2) Bangarang (featuring Sirah), Skrillex, Bangarang (released 2011)

3) Store N Forward, Sugar, Single (released 2012)

Movember

Luke & Dad's Sixth Year and a Quarter

I typically avoid charities that involve me pandering for donations that later require me to complete some superhuman feat. Don’t get me wrong, I admire the dedication of those who run marathons and bike phenomenal distances for charity. I simply dread asking for favors and that dread is squared by the prospect of physical suffering.

I’m out.

I am, however, tolerant of making a fool of myself -- see my recent spread in Forbes:

So when presented with a clever charity where you do just that, I found pandering palatable. Movember, short for Mustache-November, involves growing a mustache, beard or somewhere in between for the month of November to benefit prostate cancer research.

How awesome is that? Pretty awesome if you like Halloween costumes to begin with. Pretty awesome if looking scruffy at work annoys your tightwad partners. Pretty awesome if you always knew a handlebar mustache would look killer on you.

I’m so in.

Unfortunately, being genetically downstream from me, you will find hair growth and retention is not a banner feature of our chromosomal disposition. So I started Movember a couple weeks early. After the first day of growth, I asked you whether you knew how to grow a mustache. Your response:

“You don’t shave so you can grow hair on your upper lip. Then you speak Spanish.”

I know every parent has a hallucinogenic hormone that selectively enhances your kid’s most drab dialogue to enchantment, but that shit is funny. Unfortunately, I couldn’t extract the source of your insight instead receiving a noncommittal shrug as if it was an obvious explanation. This must be an example of too few data points but strong correlation!



After lots of observational data this quarter, I’ve reached a new conclusion about you. You are a builder. You recently received a complex Star Wars Lego package aimed at ten year olds and I resigned myself to a couple hours of assembly. Procrastinating, I headed upstairs, but when I came back down I found your head buried in the instructions, putting the final touches on a fully assembled spacecraft. I was dumbfounded.

Since that time, we’ve witnessed you putting together all manner of contraptions from electronic robots to plastic models. What is striking is your comprehension of complicated instructions and your terribly meticulous hands. You can manipulate and assemble the smallest and most complex objects. Grangie, upon seeing this, said, “You’ve got a brain surgeon.” Or maybe your (maybe girl) friend Ady said it best: you are “The best Luke in the world!”

As a final sign off, you had your first sleep over at Marley XXX's house on 9/21/12. We expected a homesick call around midnight. It never materialized.

Love,

Dad

The Cinderella Incident

Cash & Daddy's Fourth Year and a Quarter

It was random. In the spirit political correctness, the parts for the Beaver Class Cinderella play were picked by lottery and any child could play any part no matter the sex of the character. Up until that point in the year, you’d been fortunate. You’d been placed in Mrs. Insley’s class, River Schools most singularly talented teacher, with lots of old friends and the Weller reputation to carry you forward.

On this day your luck ran out. As your hand slipped into the character jar, every little girl peered over your shoulder covetous for a certain blonde part. As you withdrew a folded slip of paper, the girls feverishly hopped around you.

At our parent-teacher conference, Mrs. Insley, Ms. XXXX and Ms. XXXX acknowledged their PC utopia had a vulnerability, a rickety flood dyke that a certain tidal wave could rip through. They knew you would never play a girl, much less the lead girl, but they rolled the dice. You opened the paper.

Cinderella.

... and lost. Despair rose and crashed through the girls’ hopes.  “Uh oh,” echoed in the minds of your instructors. A slight pause, your back straightened, and then the roar.

“NNNooooooooo!”

Your fury cascaded through the boys in the class, all crying for freedom from hackles of female roles. The poor teachers had to reconstruct the entire casting of the play.

That's how you became Jaq, the ringleader of Cinderalla's platoon of mice. Its a fitting role. Jaq has scruffy hair like yours and speaks pidgin English that sounds remarkably like your chatter. You loved the part because (dude!) you got to be transformed into a horse by the Fairy Godmother! So cool.

Your bullheadedness can be, well, a challenge, but its a double-edged sword with formidable strengths too. Hiking with you to a high alpine lake called Diamond Lake 10,000 feet in the Rockies highlighted such a case. We hiked during a camping excursion with the Browns and Silvergleids.

Upon hearing the lake's name, your head filled with visions of a lake full of diamonds despite my assurances otherwise. You insisted on seeing it yourself. So off we went and the trail got very challenging quickly. Several in our party turned around.

