Happy Birthday, Treaker!

Did you know that you're the only kid in our family who actually invented his own nickname (and a reciprocal nickname, at that!)?  It seems to me that this says something about you... With your brother and sister, it was just random, silly trial-and-error:  "Can I call you Floogy Scrooter?" or "Can I call you the Mishawaka Matador?"  And only after several silly attempts over the course of several years -- only after so many suggestions had been denied without any alternatives offered -- were we able to settle on Charlie Bogantz and My Little Chippy Chuppy.  But with you, Cor, it was so different!  You were still just learning to talk when I asked if I could call you some totally nonsensical name, and you immediately said no.  But when I asked my standard follow-up question -- "Well, what should I call you, then?" -- you didn't just shrug it off or state your birth-certificate name.  Instead, you confidently replied, "Treaker."  And when I went into your room to wake you up the following morning, you greeted me from your crib by saying, "Hello, Treaker!"  And in that moment, I knew that we had discovered the perfect nickname for you, and indeed for each other.

So at any rate, from one Treaker to the other, I wish you a very Happy Birthday!

You've really come into your own, over the course of the last year -- your third year of life.  It's not just dictating your own terms for nicknames, either.  In all different kinds of ways, you've learned to assert yourself as the wonderful person you are.  I can imagine that it's something of a survival skill for a third-born kid like you.  You tend to push back, when you get jostled around.  You tend to yell out-loud, when someone tries to pull something over on you.  And you tend to hold your opinions, even in the face of the most persuasive arguments.  You're your own person.  You're not just a little kid.  You're not just "Elliot's brother" or "Olivia's brother."  You're not just some little blond kid in the crowd.  You're Cor William Asp, and you stand on your own two feet.  You're strong and tough, even though you're still small in stature.  And I respect that about you.  I appreciate that about you.

But I will say that you need to be careful with such strength, Cor.  Use it wisely!  As time goes on, you'll see that you can use such strength and toughness to push others away and distance yourself, or to throw yourself headlong into the thick of things -- to become an embracer and wrestler and protector of others.  You can use it for your own glory or for the glory of God.  You can use it for folly or for wisdom.  Your mother and I are doing our best to teach you the ways of wisdom, so please listen well!  Like wise King Solomon instructed his little boy:  "Discretion will protect you, and understanding will guard you" (Proverbs 2:11)... "Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord and shun evil" (Proverbs 3:7)... "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight" (Proverbs 3:5-6).  I know that I'm slipping into preacher-mode here, a little bit, but I'm just saying:  I recognize great power in you, Cor -- even at the tender age of three -- but I also recognize a great need for guidance in the application of such power.  I've been reading and meditating on the Proverbs a lot this year, usually just before that beautiful moment (one of my favorite moments of the day!) when I come into your room to wake you up in the morning; and it's occurred to me on multiple occasions that the Proverbs have a lot to offer you, Cor, as you grow older and stronger.  I pray that, in time, you will adapt the wisdom of the Proverbs as your own -- adding your strength to it and channeling it well.

But enough of this seriousness!  This is your birthday, and a time for celebration!  We need to play some Michael Jackson songs -- maybe "Beat It" or "The Way You Make Me Feel" -- and let you show us how to feel the music and enjoy the moment.  You're a fun kid, Cor.  Wherever you go, there seems to be laughter and music and dancing.  You bring such passion and conviction to your music -- whether it's on the computer, playing your guitar on the brown chair, or belting out the theme to the Muppet Show from your crib after you've been put in bed for the night.  Your joy gives us joy, and I'm glad to say that there seems to be a lot of that to go around these days.

I love you, Cor!  I love you more than words could ever say.  I'm proud to have you as my boy -- and it's abundantly clear that Olivia, Elliot, and Mommy feel the same way.  Thank you for being my Treaker-Boy.  I hope you know that I am and will forever be...

Lovingly,

Your Treaker-Daddy

The summer is officially over.  Elliot and Olivia went back to school today.  Buckets and buckets of rain soaked us on the way from home, but we made it.

Cor doesn't actually start pre-school until next month (which, I'm sure, will warrant its own post), but he wanted to put on a backpack and join in the photographic fun.

Olivia is now in Group 3 (1st grade), and Elliot is in Group 5 (3rd grade).  It's absolute lunacy to see how quickly time flies.

The eastern half of Richland County is full of forests, fields, and folklore.

Shawnee warriors once hunted the area's rich store of deer and fish, but today it's farm country:  corn and soy, red barns and silver silos.  In the easternmost sections of the county, where Richland bleeds into Ashland, Amish and Mennonite families maintain the farming lifestyle of the original white settlers who first pioneered the land, no electricity, no machinery, no frills or foolishness -- traveling by horse-and-buggy, tying their hay up in old-fashioned sheaves, and hanging their laundry out to dry in the wind.  But mostly, today's inhabitants of Richland County are normal folks with televisions, baseball caps, John Deere tractors, basketball hoops, and Ford pick-up trucks.  Generally speaking, the people in the eastern half of Richland County work hard, vote Republican, and love Ohio State football.

