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

Monkey & The Dragon

Cash & Daddy's Second Year and a Half,

You don't have a lock on your bedroom door. Unfortunately, neither do Rachel and I. Further unfortunate is my sleeping position: closest to the door. Most unfortunate is your chipper demeanor at dawn.

My mornings are a struggle to climb above a dark, broiling fog upon Mount Doom. To be jolted awake by a serotonin-head that has recently mastered extraction from his crib is to tap into the animal mind. I understand why chimpanzees are fiercely agitated by the human smile.

This morning you sat on my face. I was dreaming of college classes I'd failed to attend when you plopped your poopy diaper on my head. I nearly tossed you across the bed when you made a most unusual statement.

"Daddy, I'm going to tell you a story."

I was thrown off by this. I am accustomed to being commanded to read you a story. The idea you were going to deliver me a story, one that originated from your two-and-a-half-year-old mind seemed, well, improbable.

I croaked, "What did you say?" You replied with clear confirmation of your intent and launched into the following soliloquy:

Once there was Green Dragon and a Monkey. The Green Dragon had no more fire in his mouth because he spent it firing Monkey's books. The Monkey had paper to write more books, but Green Dragon wouldn't share his pen. When Green Dragon saw Monkey cleaning the burned books, he felt bad and gave Monkey his pen. The End.

You ended with a smile. Did that just happen? Am I awake? I've never heard you tell a story much less one with a faint, perhaps mysterious plot. Did God just send me a riddle? What does this MEAAN?

Then it came to me in a flash. You like a good tale, your hair is getting redder, your eyes bluer, your skin fairer, your cheeks rosier, you behave like a leprechaun and you tell nonsensical though suggestive faerie stories ... we've got an Irishman in the family!

Love,

Dad

Winter 2011 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 Big Money, Rush, A Show of Hands (released 1989)

2) Classic Girl, Janes Addiction, Ritual De Lo Habitual (released 1990)

3) Get it On (Bang a Gong), The Power Station, The Power Station (released 1985)

Terrapin

Dad & Luke's Four Year and a Half

Several images flash through a father’s mind upon learning he has a son. Visions of great deeds and heroic ventures (feats far surpassing the father’s achievements) are followed by flashes of the grueling parental work necessary to achieve such glory. Then arrives a thrilling and less encumbering image: that of a couch, some chips, and a TV. A son is the ideal mate to watch one's favorite team!

No more halftimes destroyed by a friend that has to go home to a demanding wife! Fortified by shared passion for a team handed down from one generation to the next, games are transformed from marital distraction into the very roots of male American family bonding. What a deal!

Such hand offs are a social requirement in some societies. In Brazil, where the world’s eighth largest economy is swayed by the performance of their beloved "A Seleção", a son that fails to revere the yellow and blue will disgrace his father. Being an ardent Duke fan and alum, I understand this ... because you are my traitor son.

"Daddy, I'm a Maryland Terrapin!"

I was shocked. One moment I was your father, the next, a violated DNA delivery machine. I'd been seducing you into the Duke Nation, fulfilling your destiny and my vision (or perhaps the other way around). Yet "Go Duke!" chants rolled sleepily off your tongue into bored nothingness. This sudden alignment with the Twerps was a titanic disaster.

I had Joe to thank at Addie Bassin's Wine Shop. An ardent Maryland fan, he plotted against me. All it took was a timely lollipop to buy your allegiance. I sealed the deal by overreacting, "WHAT ?!?!?!?!" My theatrics were not only entertaining, but the Luke-mind is adept at identifying leverage. Becoming a Maryland Terrapin was a new chip to play!

"Poddy" by Luke Weller

Your sense of humor is evidence of an awakening emotional intelligence that thrills me. You identify subtle interpersonal undercurrents and play off them. Honestly, you are becoming a complex and highly entertaining person. I'm so proud of you.