But not Cash! You led a charge up the mountain, climbing rocky steps bigger than you, at a pace faster than everyone (including me). We were all shocked at your energy. You simply didn't give up until peered onto the beautifully silver lake.

The Diamond Lake march showed a toughness even in the face of pain, obstinance in your desire to attain your goal. I was so proud! But you were not:

"There are no Diamonds in this lake!"

The disappointment washed away every last ounce of your energy. Guess who was stuck carrying a sleeping Machine all the way down the mountain?

Love,

Daddy

Summer 2012 Roundup

Top three household events this birthday quarter:

1) First baseball game watching Rockies!
2) Potomac house finally has exterior trim.
3) Camping in the Rockies with the Browns Silvergleids.

Three Songs I’ve been listening to:

1) Ain't No Stoppin', Ferry Corsten (featuring Ben Hague), WKND (2012)
2) Little Black Submarines, The Black Keys, El Camino (2011)
3) Ain't No Rest for the Wicked, Cage the Elephant, Single (2008)

The Beginnings of Things

Luke & Dad's Sixth Year

The beginnings of things happen in unlikely places. In the early seventies, a dingy club in the backwaters of New York City hosted a raw form of entertainment, that of the stand up comic. Bud Freidman's Improvisation Club in Hell's Deep was the lair of a tawdry group of comedians seemingly intent on not being funny.

The acts seemed, at times, random. In one, a wayward hobo accidentally takes stage from the street. The audience is confused if its real, then bewildered as he emotionally breaks down only to pause … and break into an Elvis impression! Another comedian was so sensitive that if his first joke didn't go over, he'd leave the stage in a hurt huff.

Yet, the comedians pushed each other, stretching how comedy was defined, abstracting as Picasso does his lovers. Slowly, amidst some very bad behavior, each came to realize something special was emerging. They were ushering in a new generation of humor that reverberates today, and many became ridiculously famous. Out of that group came Jay Leno, Richard Lewis, Larry David (the hurt huff) and, probably most importantly to me, the (possibly) late Andy Kauffman, the hobo.

















The most innovative things are not sought after. They are therefore the least predictable. Such inventions emerge from nowhere, or somewhere close to nowhere, rising from a group of individuals following a shared passion, who collaborate and compete, and who suddenly, collectively, realize something amorphous but important has happened. I didn't know I needed the Internet until it existed; neither did its creators. That is the magic of being at the beginnings of things.

I mention this because it speaks to staying true to your passions, those areas you naturally want to spend your mind. Over and over the biggest successes arise from individuals like those comics who follow their instincts into unlikely and maybe even unsightly places. They collaborate with like-minded people and create something new.

In you I have a son with many fascinations and a gifted imagination. I can sometimes inspire your interests or at least nudge them one direction or another. Its my job to reinforce the instincts that seem most natural in you, even if I don't share them, even if they seem risky. And I expect that some of your passions will diverge from my wishes, a primary theme of youth from Romeo & Juliet to Finding Nemo.

Nonetheless, follow your nose Luke. And remind me wrote this when I get scared.

Love,

Dad

Lucca

Cash & Dad's Fourth Year

Dropping you off at school can be an embarrassing experience. You often hop out of the car a tattooed punk star, skin stained a bouquet. The ink is unintentional body art, residue from many artistic ventures. Add your blonde hair’s propensity to spike and your teachers believe you are Billy Idol reincarnated.

Leondardo Divicni is more like it. Over the course of a day, you get paint and Crayola markers on your face, arms, hands and legs. No matter how hard we scrub you, you still wake the next day with markings of the prior day’s binge. You just love your artwork. 

Like Leonardo, you don’t limit yourself to drawing and painting; you have several creative outlets. From your Gramps you've inherited a real eye for photography. When Rachel and I found Cashy pictures on our iPhones, we assumed they were accidental. Only after witnessing you scout then shoot subjects did the intent behind the compositions become clear. Many of your photographs make the mundane look artistic and we can’t help wondering what the Cashy-mind was thinking as each picture was snapped!

You also engage in Davinci-like experiments. Starting with a bowl of water, you dissolve things, many things, and you watch the emerging, swirling vortexes of color. You seem to mentally capture the patterns before the beauty of each structure passes. Unfortunately, the experiments involve significant cleanups and checks on Churchill for poisoning – you test your concoctions on him.

Perhaps this blog's Leonardo fetish is borne of our international escapade to Tuscany, Italy. We vacationed with the Linehan’s -- Chip, Molly, Cormac and Mia –- in a beautiful house just outside of Lucca, an ancient city that weathered the Etruscans, Romans, Irish, French and the Wellers. No wonder it has massive walls surrounding it!

