It has been a while since I have posted about my son specifically in the context of “On Being a Father…” but I’m ready now.

The past few months have been incredible and utterly exhausting. I finished the Fall quarter of my MBA program on Friday afternoon and promptly attempted to have a proper celebration with my wife and son. The late night sleep interruptions, seemingly constant distractions that managed to appear whenever I had to write a paper, the baby+school+business work load, and the dwindling of my ability to be patient in direct correlation to how few hours I would sleep each night, all finally came to a close. I make it sound more dramatic than it was, but honestly, during my last week of school, I averaged well in excess of 4 cups of coffee per day.

The most disappointing thing for me over the past few months was how little time I was able to spend with Caleb, watching him grow, loving him, teaching him new things, and just being a dad. It felt like every time I was home and free from school work or trying to grab a few hours of sleep, either he was too grouchy for quality time, or I was. Thankfully, I still made an effort and managed to spend some time with him every day, some days far more than others. Admittedly, some of it was not as pleasant as it could have been, Caleb at the end of his patience, crying every few seconds, and me well beyond my capacity to handle such communication, holding him out to my wife for periodically increasing breaks.

Nonetheless, while I remember many such challenging times, many of which happened between the hours of 10 pm and 6 am, I also remember the really happy moments. There were the times when I would catch him smiling at me when I wasn’t paying attention to him. My heart would melt in an instant, and we’d coo and laugh together for a bit until he became bored and needed a change of environment. Or the first time he started cuddling when I held him. I remember one morning when he insisted on having some interaction at 4:30 am or so — I carried him around the house tidying up, making coffee and eggs, cleaning the kitchen, and kissing him on the head. The whole time he was utterly content being held and watching what we were doing together.

But it wasn’t until yesterday morning that my emotions finally hit a zenith and really smacked in the bottom. We had just arrived at church for the 11 o’clock service and I found myself extracting Caleb from his car seat within a few minutes. Our strategy of seeing if he would sleep through the service needed to be re-evaluated already. He seemed content though, and I was happy holding him, even if I had to stand and rock him the whole time.

At the front of the church there was a large stage area to which a group of young adults and children started to filter down the aisles and flock to. Caleb had fun watching the people pass by and head down the aisle. As seems customary during the holidays, we were treated to a number of songs, all of which were far more entertaining to watch than to listen to (the youngest children were masterfully singing and doing a free-form rendition of chaos theory with their arms, legs, bodies, and vocal pitch). Everyone was smiling and each song received a boisterous applause. It was perfect.

Then came The Little Drummer Boy (iTunes link). I am not sure how many of you have heard the song before, but I guess it was a big part of my childhood holiday memories. As soon as the voices from the front of the church started to make their way out across the congregation, tears started to well up in my eyes. I pictured myself sitting in front of a 1980’s record player in our living room all by myself, looking at the album cover, and playing the song over and over and over. It seems loneliness was a big part of my childhood, at least in my memories.

As the music built and the voices became more sure of themselves, I found myself clutching Caleb closer, kissing him on the head, and letting the tears flow. I was overcome with the combination of some weird childhood longing while simultaneously being so utterly attached to my son. I was unbelievably happy and deeply sad at the same time. I kept thinking about all of the times Caleb and I have had smile wars, trying to see who can smile the biggest and for the longest period of time (he always wins). Or about how much I loved holding him, at that moment, standing there in the back of the church, rocking him side to side and crying quietly.

From the tears came a kind of strength and determination. I knew in that moment that my biggest fears about being a poor father were never going to be realized. I felt in that moment that nothing could pry Caleb out of my arms or stop that feeling. I am now certain that those moments are going to be many in our relationship, that I will always be there for him, no matter what, and that nothing can stop that.

Nothing.

I love you Caleb.

Merry Christmas.

TAGS: Family | Christmas | Church | Father | Son

This entry was posted on Monday, December 12th, 2005 at 2:15 pm and is filed under On Being A Father.... You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.