From a Dad … On Being a Dad

Sit in a room full of moms, and mention the day they became a mom,
    And you’ll hear the noise level rise.
    And the looks in their eyes,
    And the depth of their sighs will tell you: The stories are about to begin.

Every mom in the universe has a story about the day she became a mom.
    The time of day.
    The length of stay.
    The specific way they managed the birthing of that child,
        That baby, that gift from God they had waited for, and labored for.

Contraction details, and how far apart?
    And the doctor then says: “It’s okay to start …”
    And the pushing begins, and the courage and heart
    Of a mother delivers a child; sweet progeny,
        Just arrived,
        Just beginning,
        Just … amazing, this miracle.

And if you mention babies, or birthing, or ‘the day you became a mom,’
    To any mom, she’ll tell you.
    You won’t have to ask twice.

But dads are different, I think.

Ask most dads what it was like for them, the day they became a dad,
    And a smile might come.
    And the hands of some
    Will begin to move, as their arms wave in the wind.

Talk to a dad about that day, and the picture they will draw with their hands
    Will tell you they don’t know how to describe the feeling; they only know
    They had a feeling.
    An awareness.
    A certain reality that roiled their previously placid and self-focused life.

The very moment a man becomes a dad, … life changes.
    I remember the day I became a dad.
    Dads are different than moms, to be sure.

The day I became a dad,
    A new definition of ‘tough’ entered my mind.
    No dictionary needed.
    No teacher necessary, to tell me what ‘tough’ really meant.
    She showed me; that woman I married.
    She showed me, and I knew.
Deep down inside of me, I did not wonder. I knew.
    I now knew, why God said it wasn’t good for man to be alone;
    No man I’ve ever met, nor will ever meet has the nerve to birth a baby.

    And the day I became a man,
    I came to understand
    What it means to be ‘tough.’ 

I saw him for the first time,
    That baby,
    That boy,
    That pink and wrinkled form, 

Wrapped tight,
Squinting under white lights,

As I looked through a hospital nursery window.
He, only minutes old.
Me? Totally sold on this tiny life.
Captured, I was.

    I stood in the hall, mesmerized,
    As I studied that face, and memorized
    Every inch of that man child,
This one who would call me … his ‘Dad.’

The day I became a dad,
As I peered into the face of my son,
    I talked to myself; I had me a conversation with … me.

I stood there; I stared.
I rehearsed and prepared,
In whispers, declared:

“As God is my witness, I will be the most influential person in the life of this child, and all those 
        children I may ever sire.”
    There.
    I said it to me.
    I whispered it to him, and to all of his siblings who might follow.

And God overheard my whisper.
    And held me to my word.
        And the day I became a dad, I understood in a new way:

I am being watched by him.
    And, by Him.
And I love it that way.

God knows … I love being a dad.