Love,

Dad

Tether

Cash & Daddy's Second Year and a Half

Throw a rock in water and, kurplunk, a beautiful pattern of concentric circles emerge. Unfortunately, those ripples lose energy as they expand, a function of the distance squared, otherwise the pattern would delight forever. A similar algorithm is imbedded in children.

I call it the Law of Willpower Loss (the “LWL”): the farther a child get’s from a parent, the faster energy drains from his willpower. He get’s more and more uncomfortable, first drastically, then hysterically. It’s an invisible energy tether keeping the child close.

That’s the usual deal. Cash, kids like you are the dangerous exception. These children surf what should be a wave of growing fear, gaining speed and confidence inversely proportional to the LWL. A wound-up spring unleashed, I often watch helplessly as the back of your hay-head speeds away killing any illusion of who is really tethered to whom. To you and your brethren, nothing says freedom like -- 

RUN!

Frustratingly, you show no sign of this pent up energy when securely in my power radius. In fact, quite the opposite -- speed isn’t in your vocabulary. If I give you any instruction whatsoever, without turning you say, “Two minutes”, throwing two lackless two fingers in the air. The Cashese interpretation: I’m not moving.

If you were a superhero, you’d be Captain Independence. You are unencumbered by parental, teacher or peer pressure (that will come), and you are not above flaunting your disregard. Take our tireless work on potty training. You recently whipped out your peeps, smiled at me, then peed on the kitchen floor. Not done, you then dipped your hair in the puddle and said, “Daddy, I’m wet!”

I'd be worried if you didn’t have a razor sharp wit and experimental mind. Nonetheless, some of these experiments leave me wondering.

Perhaps after that video, we should end with a sample of your wit. Vanessa and Tavis visited us this quarter pregnant with their first child. Noticing the little bump in her stomach, you pointed and said, "There's a baby in there!" We had no idea how you figured it out, but I suppose you picked it up just casually listening. Then you lifted you shirt showing your bare, white belly and screamed, "I'm empty!"

You've started your first ever class at River School. You are the Firefly class with two wonderful teachers named Mrs. XXX and Ms. XXX. Not surprisingly, you best friend is a girl. Shocker. Her name is Dagney and you appear to be a couple, Cashanova.

Love,

Dad

 

Fall 2010 Roundup

Top three household events this quarter:

1) Luke & Cash started River School!

2) We had a snake and beaver hit Halloween! Daddy was Luke Skywalker.

3) Mommy & Daddy went to Rome with the Linehans.

Three Songs I’ve been listening to:

1) Suburban War, Arcade Fire, The Suburbs (released 2010)

2) Classic Girl, Janes Addiction, Ritual De Lo Habitual (released 1990)

3) Get it On (Bang a Gong), The Power Station, The Power Station (released 1985)

Kaizen

Luke & Dad's Fifth Year and a Quarter

When I was growing up in the eighties, the American auto industry was under siege by Japanese manufacturers. The press proclaimed the end of U.S. innovation leadership. Japanese cars were cheaper, better made, and after years of comfortable dominance, the U.S. was caught sitting on its hands.

I've since investigated the source of the innovation culture in Japan. I learned Japan's "technical superiority" had little to do with their success. Instead, the Japanese created a novel approach to manufacturing called Kaizen which means “change for the better."

Instead of treating line workers as brainless robots, the empowered them to innovate the manufacturing process. It made all the difference. Core to Kaizen was problem solving method called "5 Whys." Ask "why" to a problem five successive times and you drill down to the root cause.

Children practice Kaizen too. Some, like you, more rigorously. I call it Kaizenathon or "50 Whys." It's sometimes hard to be patient during these intensive interrogations. A line of questioning can last hours and you have a habit of starting these right before bed! Nonetheless, it is a blessing to witness your mind making connections that make up a web of knowledge.

Sometimes I'm stumped.

Not all knowledge is accessed through bridges. Some ideas are islands unto themselves. Those are particularly hard to explain by fathers.