We left the trip with many great memories of your multifaceted nature. Mia, the Linehan's one year old girl, was upset after falling. Without warning, you walked up and presented her with a flower and a hug. Where did you learn that move? Not from me, Cashanova.

Lucca's piazzas share a feature common in many Italian squares: pigeons. As we ate a pizza dinner, you, Luke and Cormac were entranced by the birds and decided to engage them. Your course of action?

"I'm gonna catch a chicken!"

A classic line. That line, however, was trumped by a scene I'll never forget. One afternoon, Chip and I took you, Luke and Cormac for gelato. After ingesting your sugar hits, you boys were so out of control we retreated to a nearby park. 

You and Luke raced towards a beautiful Italian sculptured fountain shaped like a modernized peace Dove. Conversing with Chip, I wasn't looking your direction when I caught sight of a woman covering her mouth her mouth in shock. I turned ... only to see two shiny fannies staring back at me.

You guys were peeing in the fountain.

One last thought on Mr. Divinci since I'm on the subject. While Leonardo's thirst for knowledge is well known, his notes show how organized he was about that cultivation. Knowing he was visiting Milan in 1489, he wrote "get Brera friar to show you De ponderibus," a work on medieval mechanics. A few lines later he mentions a book on optics by a writer known today as Witelo: "Try to get Vitolone which is in the library at Pavia." He kept an inventory of sources and where he might find them during in his travels. That forethought is impressive.

Cashy, take your artistic passions and explore the questions that arise. Apply a little planning and you may find yourself a rarity in the world. Happy birthday Cashy!

Love,

Daddy

Spring 2012 Roundup

Top three household events this quarter:

1) Awesome trip to Tuscany, Italy with the Linehans.

2) We partied at SXSW!

3) Our Potomac house got a roof.

Three Songs I’ve been listening to:

1) Trojans, Atlas Genius, Through the Glass (2012)

2) The Cave, Mumford & Sons, Sigh No More (2010)

3) The Fusion, Omnia & IRA, Single (2012)

The Boss

Luke & Dad's Firth Year and Three Quarters

I’m sitting at the bottom of Bald Mountain at Sun Valley, Idaho in cozy River Run Lodge waiting for your mom to complete more aggressive skiing than my snowboarding skills allow. Frankly, I spent the last hour falling headlong down the mountain, yearning for the warm hearth I am now enjoying. How the hell did I ever Snowboard without a helmet?

Anyway, I’ve been anxious to get a few moments to capture a classic Lukey scene from yesterday. Rather than drop you and Cash off at Dollar Mountain’s ski school as we usually do, the Weller clan engaged in multiple family activities including bowling, arcade games, swimming in a steaming outdoor pool, riding gondolas, eating cheese fondue and generally mucking around. We had great fun despite the occasional Weller scuffles here and there.

On the way home from pizza dinner that capped the day, you started asking for “goggly eyes”, little plastic eyes that morph any object into a creature of remarkable personality. All you need is a little glue. You wanted to add these eyes to black paper and cutout the outline of a spider. Sorry, not just a spider, but Shelob, the wicked spider-god from Return of the King and your current obsession.

What came next was a chain reaction of Lukey realizations that was fascinating to watch. You decided you were not satisfied with just one spider, so you decided to manufacture lots. Then the first light bulb went off:

“And I’ll sell them!”

My head snapped your direction. Do I have a budding entrepreneur on my hands? Does my son take after the many visionary risk takers I work with? That’s when your eyes widened, the second bulb igniting, blazing away any doubt of your potential.

“Because its my idea, I get to be the boss!”

Boom. Inspiration and creativity are core to entrepreneurial drive, but the mother of all invention is not wanting a boss, ever. So absolutely yes, if its your idea, you get to be the man! The possibility of working for myself didn’t enter my mind until my late twenties. You beat me by two decades, son.

When you noted that you’d like to run a toy store from which you could sell your Shelobs, you asked another observant question:

“What if no one comes to my toy store?”

After a pause you said, “Maybe I’ll put up signs.” You’ve already got marketing figured out. (Maybe you could teach me a thing or two about marketing as I seem incapable of marketing myself.)

Aside from the entrepreneurial possibilities, we may also have a budding ski stud. Here at Dollar Mountain, they facilitated a series of kid ski races. You won your five-year-old age group despite this being your first week of skiing ever. Between you and Cash (who also won his age group), I can see us spending an ungodly amount of money pursuing this hobby. Luke, the sooner you get that startup going, the better.

Love,

Dad

What is a Boy?

