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

When I remember my Grandma Liechty, I remember her sweetness.  Just like her cinnamon rolls, Grandma was all warmth and comfort, cinnamon and sugar.  She was always smiling and chuckling and sharing amusing anecdotes in her distinct North Dakoootan lilt:  "Well, ya knooow, I remember when you were a little boy, and yer mom was just gettin' ready to have another little one..." and then she'd go on to recount -- with great fondness and happy reminiscence -- how I impishly used magic markers to create a new pattern on the living room couch or something like that.  So many of her stories were about little children and animals.  That says something about her, too, doesn't it?  Children and animals and my Grandma Liechty are some of the purest expressions of innocence and sweetness that we may ever know.  I honestly cannot recall a single occasion in which my Grandma demonstrated anger beyond a momentary shaking of her head and indistinct muttering of "Oh fer gooodness."  And even then, she did not dwell on these unpleasant things for any longer than a moment.  But here's what's really amazing:  that's actually how she viewed the world!  I lived with Grandma and Grandpa for a whole summer in Jamestown, and I witnessed first-hand the sincerity of her sweetness.  It was not an act, put on for others.  It was not a way of manipulating others.  It was just her way.  It was her sweet character.

When I remember my Grandma Liechty, I remember her unflappability.  It's an awkward, old-fashioned word -- but I really do think it's the best one to describe this aspect of my Grandma's personality.  Her cinnamon-roll sweetness was remarkable enough -- but to realize how consistent, how unswerving, how perpetual her sweetness actually was (along with all other manner of goodness that was wrapped up in my grandmother).  Her emotional presence brought the joy and enthusiasm of a sporty, black Plymouth Laser (with electronic displays and vocal commands, just like the car from "Knight Rider"); though she also carried the calmness and steadiness of a broad, burgundy Oldsmobile 88.  It seemed like nothing could phase my Grandma!  She was completely unflappable.  I should know:  because I got to witness her response to 373 miles' worth of driving with a back-seat full of pre-adolescent boys who spent the entire time cracking themselves up with stupid jokes, making up their own Latino-themed Christmas songs, singing those Latino-themed Christmas songs repeatedly, and otherwise antagonizing her (and Grandpa) all the way from Phoenix to Los Angeles.  Yes, believe it or not, even in those most desperate of circumstances, Grandma remained pleasant, positive, and even complimentary (she thought our Latino-themed Christmas songs were, and here I quote, "wonderful")!  Now seriously:  if that's not unflappability, I don't know what is.

When I remember my Grandma Liechty, I remember her faithfulness.  Through all her years, she was true to her family, to her husband, and to her God in a way that seems almost mythological in our day and age.  Grandma lived according to the promises she had made, the relationships she had nurtured, and the convictions she had developed in her heart.  And yet her faithfulness even extended to the unfamiliar, the uncomfortable, the unembraced.  As far as I could tell, Grandma simply chose to believe the best about other people and extend the benefit of the doubt -- however small that doubt might be.  She spoke in loving terms of others, even when the rest of the people in the room might be inclined towards gossip or unkind words.  These are the circumstances in which faith is tested and proved pure -- when no one else would have needed to know -- and Grandma had this kind of faithfulness and integrity in abundance.

I love the memory of my Granmda Liechty.  I think I will always remember her sweetness, her unflappability, and her faithfulness.  Yet even more than remembering these things about my Grandma, I hope to emulate them, and encourage my children to emulate them -- for generation upon generation, so that the memory of Grandma will never fade.  So help me God...

I just made two new friends on Facebook.  They are a married couple, whom I've known for awhile.  And as I was looking at their profile pages, I thought it was interesting to see which photographs each individual had chosen to represent themselves within the Facebook world.  The man had selected a photograph of him and his wife together, with the wife standing in the foreground and himself standing behind her.  And the woman was represented by a photograph of herself with her father (not with her husband), leaning her head on the elderly gentleman's shoulder.  And I thought it was so insightful -- so aligned with what I know of them, personally -- that they would select these particular pictures of themselves, to broadcast themselves to the world around them:  him standing behind his wife, letting her be the most visible part of him -- and her choosing to go with a picture of her beloved and aged father, standing in the old family farmhouse.