This fall, we made the tough decision to switch from Aiden Montessori to The River School. The reason was simple: Rachel and I felt a smaller class size would better engage Cashy and you. We didn't want the two of you lost in a sea of twenty children. River is also in the Palisades, within walking distance. We like feeling close to you guys! Nonetheless, its was a painful decision because we liked the Montessori approach and our friends there.

At The River School, you are in the "Beaver" class and you have three teachers: Mrs. Insley, Ms. Kim, and Ms. Brown. Your best friend is another blonde boy named Charlie Magruder. Apparently you two tear it up.

To give you a sense of the enthusiasm you have for River School, on Halloween you demanded to dress as a beaver (see roundup above). Rachel and I obliged of course and how could we not? More fun pictures for your wedding day!

Love,

Daddy

Blind Men

Cash & Daddy's Second Year and a Quarter

In an old legend, a group of blind men each grab a different part of an elephant. “It is a pillar!” says one. He touched a leg. Another says, “It’s a plowshare.” He touched a tusk. On down the line, each man reaches a radically different conclusion.

When getting to know someone, I am often one of these blind men. Grasping a personality is often realizing you are only holding one part of the beast. You might meet a co-worker in a new setting, say a social or family environment, and you discover unexplored territory. The experience can be jarring. A passive person turns into a monster on the basketball court -- an aggressiveness you never imagined!

Cashy, many a friend will experience observational whiplash with you. On your behavioral stage, some hardy personalities tangle and elbow their way to the front. How they reside in the same person is a mystery!

Perhaps some introductions are due …

Well, hello Cashonova. Of course you are the first. The shortest distance between any two points is your path to the nearest gorgeous woman. She’ll pick you up faster than a fluffy puppy dog, look into your eyes, and experience untainted innocence smiling upon her. She is loved and so are you. Your head graces the female bosom more often than a pillow. Even worse, you down right expect it. You already have a girlfriend in two-year-old FireFly class: Dafnie. You beat me by fifteen years!

Whoa! Not so pushy Casholeon! You’ve received your due in earlier entries of this blog! Yes, your relentless campaign for territory and toys has left a mark on our household leaving your older brother whimpering. Bored after 5 minutes of the World Cup, you turned the off daddy's TV repeatedly. Once fixed on a prize, your body barrels through mental, physical and even verbal barriers causing my hairline to retreat faster than a French infantry line. And what is the need for inherent physical power when you can harness the power of others! Casholeon is bossy!

Things must be getting overwhelming. Casherubim has beaten a hasty retreat into Mommy’s pouch. Peering from this safe vantage point, your two-year-old remarks gain pomp. “Daddy is a poo.” If daddy or Luke approach, you turn your head away, nestling deeper into moma’s embrace. You are a moma’s boy through and through, and, you’ve learned quite well, untouchable in that state! Rachel is thrilled.

We are charmed to have all these flavors in one child! The icing on the cake, however, is your smarts. Cashy insights strike unexpectedly like lightening on a cloudless day. Last week, Lukey and I were chatting about his newest favorite subject, volcanoes. You were lounging around on the floor playing, ignoring us (as usual). Luke’s overly thorough interrogation led us to a logical impasse. “But WHY do volcanos erupt?” I was doing a terrible job explaining the pressure build up of magma within a volcano. Then, suddenly out of thin air, you say,

“It’s like a bubble popping.”

Bam!

Love,

Daddy

Summer 2010 Roundup

Top three household events this birthday quarter:

1) We went to Duck, NC with the Fredericks.
2) We spent a month in Boulder, CO with our friend Melinda.
3) We watched the 4th of July parade in the Palisades!

Three Songs I’ve been listening to:

1) Lazy Eye, Silversun Pickups, Carnavas (released 2007)
2) Cosmic Love, Flamingo & the Machine, Lungs (released 2009)
3) Teenage Dream, Kate Perry, Teenage Dream (released 2010)

Friping

Luke & Daddy's Fourth Year

I thought I was prepared. Harvard trained in negotiation and wrangler of concession at work, I brought a hardened game to the elementary work of arguing with a four year old. Hell, when I was in business school, controversy emerged over the training of Harvard students in negotiating tactics. The media reported on overly privileged Harvard vampires being armed to “take advantage of the rest of us!” Yet, the very book that trained us, Getting to Yes, best describes your instinctual ability to crumble my balsa wood defenses.