Cash & Daddy's Third Year and Three Quarters

This quarter, my father, your Gramps, sent me a treasure: an essay penned by your Great-Great Gramps Harry Deets Weller, Sr., about his son, your Great Gramps, Harry Deets Weller, Jr., titled “What is a Boy?” Your G^2 Gramps makes observations that describe you and Luke well, and you are right at the age he reflects upon.

So, your guest blogger today is your G^2 Gramps Harry Jr., and make no mistake Cash, he is talking about you and me! Here is a copy of the actual letter followed by the text, blog-style! If only Harry Sr. imagined his letter in this form ...

What is a Boy?

Between the innocence of babyhood and the dignity of manhood we find a delightful creature called a boy. Boys come in assorted sizes, weights and colors, but all boys have the same creed: To enjoy every second of every minute of every hour of every day and to protest with noise (their only weapon) when their last minute is finished and the adult males pack them off to bed at night. 

Boys are found everywhere -- on top of, underneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around or jumping to. Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older sisters and brothers tolerate them, adults ignore them, and Heaven protects them. A boy is Truth with dirt on its face, Beauty with a cut on its finger, Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair, and the Hope of the future with a frog in its pocket. 

When you are busy, a boy is inconsiderate, bothersome, intruding jangle of noise. When you want him to make a good impression, his brains turn to jelly or else he becomes a savage, sadistic, jungle creature bent on destroying the world and himself with it. 

A boy is a composite -- he has the appetite of a horse, the digestion of a sword swallower, the energy of a pocket-size atomic bomb, the curiosity of a cat, the lungs of a dictator, the imagination of Paul Bunyan, the shyness of violet, the audacity of a steel trap, the enthusiasm of a firecracker, and when he makes something he has five thumbs on each hand. 

He likes ice cream, knives, saws, Christmas, comic books, the boy across the street, woods, water (in its natural habitat), large animals, Dad, trains, Saturday mornings and fire engines. He is not much for Sunday school, company, schools, books without pictures, music lessons, neckties, barbers, girls, overcoats, adults, or bedtime. 

Nobody else is so early to rise, or so late to super. Nobody else gets so much fun out of trees, dogs and breezes. Nobody else can cram into one pocket a rusty knife, a half-eaten apple, three feet of string, an empty Bull Durham sack, two gumdrops, six cents, a sling shot, a chunk of unknown substance and a genuine super-sonic code ring with a secret compartment. 

A boy is a magical creature -- you can lock him out of your workshop, but you can't lock him out of your heart. You can get him out of your study, but you can't get him out of your mind. Might as well give up -- he is your captor, your jailer, your boss and your master -- a freckled-face, pint-sized, cat-chasing bundle of noise. But when you come home at night with only the shattered pieces of your hopes and dreams, he can mend them like new with two magic words -- "HI, DAD!"

For me, the work simultaneously transports me back to my own childhood while capturing today’s experience of being a father. That memory of childhood coupled with the experience of fatherhood, those two notions together in close proximity, conjure a question:

Would I want me as a father?

That’s a tough question to answer. But the answer may matter less than the process the question represents: the process of asking myself that question each and every day. I want to be the best father I can be(come) for you.

Love,

Dad

P.S. Well, how about this: the essay ISN'T by G^2 Weller, but rather by someone else! A nice reader pointed this out as you can see below. I'm now going to go a pop Gramp's bubble!

Winter 2012 Roundup

Top three household events this quarter:

1) Santa came to Washington with a bound!

2) Daddy went surfing in Costa Rica

3) Monster Truck Show at Verizon

Three Songs I’ve been listening to:

1) The Cave, Mumford & Sons, Sign No More (released XXXX)

2) Trojans, Atlas Genius, (released XXXX)

3) 

Old Man

Luke & Dad's Fifth Year and a Half

One of the perplexing things about getting older is that you realize you haven’t drawn conclusions that, as a youth, you were certain you would. Take my feelings on God. I would’ve thought I’d have God all ironed out by now. All it took was one question from an inquisitive son to expose the shoddy workmanship of my personal religion.

“Daddy, did you know God is an Old Man?”

Glancing at Rachel, I was surprised by the question. I’d never heard you interested in God. I was admittedly pleased too because, for a religious question, this one I could handle.

“Actually, God is not a man. He is everywhere, in everything.”

Scraping God like butter over the entire universe fits my thinking. God and the universe being one allows for every possibility. It leaves open the possibility that heaven exists, that the soul perpetuates, that purple aliens will eventually show up.