Without going into too much psychological analysis about this particular couple, I started to wonder if there might be something significant about the images with which we choose to represent ourselves to the outside world, particularly as it relates to Facebook profile pictures.  My wife, for instance, is represented by a picture of our whole family laughing together -- which, obviously, seems very much in keeping with her life priorities these days...  My friend Eva has a picture of her playing a guitar on-stage -- which fits very appropriately with the fact that she's currently trying to develop herself as a musician and put herself and her music out there for a wider public... My friend Marco uses an artistic, angled black-and-white portrait of himself for his profile picture -- which, again, matches up with the fact that he's currently launching his own photography business... I could seriously go on and on with these types of analyses.  Some use pictures of kids, or sports teams, or strategic scenery -- but they very often (though not always) seem to say something interesting about the person whom they are meant to represent.

I would suggest that there really might be a direct correlation between a person's Facebook profile picture and his or her (either momentary or long-term) values and priorities.

So what does my Facebook profile picture say about me?

If I were to analyze (or perhaps "over-analyze" -- as is always the danger, in an exercise like this) my own profile picture, I might say:  "Here is a guy who's a bit of a loner.  Kind of a serious person.  He tends toward introspection, given the fact that he's just kind of looking off into space, watching a sunset by himself.  His heart is stuck in the farmlands of Ohio (even though he's been living in Amsterdam for the last 7 years).  He longs for open space in his life.  He has an unusual affinity for the color brown, which is kind of a natural, down-to-earth, neutral color.  He is someone who is consistent though perhaps slow to change (given the fact that he's stuck with the same profile picture for about three years now)." And to be honest, I don't know if I would be able to fault such an analysis of my own profile picture!  I'm not completely sure that I like everything that my profile picture says about me, but I couldn't really argue against it...

When looking at a Facebook profile picture, trying to analyze any potential meaning that may (or may not) be there, it seems to me that these are perhaps the most strategic questions:

1. With whom are you pictured (or not pictured)?
2. What is your relationship to any other people who might be pictured with you?
3. What might be significant about the spatial relationships within the picture?
4. Where was the picture taken (i.e. what geographic location)?
5. What else can be seen in the background of the photograph?
6. How often is the profile picture changed?

So what do you think?  Is this total psycho-babble crap?  Or could there really be something here?  Please forgive me, if I've offended you or made you unnecessarily self-conscious about what kind of picture you've posted for yourself on Facebook.  But this kind of thing is absolutely fascinating to me... I'm sure there are studies along these lines that are already out there.  But without doing any of the research myself, I'm still very curious to consider the implications of our Facebook profile pictures.

It's an old, familiar story:  Older brother teases younger sister, and younger sister screams back at older brother.  The cycle repeats itself and amplifies with each occurence -- until there's some sort of explosion.  Our household knows this story all too well.  Elliot says that Olivia's little toy puppy looks like a turtle, and Olivia says that it does not look like a turtle.  Elliot laughs and pretends that he's a little toy puppy pretending to be a turtle, poking his head out of the shirt that he's pulled up around his forehead -- "Hi, umm... Actually I, uh... I wanted to let you know that I'm not actually a little puppy... because I'm actually a little turtle" -- and Olivia says that no, her little puppy does NOT look like a turtle, not even a little bit.  Elliot laughs and continues his puppy / turtle impersonation, while adding a small turtlish dance and song -- and Olivia screams at the top of her lungs, "LITTLE PUPPY IS NOT A TURTLE!  ELL-I-OOOOOTTTT!!!" and breaks down into heaving sobs and rolling tears.  This is a way of life with young siblings.