Skirted by colorful sprays of wildflowers, purple, orange, and yellow, Ohio State Route 96 weaves its way from Shelby to Ashland, following the contours of the land.  It's a route that demands one's time and attention -- carefully accelerating and braking, following the curves in the road, watching for white-tailed deer, especially at dawn or dusk.  Red-tailed hawks perch on fence posts and telephone poles, watching and waiting to swoop down for a groundhog, rabbit, squirrel, or mouse.  Around this time of the year, the corn is tassling, and the evenings are humid and moist, like a whispered secret.  Late in the day, an amber light slants across the landscape, forming long, cool shadows, with the soy forming soft, verdant beds in the fields, in which the mist nestles down for the night.  As the sun sets and the moon rises, lightning bugs sparkle from the forests.  Crickets sing on the breeze, but otherwise a hush hangs over the land.

And in these moments, the stories return to me.

There are so many stories from this countryside:  legacies, legends, myths, and ghost stories.  Each one seems to be connected to a particular landmark.  There's the Crying Bridge, on Geisinger Road.  And the Olivesburg Fork, close to the spot where State Route 96 and State Route 603 intersect.  There are stories of the Ku Klux Klan and Satanists, convening in the forests and occasionally venturing out to the settlements to wreak their havoc on unsuspecting citizens.  My wife's family -- Richland County residents for seven generations -- has a story about a Moonlight Interrogation.  And almost none of these stories have been written down, as far as I can tell.  After a little bit of research on the internet at at the local library, it seems like very few of these stories exist beyond the aural accounts of Richland County residents -- and the ones that do exist are very condensed, very short, and honestly not recorded the way that I remember hearing them.  So I want take some of these warm summer evenings to see if I can remember some of these stories, draw them out and give them room to breathe, and then set the stories down in written form.  I don't know if I'll be able to get around to all of them, but I'm going to do the best I can do to harvest some of the fruit of this Rich Land of Stories.

The crappy camera-phone documentarian strikes again! This wedding celebration happened to be kicking off right in our neighborhood, within about 50 meters of our house, earlier this afternoon -- and I was so fascinated that I had to capture the experience on video.

The drums and horns are fascinating enough, but when when the woman (Is it the bride?  Or maybe the mother of the groom?) tips back her head, covers her face with her hand, and let's out a loud thrilling cry, it seems like a fictional experience.

In our neighborhood, there are a lot of Berber Muslims, originally from the mountains of Morocco -- settled in Amsterdam over the past two or three generations.  Most of the time, they're pretty quiet, unassuming citizens.  But when it comes time to celebrate a wedding, they do it in style!

Twelve years ago, today, Marci and I were married.  Our first dozen years.  In some ways, it feels like that's quite a bit of time to have spent together; but when I think about the fact that three of our four sets of grandparents have made it to their 60th anniversary (five dozen years!), then I realize that we're still just starting out in a lot of ways.

This evening, we watched our wedding video with our children.  It's become something of a tradition.  Some things are really funny to revisit -- the way my Dad still had a moustache back in those days, the number of people with whom we've lost touch over the last twelve years, and the extreme youth especially among the wedding party (for instance, it's crazy to realize that my brother Alex was only a couple of years older than Elliot at the time of our wedding!).  But it's also really cool to remember some of the things that happened on that day.  For instance, at the end of our wedding ceremony, we had all of our families (parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins) come up and surround us to sing a benediction, to the accompaniment of a (hired) string quartet.  It was really beautiful at the time, but even more so now realizing that some in that circle have since passed away.  That was a special moment to celebrate together as a family -- both on the surface level (beautiful music, surprisingly high-quality choral performance, unique aesthetic at the end of a wedding ceremony) and on the deeper, symbolic levels (surrounding us with their love and their blessing, initiating us to the wonder of two families becoming one).  I think that was one of the coolest things that we did on our wedding day.

But it was also refreshing to hear our vows to each other again.  I was especially struck by the Bible passage that we chose to incorporate into our vows -- establishing it as something of a manifesto to our lives and our relationship.  The passage was Galatians 6:9-10:  "Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.  Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers."  Both Marci and I have gone back to that passage specifically in the last month or so, drawing strength and sustenance from its exhortation.  So to hear those words again, in the context of our wedding ceremony, was a special confirmation of God's involvement in our lives and in our marriage.  With God's grace, we both hope and pray that we can continue so doing for the next several dozen years.