Our duels always begin with an unacceptable Lukie request. “Can I have a lollypop?” moments before dinner. “Can I drive?” Jeez, how old are you? “Can I have a sip of your coke?” When this happens, I immediately brace myself for the inevitable faceoff, an ordeal that will pound my willpower. Like any good business school student, I have an acronym for your “Getting to Yes” strategy: FRIPing.

Fibbing
Small lies are effective tactics for a four year old. Then again sometimes not. “Daddy, I finished by broccoli. Can I have a cookie?” when sitting in front of a full portion of broccoli.

Repetition
Your mind numbing repetition of the “ask” is torture. Being stuck in the car listening to “Can we go to Palisades Pizza? Can we go to Palisades Pizza? Can we go to Palisades Pizza?” makes me want to cry right now.

Information Asymmetry
A twist on the tried and true “ask the other parent” strategy, you actually falsify approvals and present them to an unsuspecting adult. This Machiavellian approach frequently lands me in trouble!

Persistence
A cousin of repetition, you adhere to Churchill’s adage: “Never, never, never, never give up.” You chip away concrete by staying on message and upping the emotional ante. Raising volume and intensity bends your opponent to snap.

Effective is the word I would use describe your FRIP strategy. Nonetheless, I have developed countermeasures. I call my approach FABY and I would put it up against any child rearing book out there.

Flight
Running away from the problem is a highly underrated tactic. A couple earplugs, a closed door and a pillow and I can zone out any tantrum.

Ask Mom
Also called punting. I like this approach if I am on a separate floor from Rachel otherwise I wind up retreating to a more extreme version of Flight ... out of the house.

Bribing
Frequently this involves trading one evil for another. Often times I try to downgrade the evil or at least put it on a time frame when I'm not around.

Yell
With you, intimidation is a weak bluff as you tend to call this behavior with louder, more extreme screaming. Nonetheless, its a good way to attract attention and get your mom to take over.

As you can imagine, we have very rich interactions these days. Yet, your classic lines are solo and come out of the blue. When Mom and you were in a landing airplane this quarter, you screamed, "We're going to crash!" at the top of your lungs. The possibility of a crash is exciting and fun to an immortal four year old; the rest of the plane was less pleased.

Happy Birthday Luke! We celebrated your birthday in Boulder, CO this year with several members of Rachel's family. I bought you a Lightening McQueen pinata that proved nearly impossible to bust open!

Love,

Daddy

Cannon

Cash & Dad's Second Year

A Wellerism is a directive masquerading as an honest question. The question is both smoke, in that it is a query in the first place, and mirror, reflecting a mask of self-denial about the real intent. Inevitably, the underlying meaning is revealed because we overuse our Wellerisms. A well worn path is never well hidden.

Rachel suffers gravely from a Wellerism I am fond of: “Is everything ok?” Beneath this cloak of caring lurks an accusation: you are doing something wrong. In truth, the statement is a symptom of the opposite: I am doing something wrong.

Now Cash, true to your heritage, you have developed a simple but more potent Wellerism:

“Help me?”

Looking up with eyes seeping innocence, you plead, arms outstretched, "Help me?" to be picked up. Seems natural enough. Except, you no more want my help than Napoleon wants “help” from his prized horse Marengo in Louis David’s painting Napoleon Crossing the Alps.

Once ensconced in my arms, you whip out a Napoleonesc finger in the direction of some campaign. I am being commanded. I gallop around the house engaging in all matter of Cashy directives and if I dare deviate, you rein me in with an electrifying screech. I’m your bridled horse ... or how about stallion ;)

I guess it shouldn't be surprising that you share other interests with Napoleon. The emperor once said, "Nothing is more destructive than the charge of artillery on a crowd." You've applied this affinity to me. 