But we try to teach them other possibilities for managing such situations.  We say, "Elliot, please do not antagonize Olivia," and "Olivia, please just use your words instead of your screaming."  We try to think through other possibilities for dealing with the problems.  If Elliot notices that his sister is becoming uncomfortable with the flow of any given conversation -- or especially if she specifically asks him to stop a given behaviori -- he is to cease and desist.  If Olivia notices that her brother is bothering her, she is to specifically ask him to stop -- and if he will not stop, in spite of her specific and direct requests, then she is to calmly come and bring the situation to Mommy or Daddy's attention.  We've tried disciplining them with time-outs and loss of privileges for negative behavior.  We've tried rewarding them with words of praise and even candy, at times, in an attempt to reinforce positive peace-making behavior.  But the cycles persist.

But one morning, not too long ago, the cycle started up again.  Specifically, I took Elliot aside and asked him why he was antagonizing his sister (not that I'd never asked such a question before nor did I hope for any particularly original answers).  It was a hopeless question, really:  "What makes you want to antagonize your sister like that?"  But for whatever reason this time Elliot paused, cocked his head to the side and considered the question seriously for the moment, and answered with a moment of remarkable clarity:

"I guess I do it because I'm bored and can't think of anything else fun to do."

The answer was so simple, straightforward, and insightful that I wanted to give him a kiss on the lips.  His honesty was so refreshing!  I couldn't keep from smiling and chuckling a little bit, out-loud.  But knowing that I also needed to be parental and opportunistic, in light of the brief epiphany, I said: "Good answer, Elliot!  I think that's very insightful.  So what do you think might be some other ideas that you could come up with, when you feel like you're bored and don't have anything else to do?"  He looked at me, blankly.  Completely clueless.  "Could you... play basketball in the basement?  Could you... read a book?"  I was trying to get his juices flowing.

"Umm... what about picking on Cor?" He smiled a mischevious grin.

It's an old, familiar story -- a way of life with young siblings.  But at least we can enjoy some rare moments of honesty and insight, for whatever they're worth.

Some people have an irrational fear of public speaking.  Others are uncommonly afraid of international air travel... or germs... or enclosed spaces... But for me, it seems that I have an unnatural fear of plumbing, carpentry, and masonry.  I have no problems at all, speaking in public.  International travel is commonplace in my life.  And while I don't find germs or enclosed spaces to be particularly pleasurable things, I've come to accept them as a part of everyday life.  But when it comes to some kind of home improvement project, I become mildly panicky and obsessive.  I'm filled with a sense of dread and foreboding -- with a dozen "worst case scenarios" buzzing through my mind.  I tend to put  off such projects as long as possible.  And when I finally decide to tackle a specific project, I become freakishly obsessive.  My mind picks away at a thousand possibilities.  I sleep poorly at night.  I feel literally weak in the knees -- and my stomach feels as though it's filled with a thousand crickets.  It's just about pathological.

This is what's kept me from doing much blogging this week (in case you were wondering).  We've been renovating our old half-bathroom (WC):  tearing out the old toilet and floor (all the way down to the foundational support beams), laying a new sub-floor, tiling and grouting a new floor, and reinstalling a new toilet.  And it feels like it's consumed all of my physical, emotional, and intellectual energy outside of the basic necessities of work and family life.

But now I'm on the other side.  And man, does it feel good!  That's what's crazy about these irrational fears:  once I push through them and find out that they are, in fact, quite conquerable, I experience an incredible amount of pride and satisfaction.  Like the world is my pearl.  And even though it's a toilet (for-crying-out-loud!), I feel like a conqueror and king.

Perhaps it's not all that fascinating for anyone else to see pictures of our modest little renovation project (which is still far from being totally completed or really all that pretty to look at, yet) -- still, I feel like I need to share the photographic progression of the project, as a sort of personal little Ebenezer.

I've noticed that God teaches me a lot during these times when I'm forced to push through fear and doubt.  Last spring, this was definitely the case when we remodelled our kitchen.  And the same circumstances seem to come into play in other similar situations as well.  I learn patience, joy, and self-control.  I learn to fight against doubts with faith.  And I learn to stay humble -- realizing that one man's "no problem" is another man's impossible mountain.

These are good things.