“If God is everything, can’t he be an old man?”

The issue with all those possibilities: you can hide in them. And then forget you are hiding. That is, until your son points out that your logic folds in on itself, contradicting earlier statements.

“Dad, Bryce told me God is an old man at school. You don’t know and he knows.”

My opinion carries less weight than a fifty-pound kindergartner? This is another suffering of age. I may face a reckoning for my incomplete God assignment, but I’m not going to be shown up by a kid. Faith, logic and experience compete within to make a great man, but every now and again you summon the animal spirit, the forcefulness that keeps man safely distanced from enlightenment. That is the example I provide, my gift to you:

“Luke, as far as you are concerned, I am your god.”

Speaking of God and gifts, I’ve been working on convincing you and Cash that brotherhood is a gift from God. The two of you have been competing a bit too much over, well, everything. Even when I buy two versions of the exact same Star Wars Lego toy, somehow there is a battle over the indistinguishable.

So, I’ve been working a new mantra: “Team Weller!” From the moment you both wake up, I make sure we do a group hug and scream “Team Weller!” Whenever there is an upset, I get you both to look one another in the eye and say “Team Weller!” Having a brother is a friend for life: God’s gift to you.

Love,

Dad

Lines & Curves

Cashy & Daddy's Third Year and a Quarter

Man makes things with lines, then with curves. The rounded domes of Renaissance Cathedrals and today’s lithe cars outshine their boxy ancestors. The right angle, the kernel of structural support, is pristine efficiency ... but nature eschews straight lines for the curvature in every sea and egg shell. Hidden in this elegance is strength.

What’s true in design is also true in personal relationships. Early in life, the straightest, most direct path of communication is most effective. For example, you cried as a baby as means to getting fed! But you matured and that well-honed whine lost its efficacy. Greater self-reliance was expected and you entered the competitive fray for ear-time with, say, a more practiced big brother.

As an adult, its surprising how ineffective blunt forms of communication become. Such approaches smell suspiciously of demands or directives. So the indirect path, full of graceful hints and nudges, is a better way to influence people. Why? I think, in part, because these nudges allow your audience to draw their own conclusions.

In the end, personalities are not fixed but a kaleidoscope of evolving shape and color. You can't capture the whole picture in one glance and a lot is learned in the periphery. So its effective, in conversation, to explore the edges to capture all the beauty. For the same reason, its also important to take your time. Like the Ents say, "Not so hasty."

The intrigue of Woody Allen films, pieces your Grangie Weller made me watch as a kid, is built off such subtle strategies. Arguably nothing happens but 80 minutes of a conversational maze, but if you watch carefully, only one character navigates out by interpreting the implied signs. Unfortunately, that's never Woody.

Cash, you will be an expert navigator. Rather than interacting in simple, predictable straight lines, you are adding other dimensions to your interpersonal repertoire. You have empathy, the ability to put yourself in someone else’s shoes, your mother’s great gift to you. Add to that a social fearlessness and charisma (that must come from Grandpa Moore). You’ve also developed social forethought, seeing a few chess moves ahead, which adds surprising patience for a three year old.

All this adds up to formidable weaponry for manipulating an older brother. It shocking how often Luke finds himself doing things on his younger brother’s agenda!

Love,

harry

Fall 2011 Roundup

Top three household events this quarter:

1) Did our first Palisades Halloween!

2) We finally started construction (versus destruction) on the Potomac house.

3) Rachel finished her first triathlon.

Three Songs I’ve been listening to:

1) Down Boy, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Is is (reased 2007) 

2) Something Good Can Work (The Twelves Remix), Two Door Cinema Club, Tourist History (released 2011)

3) Islands, The XX, XX (released 2010)

Light Saber

Luke & Dad's Fifth Year and a Quarter

I sleep with an imaginary light saber under my bed. I introduced you to Star Wars, to Rachel's chagrine, aiming to foster an imaginative mind. Now I spend much of my time as my alter ego, Obi-Wan, defending the Republic from you, Anakin Skywalker, and the rise of the Empire. Our battles are immeshed in a drama that unfolds daily ... enter our storybook world ...

---------------------------------------------------------

I guess its appropriate it happens here. Mustafar. Ruptured by the gravitational forces of two large stars, Mustafar is a torn planet. I too am torn by two forces, love and duty, and I too bleed like the Mustafarian lava flows. I am here to destroy him, my beloved friend and Jedi, Anakin Skywalker. 

I stare at what he has become, or may I say, consumed by: the saber bearing Darth Vader whose eyes rage. The boy I trained has turned on us, on himself, and betrayed us all. Yes, I will destroy him.

