January 27: A Handsome Baby, Fatherhood, Luckiest Guy in the World

Ives was twenty-eight when Robert was born, and from the start Ives had been surprised by his paternal instincts; it was almost inconceivable that someone so good and pure could have come from him.  He was a handsome baby, with big, blue intelligently cast eyes, and a hint of sadness that must have come from his father.  He had Annie's Celtic coloring and a symmetrical, pleasing, high-cheekboned face.  Well behaved from the start, a baby who never cried much and had, like his parents, a quiet disposition, he would naturally become Ives' favorite and grew into a loving and considerate son.

I love this description of Ives as a father.  His wonder and adoration of his son.  It touches upon one of the mysteries of parenthood:  how a person is transformed from a "me" person into a "we" person.  Ives lets go of dreams of being a famous artist and embraces dreams of proms and graduations.  Ives' children, Robert and Caroline, really become his masterworks.  His greatest contributions to the future.

I remember the weeks leading up to the birth of my daughter.  Sleepless nights, worrying about how I was going to share my time and energy and love with this little invader.  When my wife was in labor, I sat by her hospital bed, terrified.  I knew nothing about bottles or formula or diapers.  I was the baby of my family.  I never had to take care of younger siblings.  And then, just after sunrise, I was handed this pink creature, shivering and fragile in my arms.  I looked into her eyes and found my reason for living.

My daughter and son teach me daily how to be a better person.  Fatherhood is not a state.  It's a journey, and I've been traveling for over 14 years now.  I've learned a few things along the way.  Dance lessons are expensive, but seeing my daughter pirouette and leap is priceless.  Football bores me, but my son is probably going to be a linebacker.  Children have a way of confounding your dreams.  I want my daughter to love poetry and literature, but she loves math and science.  I want my son to study ballet, but he wants to play basketball. 

My kids frustrate and surprise me like that all the time.  Tonight, I picked my daughter up from dance, and, for the entire drive home, we talked about Jimmy Stewart and writing and books.  Tomorrow morning, my son will sit in the car with me, listening and singing along with the radio.  Fatherhood is made up of moments like this.  Small.  Intimate.  Wondrous.

Saint Marty is the luckiest guy in the world.

Darn kids...