Changing your diapers, I am occasionally met with giggling and a purposeful look in your eye. Spreading your legs, I am struck by a cannon shot of spraying poop. It took several incidents before it sunk in that this was serial, premeditated cannoning. The wild, hysterical, Cashy laughter should have tipped me off.

Very funny.

Today, diaper changes are world record sprints in changing, dodging to avail you no target. To add insult to injury, when you've eaten spicy food, you often ask for a kiss. You want kisses where it hurts. Yes, you are actually asking me to kiss your ...

Happy Birthday Cashy! Your second birthday arrived in spectacular celebration at Palissades Park near our house. Rachel did a great job getting lots of friends to come despite the overbearing Washington summer heat. Too bad you had no idea what was going on.

Love,

Dad

Spring 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)

Momentum

Luke & Dad's Third Year and Three Quarters

Luke, you like a schedule and so do I. Arriving home at 7 pm, I am frequently met by a sonic boom of grunts and groans. Who knew that pooping signatures could rival the efficacy of voice and facial recognition? Like a caricature artist capturing essence in a pen stroke, a touch of these sounds and smells and I know it’s you! Unfortunately, this form of identification works in my NEA office restroom too.

I suppose I’m overly focused on your excremental behavior. Hell, it’s hard to ignore. Yesterday, you exited our bathroom with a strip of toilet paper streaming out the back of your jeans. You looked me in the eye and said matter of factly, “tyrannosaurus tail,” turned and marched on.

During Snowmageddon in February, you stole outside, jumped from our deck into three feet of snow, dug out your “peeps” from layers of clothing and peed patterns on the snow. Addressing my questioning look, you said, “I'm changing the color of the snow!”

Fortunately, our interest in the banal hasn't stunted an exploration of the abstract. Watching Pixar's The Incredibles, you asked why Mr. Incredible's RV rolled after a high speed turn. "Daddy, why is it crashing instead of turning?" Your vehicle fetish has a shockingly positive derivative: you've turned you into a little Newton discovering the first laws of motion!

I explained that if an object has movement in a direction, it doesn't want to give up. The more massive it is, the more stubborn it gets. We now have a little mantra, "Mass and Fast is Momentum!" You completely understand the concept. If a car has trouble stopping, you say, "it has momentum." Why does a truck have more trouble stopping? "It's bigger!" Does a stopped car have momentum? "No." Now we are working on the distinction between velocity and acceleration. From there we can attack force!

You may be more Einstein than Newton. Poking at a puzzle of different shapes, you paused and said, "Are the circles getting smaller because I am getting bigger?" Ahhh, the concept of relative measurement ... a couple more steps and you'll have the theory of relativity nailed!

The cherry blossoms are blooming here in DC yet I'm still reading The Night Before Christmas. Your true hero is no scientist but a right jolly old elf reinforcing that the path to your heart is littered with presents. Leave it to me to contort your affections into the monstrous "Santa Claus Effect." I reign in wayward behavior by announcing "Santa is watching you!" You have no fear of Mommy, Cashy or me but Santa ... he is control of the loot.

Love,

Dad

Five

Cash and Dad's First Year and Three Quarters

Tight knit groups develop a culture and language all their own. Gaining admission can be awkward at best, dangerous at worst, and might involve streaking across a quad or running in combat boots across a beach. Of course, once you are in the club, its entertaining watching others struggle to join! This is true of my high school cliques, my venture capital partnership, and, yes, our ragged little family.

You can tell a lot about a person by his or her composure during the courting (or pledging) period. In your case, you have not waited for an invitation. The price of admission was birth, but your impact is that of a mob GodFather. Imagine a stocky two footer with a protruding belly entering a room with boastful gesticulations and attaboy chatter. From thirty feet, you are right in with the gang!