Vader is impatient. "Fight Obi-Wan!" Igniting his blue saber, he takes a step forward. 

I respond. My green saber riffs, unsheathing. "Anankin, I have failed you."

His attack is swift, coming from high, slicing down. I step back driving my saber down to block, shielding my lower left. Our sabers collide crackling. Seeing my weapon trapped low, Vader ricochets his weapon up towards my exposed chest. "Hah!" he screams, sensing victory.

Yet Vader underestimates a Master's speed. I leap backwards and his laser tip sweeps past, momentum carrying his saber upwards, so I thrust low towards his abdomen. I am suddenly thrown back and breathless by a wall of force as Anakin's non-sword hand jolts forward. 

My god. He has become strong with the Dark Side.

Vader runs forward, swinging his blade side-armed and I block again, but this time Vader steps under me and rips his saber across my waist. I am vanquished. 

Anakin, I have indeed failed you ...

---------------------------------------------------------

This scenario played out in our living room yesterday. Saber fighting has become our primary form of exercise; you never get enough of it. I must admit that your sword fighting skills hint at a future in fencing. The infatuation with Star Wars has resulted in a significant investment in action figures and plastic light sabers (you have six). Needless to say, you were Luke Skywalker for Halloween.

We've experienced unintended consequences of Skywalker immersion. The primary impact is a sudden interest in robots. Your goal in life is to become a robot builder. You create robots out of paper and legos, and name them things like "YX-6". Another consequence rose from the observation that women are rarely warriors in the early Star Wars movies. This resulted in a short-lived conclusion: "I don't have to take directions from a WOOO-MAN!" Needless to say, this misconception lasted about as long a the phrase itself. 

I was very proud of you this fall during soccer season. On the River Raptor soccer team, you were shy during the first two games. I was a bit worried, wondering if we were pressuring you too much.

Then came the third game. Uncle Tavis and I watched as you underwent a transformation -- you went on attack, aggressively playing the game and dominating. I've never seen anything like it. One piece of advice when you have children, Luke: 

Never underestimate your child. 

Particularly if he is a Jedi Knight. I'll end with a simple observation: one should never leave an iPhone around a five year old. Aside from it disappearing and showing up in sinks, potties and such, you might discover mysterious self portraits on your phone.

Love,

Dad

Obstacle Illusions

Cash & Daddy's Third Year and a Quarter

I admire your fearlessness. When something grabs your interest, curiosity thrusts you past inhibition. At Cox farms, a bizarre farm turned amusement park, we were hanging with the Fredericks when we discovered a corn maze. Yes, a corn maze! Skittish children and parents alike loitered at the entrance casting furtive glances into the dark stalks. Then, zap, you bolted in.

Cashy courage is now legendary. Coupled with that curiosity is, well, obstinacy, and I foresee you fearlessly blazing trails into the unexplored … and into a few trees. I hope this continues and you never let anyone restrain you through mind or might. As Grant Frazier says, “Life is full of obstacle illusions.” I hope your courage translates into an ability to question even the most revered of ideas.

Question everything because even great ideas of humanity are small islands in an ocean of unknown. We don’t know jack, trust me. Knowledge is founded on repeatable observation and the connections in-between. These island footholds get chained together, sometimes filling in blanks, even forming landmasses that frame our understanding of the world. Big islands yes, but islands nonetheless.

The moment we get comfortable, our frame of reference is inevitably shattered, painfully, by the creative destruction of new discovery. Living in a flat world in the center of everything was great until Galileo unveiled the unsettling truth that our sky was infinitely deep and our world terribly small. Nonetheless, our universe is far more interesting than anything we could've ever imagined.

Even today, Opera at Gran Sasso clocked neutrinos traveling faster than the speed of light, an impossibility according to Eistein's Theory of Special Relativity. Physicists are in a tizzy over whether this is error or not. If the speedy neutrinos are for real, we can throw out a good portion of physics today. I want my Physics grades reevaluated.

In the face of all this, I am always shocked when folks cite Science as the reason they don’t believe in God .... or visa-versa! Both conclusions are odd. When 97% of the universe’s matter is unaccounted for, the ocean of unknown is vast indeed. To me, the very fact I exist, meaning my consciousness, is inexorable proof that something very powerful, if not Godlike, is going on. Science is not disproof of God.

And God is not disproof of Science. Traditional scriptures taken word-for-word for an operatic being, or several, playing chess with humanity, well, that doesn't jive with my observation of life either.

