Fatherhood 2.0

The first time was terrifying. Actually, the first two times. I was younger, less experienced and less seasoned in the intricacies and mystery of childbirth and overestimated the fragility of the squalling, squealing little beings that are thrust into this world. I was expecting everything and had no idea what to expect simultaneously, chaos theory in a neonatal ward. Though I remained outwardly calm and cool and collected I remember the butterflies. The simultaneous feelings of excitement and terror crashing around like waves in the stormy corners of my mind.

The first was easier. In and out and away we went, home for a new experience. The second arrival was more drama and owing to a multitude of factors the aftermath washed away much of the newly arrived atmosphere that usually accompanies the birth of a child. Nonetheless, the second child was less stress owing to the wealth and gifts of experience. Less being a relative term, of course.

Now it’s two decades later and I’m beginning again. Some lessons learned, some lessons forgotten and quickly reminded of and some lessons to learn anew. The experience is both intimately familiar and completely foreign. I’m as different a person now from who I was then as she is from my first two children. I’m far more patient now than I was then, and I’ve mellowed with age. I’ve slowed some physically, some of it due to lifestyle and some of it due to age. I’m not as quick to drop to the floor and I’m certainly not as quick to get up. Something about my knees and age and them no longer being under warranty.

Fatherhood in one's fifties brings a unique blend of wisdom and patience to the journey of raising children. At this stage in life, one may have a deeper appreciation for the little moments and a broader perspective on what truly matters. The energy of youth may have somewhat waned, but in its place, there is a wellspring of understanding and experience to draw upon. Being a father in your fifties means embarking on a new chapter of growth alongside your children, guiding them with a steady hand and a heart filled with the richness of life more experienced and savored. If, in my twenties I was a beer, I’d love to believe that now I’m a good aged whiskey.

This is the story of that journey, the trials and stumbles and victories. The lessons learned the first time that I now apply to the second go round. It’s the erasure of myths about older men having children and the affirmation of some truths as well. It’s emotional at times, it’s funny at others, terrifying still at turns. And that’s ok, because one of the little nuggets of wisdom age bestows is that it’s all flavor in the meal, and you can’t avoid it all so you might as well learn to savor the food as it’s passed to you and at least get some sustenance from it. It’s practical lessons for others in the same situation.

It’s a love story, the story of how a little brown eyed girl stole my heart and reminded me how two little blue eyed girls did all those years ago. It’s the tale of how a thousand times a day she interrupts my moments with cries and squeals and yelps and a hundred other noises that remind me of my place in the world and that place is someone’s entire world at that moment.

It is a confessional of sorts, the mistakes I’ve made and continue to. I’ve made the, heaven knows, and I’ve made some terrible ones along the way. I’d like to believe that the good outweighs the bad but there are always those days that it nags at me and I can hear that drumbeat of ‘you could have handled this better, Joe.’

And as anyone with children know, there are moments of horror and fear. Falls and tumbles and accidents and illnesses and events that tear at a man’s heart in way other worldly events cannot even begin to mimic.

It’s a story as much about what she’s making me as it is about what I’m making her. And that’s the way it should be. One of favorite aphorisms is that we aren’t given children to show them what they can become, but we are given them in order to remind us of what we should. And that’s fine, because all that innocence lost through the sometimes bitterness of life comes sweeping back into your world as soon as you hold that wriggling ball of freshly made heaven. Born musicians, little girls, for they play on the heartstrings of their fathers from the first time they open their eyes.

It is cathartic as well, because though I strive most times for perfection, just as often I fall short and sometimes examining it through the freshly written word is the best way to digest the lessons learned and the way forward from mistakes small and large. And it is markedly easier to say things sometimes in written form than it is orally, especially for me as though I love speaking I’m also terribly emotional when I do.

And lastly it’s a record, something that will last beyond my mortal being and something for my children, all of them, to reflect upon in the years past me. And that is as important as reason to do it as any if not more so. My marks upon this world have been modest at best, save them. But I can proudly say without hesitation that if that is the crowning achievement of my life, then it was very definitely a life worth living.

With that said, enjoy the show.