What's So Good About It

It is by far easier to bitch about changing diapers and sleepless nights than to describe the intangible riches of parenthood. But for the sake of those who were persuaded to sterilize themselves after my last post, it is my duty to try. We're all selfish by nature, and expect a return on every investment we make. So why would anybody willingly subject themselves to such a lopsided agreement?

Sometimes we're not so willing, eh? But I digress.

We all know that someday we are going die. Having children is an instinct embedded into our base operating system, put there by the programmer to insure that we will forego the obvious disadvantages of child rearing. If we resist our true nature, we pay a price and act out in a variety of ways; but having children satisfies that primal urge.

For some reason, humans give birth to helpless blobs, while the rest of the animal kingdom has children that can move and play, that have some sense of their surroundings and can interact with others. Our children are born helpless, defenseless and blank, like little computers without any pre-installed software; as parents, we stare into their eyes, portals to their persistent storage, and imprint ourselves with our words and actions. In other words, we give them a part of us, such that how we feel about ourselves is how we feel about our children.

And that really is the key, and the reason that some people should wait.

The first smile, a pale reflection of a nitrous intake, pure euphoria. My son Jackson was probably six months old, lying in the valley between my legs as I lay with my head propped on my pillow and my knees drawn up so that our noses could almost touch. I clapped his two little hands and cheered, "Yay!" And he laughed! A magical combination of sounds that made my heart flutter and pound in my chest. I did it again and he laughed again, and I yelled for my wife to come see. It sounds silly, but that's what being a parent is all about, exhibiting behavior that would have gotten your ass kicked in high school, and not caring a wit.

The first word. For all you guys out there, this one's for you: Dada. It's always Dada; and herein lies that little gray area, that place where life proves once again that it just isn't fair. As fathers, let's face it, we get the easier of the two jobs. Need I explain it? If life had any sense of justice, Mama would get top billing, but that is not the way of it. Disclaimer aside, there is no greater joy than that first glorious, decipherable word, which quite possibly is the moment where most fathers discover an interest, kick up their game and become most involved.

When I come home from being gone for even part of a day, my children scream "Daddy!" and smother me with hugs and kisses, like Dino in the old Flintstones cartoon. As parents we're needed, and for many, this could very well be a first time experience. Children are their own reward, on one hand more work than we have ever done, but on the other an expression of the truest form of love on earth. We experience for the first time an urge to protect another at the expense of our own safety.

My oldest boy is only five, and my youngest two. Our time together has only begun. They're not old enough to have wrecked my car, but I look forward to the day when they ask for the keys.