What this leaves you with, Cash, is mind-numbingly cool opportunity: the immeasurable ways you can erect new structures of your own understanding of life. And you have a most critical ingredient, the gift of innate courage, to enable sailing into the unknown when everyone else is clinging to the shore.

Love,

Daddy

Summer 2011 Roundup

Earthquake Devastation

Top three household events this birthday quarter:

1) Baby Tavis was born!
2) Earthquake and Hurricane Irene, Oh My!
3) We did our first family mountain climb in Colorado (partly).

Three Songs I’ve been listening to:

1) Pumped Up Kicks, Foster the People, Torches (2011)
2) Human Nature, Michael Jackson, Thriller (1983)
3) How You Like Me Now, The Heavy, The House that Dirt Built (2009)

Lady Talk

Luke & Dad's Fifth Year

The Internet puts infinite information at your fingertips. Research is no longer a journey through the library but a keystroke and an electronic pulse. With delivery frictionless, data is delivered in a deluge.

To compensate, we consume it in ever-smaller, sugary pieces. The press laments that long form media is drowning in millions of buzz clips, tweets and blogs -- a data tsunami washing away depth of knowledge! We are M&Media junkies.

We can’t even stay true to our questions -- inquiring via Google search delivers paid info nuggets, Google's paid search, designed specifically to hijack our intent!

And the Wellers love it.

A smattering of random information has a fascinating effect on an imaginative mind like yours. The disparate pieces of information we feed you, whether it’s a YouTube video, five minutes of a movie or part of a story before bed, are fragments you weave into a wonderful tapestry.

Like the artist Girl Talk who mixes different riffs into a musical mosaic, or like inadvertently inventing new lyrics to undecipherable song and finding it more meaningful, your inventions are often better than their original parts.

My favorite Lukey mashup originated from tidbits of Star Wars, Harry Potter and YouTubes of your favorite fish: the Angler Fish.

One afternoon you smacked Darth Vader (me) down with a toy lightsaber and screamed in victory, “I control the light!” Curious, I asked what you meant. You explained The Force and Magic were the same thing and they could control things like light: the beam from a light saber or the flash of a wand.

When I pointed out that The Force and Magic don’t exist, you said, “I know, but Angler fish can do it!” Then I realized, what else is technology, biology, and magic but making energy do what you want!

These moments of brilliance are tempered. I woke up a few days ago to, “Daddy, I made Yucky Jello!” As I removed the bowl from the refridgerator, you gave me the rundown of ingredients: soap, water, and … Peeps! The last word ignited a spasm that sent unset "jello" sloshing into my face.

Love,

Dad

Honkatolo

Cash & Dad's Third Year

Three years old! Holy Cow, we're in real trouble. For your birthday you've given yourself the gift of friendship, an imaginary friend named Honkatolo. He showed up quite suddenly. We’re a little sketchy on his history though sometimes you say he is your friend Dagny’s Grandpa.

Honkatolo typically arrives when you are looking to crack into a conversation. You see, it’s tough for a little guy to get a word in edgewise when a big brother hogs all the airtime. Many a brotherly scuffle arises over perceived control of the mic. Here’s a typical situation where Honkatolo makes an appearance:

Luke:  “... and then I kicked the ball into the goal, mommy!”
Cash:  “I want to play soccer and …”

Dad:   “Luke sure did. I was amazed how quickly he exploded towards the goal.”

Cash:  “Hey, can  …”

Luke:  “And I got an ice cream afterwards! I got the one with bubble gum at the bottom!”

Mom:  “A nicely ruined lunch, dad.”

Cash:  “I want an ice …”

Luke:  “My hands are still sticky! Can I have a wipe?”

Cash:  “Honkatolo always scores lots goals and get’s lots of ice cream!”
Dad:   “Who?”

So, you’ve discovered that an imaginary friend is a useful tool to garner attention, particularly one with otherworldly mental and physical gifts. Honkatolo is a superhuman. Imaginary or not, his accomplishments leave me a tad jealous:

• Honkatolo mostly lives “on the same planet you fly to for work.” 
• But sometimes “lives across the street from Dagny.” 
• “Honkatolo is better than you at hiding in snow.” 
• He is a “wonderful scuba diver.” 
• Honkatolo “never gets a stuffy nose. Ever.” 
• “He takes so much pictures that he never goes to sleep.” 
• “Honkatolo is a little bit tall.” 
• “Honkatolo broke your sunglasses.” 
• Honkatolo has “this much dollars [holding nine fingers] on his planet.” 
• He “races all of his robots and always wins.”