The thing is, you are pointing at god knows what, taking gibberish. When Rachel, Luke and I laugh, you laugh, though you don't understand a word! You are all clothes, no emperor!

Then comes the mistake. The mistake arrives in many forms, but often it is a reasonable action, with the wrong object -- trying to write with grandpa's red licorice. Or it could be a reasonable object, but the wrong action -- offering a glass of juice for Churchill to drink. You are downright hilarious!

One of my friends, Jimmy Treybig, founder of Tandem Computing, once said that an organization should allow its culture to influence and be influenced by new people. You have brought a fearlessness to our family that I am proud of. You also tie us together. You won't let anyone leave your sight without insisting on a farewell high five, or "Five!" Interestingly, you require symmetry in this: you have to "five" both hands in sequence!

Cash, you have been dealt a gem trait in life: charm. It will forever lower the barrier into many a hardened troupe.

Now that you've woven yourself into the family unit, we can't seem to keep you around. Given any opening, you make a mad dash for freedom. This week, Rachel took you and Luke to a bathroom within a Starbucks off Wisconsin Avenue. While Rachel was engaged keeping Luke's butt on the potty, you shot out the bathroom door, past an astonished coffee que, out the Starbucks entrance, and down the sidewalk towards your favorite toy store. Rachel and Luke (with his pants around his ankles) made a motley crew trying to chase you down. Once again, no fear!

In one small victory this quarter, we have managed to graduate from purely "Nos" to our first "Yes!" on January 30th, 2010. You agreed to a lollipop.

Love,

Dad

Winter 2010 Roundup

Top three household events this quarter:

1) Snowpocalypse 2010 snowed us in! 32 inches! Then another foot two days later!
2) The dynamic duo sledded for the first time!
3) Daddy turned 40. Ugh.

Three Songs I’ve been listening to:

1) Jump, Van Halen, 1984 (released 1984)
2) Jamming, Exodus, Bob Marley (released 1977)
3) Wynona's Big Brown Beaver, Primus, Tales from the Punch Bowl (released 1995)

Bazaar

Luke and Dad's Third Year and a Half

At exactly 9:15 am December 9th, 2009, I was quietly ushered into Mr. Antonucci's classroom at Aiden. The school occasionally invites a parent to observe the Montessori method in a classroom setting. Mrs. Antonucci put me in a far corner chair like a jealous scientist protecting her fragile experiment. She reminded me that observation is just that, not participation.

At first you did not see me. You sat with your back to me scribbling and chattering with your friend, Peter Kumar. When you noticed me, I got a wide smile, and a proud introduction, “This is MY daddy!” Working quickly to mend her punctured bubble, Mrs. Antonnuci pressed you towards a puzzle of cylinders. In classic Luke style, you stubbornly resisted, but your campaign wilted in the face Mrs. Antonnuci’s thick fortifications.

Children roamed around, played at tables, or worked on floor mats scattered all over the room. The kids were spread in both age and the sophistication of their schemes, and they worked individually and in groups. I suppose I expected an orderly circle of children being taught about a frog or something. The classroom scene resembled a chaotic market bazaar. I felt a sinking feeling that, perhaps, I had gotten you into a Montessori mess!

Then I noticed something remarkable. Upon completion of a cylinder puzzle, you returned the contraption back to its proper storage place. What the hell! That never happened at home ... ever. Then you started a new venture, picking another puzzle. You grabbed a mat and laid it out methodically on the floor establishing a working area creating an educational microcosm, a protected area of concentration. You sat and worked through your project.

Mrs. Antonucci was the conductor, orchestrating the pace of the projects, allowing each child’s innate interest and creativity set course but, when necessary, sprinkling that path with more challenging and expansive activities. She and her staff also policed and preserved childrens' working areas. The older children were expected to help.

So, my first impression was right, the class was more like a free market bazaar than the centralized, communal teaching approach I had been programmed to picture. What I saw in its place resonated strongly with me.

