Harry: "Yeah, but he was too old to pick them up."
When Harry Met Sally (1989)
In early 2008 Daphne was watching the movie Knocked Up on TV while I was playing on the computer in the basement. Even though we were in different rooms, if Daphne wanted to tell me something, all she had to do was turn around and talk to me. Because of our open concept, wooden dowels separate the rooms, not walls. After the movie's birth scene, Daphne did want to talk to me.
From the basement I could hear the TV go quiet, and I could then see Daphne squeeze her face between the wood bars. "Brent, I don't think I ever want to have children."
I said, "Okay."
Over the years I have found this to be a pretty good response. Sometimes it's simply easier to submit rather than going through the long process of being broken down into submission. Don't believe me? Watch those same HGTV programs and count how many times the wives eventually win the arguments. Those poor guys don't have a chance.
Besides, I figured Daphne's attitude about having children would probably change. And it did. By July of '09 she was cursing every pregnancy test the turned negative. News stories about the rising teen pregnancy rates infuriated her, and the beginning of Pixar's Up hit too close to home.
Then came New Year's Eve. Daphne had been suspicious of recent changes in her body chemistry, and I had become suspicious of even more recent noises coming from the master bathroom. Then the bathroom door popped open, and Daphne danced her way over to our bed where I was laying. Glowing, she showed me the positive test results. I wish I had been more clever, but all I could muster as I gazed at the second blue line was, "Boy, that's a game changer." Accurate, but not very eloquent.
I'll admit to being a bit scared as I watched my wife twirl around the bedroom. That little blue line on the pregnancy test wasn't the only one that had magically appeared. A new one had been drawn across my life's path, and I had already unknowingly stepped over it. For us there was no going back. If everything went well, I was going to be a dad. Ready or not.
After a couple of weeks I started becoming more comfortable with the thought of becoming a father. When we'd go shopping for baby supplies, I would study other people's children. Why was that child crying? How did his mom calm his screams? Do all kids roll around on the floor in the aisle like that? Why does that girl smell like soup? I had a lot of questions.
I also started noticing the dads who were shopping with these children. Although they came in all shapes and sizes, one common denominator was that they were all younger than me. By a lot. Those younger dads weren't just at the mall. They were at my workplace, the park, and they were in our Mercy birthing classes, too. When Daphne and I attended a breastfeeding class at the hospital, there were about 35 men in the room. Not one other guy looked like he cared about his fiber intake.
According to the current issue of The New Republic magazine, they shouldn't care. "The average American man is between 27 and 28 when he becomes a father." I was 41 when Charlotte was born. No wonder I'm the grayest dad at our playground.
Wooderson: "... I get older, they stay the same age."
Dazed and Confused (1993)
In ten years Charlotte will be 12 years old, and those other dads will be 37. I'll be 53. The teachers at Char's school will say, "Look how nice Charlotte Monson is. She takes her grandfather everywhere."
There are days when I think I should have named this blog "Late in the Game" or "Old Man, New Dad". I don't care if people think George Clooney looks sexy with his thick gray mane, we live in a youth-centric society where the signs of age are viewed as the signs of weakness. I've seen younger dads smirk when I let out an "Uffda" as I strain to lift my daughter four feet off the ground. I've struggled trying to carry her through 100 yards of icy puddled parking lot, only to be easily passed by a dad sporting an ironic beard and actually juggling his four children in the air.
Of course there's no way for me to know what these guys' lives are really like. But when some hipster dad blasts past me on his fixie Schwinn pulling a double wide Burley, I feel like I'm at a bit of a disadvantage. Heck, I don't even have a tattoo.
During these bouts of parental self-consciousness, I mentally review my list of five reasons why I'm a much better dad at 43 than I would have been at 27. This list doesn't compare myself to other people; it compares 1996 Brent to 2013 Brent. Here's how it breaks down:
1. I'm healthier.
When I was 25 I had a roommate who smoked. Within two months I was a smoker, too. I met Daphne a few years later in the Spring, and I promised her I would quit smoking by June 1st, which I did. That was 12 years ago, and I haven't lit up since. I went from smoking Marlboros to running marathons. But I don't think quitting smoking makes me a better person; I think it makes me a stupid person for starting the habit.
2. I have more money.
Daphne and I are light years from being wealthy, but I don't live check to check like I did in my 20s. I drive a safe and reliable vehicle, and our furnace works well. It wouldn't be money I'd want to spend, but if either needed a repair we could swing it. Our refrigerator is always full, and if it's not, I can run to the grocery store without having to review my checking account first.
3. I'm glad to be home.
I use to think staying home on a Friday or Saturday night was akin to social suicide. Standing on a sticky bar floor waiting in line for a pukey bathroom used to be the highlight of my week. Now when I see pictures of people barhopping in the weekly newspapers, I don't even feel a twinge of jealousy. On Friday nights Char goes to bed around 8:30, and it's a big deal if I'm still up after 11:00. I'm still dealing with sticky floors, but spilled milk cleans up pretty quickly.
4. I've grown up.
Sure, I still giggle at body part jokes, and I have my immature moments - most of this blog is a testament to that - but I'm an adult. If I had a baby to care for when I was 27, I would have been a child trying to raise a child.
5. I'm happier.
I can blame Daphne for this one, but she's actually responsible for numbers 1- 4. Interestingly, I can also blame Charlotte for my happiness: http://www.mpg.de/1196914/older_parents_happier?filter_order=L
Okay, that's my list of reassurances. Even rereading it now makes me feel better, but I can only speak for myself.
"To an adolescent, there is nothing in the world more embarrassing than a parent."
Dave Barry
No doubt my daughter will be doubly embarrassed to have such an old dad cheering from the stands, and I'll understand.
But maybe someday after that she'll understand how happy I was just to be there.
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