I am writing this at 5 a.m. on the day before my first Father’s Day as a dad. My daughter is swaddled up, sleeping on my desk after her 4 a.m. bottle. It’s raining outside. I am not a birthday guy. Never have been. Growing up, I always felt an odd sense of guilt on my birthdays. I didn’t like the spotlight. I didn’t want the attention. Our time on earth is limited, and a birthday marks another year gone. Even as a child I felt an overwhelming sense that we have so little time on earth and there’s so much to do. Birthdays are a reminder or our mortality. I’ve always been a bit skeptical of people who actually cared about or, worse yet, celebrated their birthdays. And yet, I am proud to say it: I am so excited for Father’s Day tomorrow. Not for a gift or to play golf. No, but to actually be a father on Father’s Day. My dad once said that he felt, growing up, that he was born to be a father. He didn’t mean it in a boastful way. He saw fatherhood as a vocation, not a check-in-the-box. I felt and feel the same way.…Continue reading Prayer on a (bonus) Father’s Day
Category: Fatherhood
Skin in the game
My wife and I finally left the hospital with our baby after she spent 21 days in the special care unit. Twenty-one days of being poked and prodded. Twenty-one days of a feeding tube. Twenty-one days of being hooked up to loud, beeping machines. And 21 days not at home. Twenty-one days of tears leaving the hospital. Twenty-one days of uncertainty and fear. And then suddenly we got to take her home. And the 21 days doesn’t seem so bad anymore. Carrying our baby out of that hospital in a car seat was one of the best two or three moments of my life. I felt freer than I ever have in my life while also weighed down with the solemn burden of fatherhood. I know some people spend their whole life talking about the “good old days” and reminiscing about a time when they were younger, but not me. All I can think about is the here and now and the future! My little girl’s future. My daughter will, inshahallah, live until the year 2100. 2100. It’s only 2018. Eighty-two years ago it was 1936. World War II hadn’t even happened yet. Today’s day in age it can be tempting to…Continue reading Skin in the game
Surprise mom and dad
Our baby came early. Born at 32 weeks, my little Ada has to start her life in the special care unit. We are in the middle of it right now, so the feelings are raw. One moment we are tired. One moment my wife cries and I’m the strong one. The next moment I’m crying and my wife has to carry the load. But in each moment, her face predominates. Leaving her each night is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
“Ain’t it funny how a melody can bring back a memory”
One of the most pleasant sounds in the world to me is the sound of loose change being dropped into a change jar. Why? you ask. Am I that much of a modern-day, money-hungry Scrooge that I even like the sound of loose change, mere pennies and nickels, clinking together? No, no, although I do like money, this noise means much more to me than money. You see, growing up that noise meant the fun was about to start. How’s that? you wonder. When I heard that noise, it meant my dad had just arrived home from work. He’d hug and kiss us all, walk upstairs and–while changing into his fun clothes–he’d drop his day’s worth of loose change into his change jar. That sounds meant the fun was about to begin. He’d walk downstairs, and we’d hang out for a bit before dinner. After dinner, we’d go outside and have a catch or play hoops until bedtime. In the winter it meant basement sports or wrestling. These times–from 6:30 to 9 p.m.–were some of the best times of my life. Even though I would have played outside all day in the summer, playing and hanging with my dad was…Continue reading “Ain’t it funny how a melody can bring back a memory”