The most successful people I know (mostly entrepreneurs) learned far more in life by fiercely following their own interests. A path hewn by one’s own ideas derives knowledge because it is a necessity, a set of tools, to get where one wants to go. Coupled with quality guidance and a willingness to accept it, you have a winner. Einstein was not a great mathematician, but became adept with help from his peers. Math was just a means to express his own concepts to the world.

Proof in point, you’ve resisted learning letters through flash cards or other blunt instruments. However, you love books and, as a result, became interested in the strange symbols Rachel and I clearly used to decode the storyline. Today, January 31st, 2009, you spelled out your first word “KETTLE” out of the book XXXXXXX. Sure, you can’t read, but you are clearing a path because you want to decode the books.

By the way, you show glimpses of high emotional intelligence too. A couple weeks ago the two of us were sitting together, you playing with Playdough, and I writing a to-do list in my little black book. You looked me square in the eye, put your hands on both my cheeks, and asked, “What do you think when you are alone?” I was dumbfounded.

Luke, I think about you, Cash and Rachel.

Love,

Dad

Gobbledygook

Cash and Dad's First Year and Three Quarters

Working at Bell Labs in 1964, our friend Arno Penzias was experimenting with a super-sensitive antenna when he observed a low, steady, mysterious signal in the receiver. It was so unexpected, so unexplainable, he cleaned pigeon droppings from the antenna to eliminate possible causes. In spite of the scientific community's sentiment that his signal was just noise, Arno steadfastly hunted for an explanation for years.

I have great empathy for Arno’s experience because finding something so unexplainable is maddening. Take the way you talk, or don’t talk. These days, your gobbledygook teases us with tantalizing morsels of signal, signs of communication. So we parse your verbal landscape looking for crumbs of logical expression. Instead, we have discovered a singular "word" expressed with such delight, such intent, that I know it has meaning, but you won’t find it any dictionary.

“DEEEEYAAAH!”

I’ve taken this word, turned it over and over in my head, picked away at piece sounds like Arno did his bird droppings hoping to find a recognizable word remaining. No luck.

I accept that our world is a churning sea of fascinating but often incomprehensible phenomena. Distilling a signal from a vast ocean of noise, and believing in that pattern recognition, is fundamental to mankind’s ability to establish beachheads of comprehension. In Arno’s case, he eventually found researchers at Princeton that had predicted radiation with the same characteristics as his observations, a radiation signature proving the Big Bang. Arno won the Noble Prize in Physics in 1978. His persistence paid off.

But I still don’t know what deeyah means. You remind me of that daily restating your case with the incomprehensible! We can decipher this much: Deeyah is an exclamation of happiness ... and we love hearing you say it. When you do, the entire Weller clan repeats the call in unison, “Deeeyah!” and we smile together. Deeyah is becoming our family call to action! Like Arno, I’ll be persistent about uncovering the specific meaning, but I know it has something to do with family happiness.

Your lack of words strikes a contrast to your love of books. You are a book worm. Promptly after slurping down your baba every morning, you go and grab a book, waddle over to me, turn around so your butt faces me, and back up like a blind beeping garbage truck until you plop into my lap. We churn through four or five books. Your favorite book right now is Little Gorilla.

The issue is, your book reading endurance far exceeds mine, particularly for the very same books. You love revisiting the same worlds, but for me its like eating the same candy over and over. There are sores in my brain. I can't contain a moan when you bring over Thomas Rides Again!

This quarter, we had our very first Cashy injury. You fell on a piece of glass at the restaurant Open City. Rachel had to take you to the hospital and you got stitches that crossed pass your thumb onto your palm. As you got your stitches, the doctor was impressed at how little you cried.

Maybe its in response to falling on something hard and sharp, but we've noticed that you've taken shine to soft things. You climb on to our bed, stand up, and then fall like cut tree onto our down comforter. Strangely, you just lay there, face down in the comforter for minute relishing the warm cuddly feelings. If someone leaves a pillow on the floor, its not uncommon to find you face down on it, silent, blind, and, apparently, completely content!

Love,

Daddy