Signs of a your creativity go beyond the Honkatolo edifice. A trip to Sullivans, our local toy store, will see you sprinting past all the toys to the tools of your imagination: paints, markers and pencils. I call this behavior the "Paints not Toys campaign." This passion for drawing and painting takes after your Grangie, Vanessa and Samantha! Sometimes your imagination is downright mysterious. On a clear night you looked up and saw a full moon and beautiful clear stars and you said, "It's like my sound, Labla-Labla-Labla!" Huh?

Love,

Dad

Spring 2011 Roundup

Top three household events this quarter:

1) The Fredericks gave you guys a mini roller coaster for the backyard.

2) We visited Granpda and Grandma in Grand Junction.

3) Daddy went to Abu Dhabi and Dubai in the Middle East.

Three Songs I’ve been listening to:

1) Policeman's Xmas Party, Five for Fighting, Two Lights (released 2006)

2) 1901, Phoenix, Wolfgang Amadeus (released 2009)

3) Pets, Porno for Pyros, Porno for Pyros (released 1993)

Remember

Luke & Dad's Fourth Year and Three Quarters

Occasionally you will meet a person who has found her calling in life. Her work will redefine your understanding of her art. You have two such teachers in Mrs. Insley (left) and Ms. Kim (right) this year. If they are impressive individually, they are formidable as a team. Let's just say I've never seen anything like them in all my years of team building as a venture capitalist -- one plus one equals one hundred.

You had a difficult time towards the end of your time at Aiden despite our affection for the school. The big class rooms and having older kids in the classroom brought you down. You came to hate going to school. It impacted your entire view of the day.

Mrs. Insley, Ms. Kim and the River School turned all that around at a critical point, I believe. I'll let them describe that transition as I've asked them to do this quarter's blog post and be my first guests!

Luke, 

You have made this Beaver year so fun and rewarding. You weren’t too sure about us at first, but you quickly fell in love - “I need black reading glasses like Mrs. Insley or I can’t read!” - and we fell in love with you. Once you felt safe here, you jumped right in and did whatever you had to do to have fun, even when it was frightening or just … different (we’ve done a lot of “different” and weird things this year). 

We remember the first time we tie-dyed shirts for our pumpkin patch field trip. Oh, you were so curious – scientist you. You watched everyone else go, made observations about the steam coming off of the water, and you even asked your friends how it went. But you steadfastly refused to do one, even though it was clear your curiosity was about to make you explode. Well, the next time we dyed shirts – River School colors this time – you were the first in line! That’s one of the great things about you: “I’m gonna give you one more chance!” you’ll say to friends who aren’t playing nicely or to yourself when you get frustrated … or even to different activities that don’t feel comfortable at first. 

One of the greatest things we’ve seen in you, Luke, is how important friendships are to you. Having and maintaining friendships is hard, even rough sometimes, but this makes us who we are and has a lot to do with who we will become. You’ve definitely had your special friendships and favorite friends, but you’ve learned that as member of a class or a team – especially one as AWESOME as ours – you lose out on really great things if you give up opportunities to get to know everyone. “I’m playing with Marley and Bryce today since Charlie isn’t here. I thought I’d be kinda sad that he’s not here, but I’m having a lot of fun with my other friends.” 

Now we have to share one more favorite memory. “Ms. Kim, Ms. Kim, I have to tell you something! I just burped, like a big burp. And I know I’m supposed to say, ‘Excuse me,’ but I couldn’t because I actually just threw up a little in my mouth. I kept my mouth closed though and swallowed it ‘cause I didn’t have anywhere to spit it out. Aren’t you sooo proud of me for not throwing it up??” How does one respond to that? 

But yes, we’re so, so, proud of you (for not throwing up and for a slew of other things). We’re proud that you’ve made friends and learned to negotiate games on the playground. We’re proud that you’ve learned to eat and enjoy lots of different foods – even weird ethnic foods that Ms. Kim made you try. We’re proud that you’ve worked so hard in Mouth Time and Handwriting and all of the other “academics.” But most of all, we’re proud that you are proud of yourself, because there’s so much of you and so many reasons to feel that pride.

Luke, we may have made you a Beaver, but you made us teachers. Good ones, too. Having had this time with you has affirmed and solidified our belief that we chose the right school, the right class, and the right kid to fall in love with. Thanks, Buddy. 

We love you, Hot Stuff. 

Mrs. Insley (the cool, tall teacher with the glasses)
Ms. Kim (the short Asian one that makes you eat weird food)

As you can see, these are very special people. Remember them. I will.

Love,

Dad