Thirty-three years ago today I became a father for the first time.
This major life event consequential of son and heir Jonathon joined the cast of this reality show called life. A rollercoaster of a gig my boy has thus far weathered relatively well. Arriving at this stage of the aging process as an engaging and grounded young man of whom I’m hugely proud.
Never short of a whimsical putdown or a quip at his dad’s expense, our playful taunting of each other bearing more the stamp of siblings than father and son. Subsequently, in his adulthood I’ve thought my boy as more a younger brother than offspring.
Over those thirty plus summers we’ve played/watched football and cricket together, enjoyed inestimable laughs at each other’s expense, along with stoically confronting episodes of utter despair during darker family times.
These engagements establishing a deep trust between us, meaning in recent years he’s been a ‘go to’ confidante…. Unless I really wanted stuff to remain secret, in which case I’d never tell that blabbermouth a bloody thing!
Even the misery I inflicted on my offspring by encouraging him to be a Leeds United fan as a young child hasn’t affected our bond. It has, though, led to his indifference towards embracing further well-meaning advocacies.
What are my memories from the day I became a father thirty years ago?… Which memories are indelibly etched in my mercurial mind from that time?
One of many things I recall is, prior to Jonny’s birth, friends with kids would often wax lyrical about how wonderful it was to be present at your offspring’s arrival. Don Quixotesque ramblings, painting the experience of childbirth as almost utopian.
These painting a landscape our up-and-coming life event would be a joyous episode of new beginnings; the advent of a storyline providing an amalgam of good and bad existential phases. Events which would hopefully over the years predominantly playing out in the feel-good camp.
Admittedly, once yor offspring is delivered it is indeed a magical experience; a episode where you’re in awe at the wonders of procreation.
Driven by unconditional love towards my progeny, with my first child’s arrival came senses I’d ne’er previously felt. Ardour manifesting a protective, more selfless outlook where in my mind Jonny’s welfare usurped mine, or indeed anyone else.
That isn’t meant to sound noble, it was merely the subliminal teachings my siblings and I procured from our own selfless, loving father. Role model behaviour he displayed triggering in me when Jonathon was born.
Like everyone, I’m a flawed individual. One thing no one can ever question, though, is my commitment and love bestowed on Jonathon (and my daughter Rachel) from the cradle to this current life juncture.
However, that day of arrival wasn’t all emotional brio. I also became aware at first-hand how the hours between contraction advent and the delivery can be a dreadful time for lots of woman.
Although clearly not experiencing the pain of my wife, I too found the episode stressful – Experiencing utter helplessness witnessing the hours of his mother’s discomfort.
Even my best knock-knock jokes were unable to lift my (now estranged) wife Karen’s mood during labour. Resulting in me attempting to speed up the birth process with a strategy utilising a megaphone and hostage negotiation tactics.
This eccentric approach leading to my delivery room shouts at my soon to be born son of “We know you’re in there!….. Come out with your hands up and nobody will get hurt!”….. God only knows where I got the megaphone from!
Jonny did eventually make an appearance. Although as he didn’t have his hands up I’ve ruled out the hostage negotiation tactics as a contributing factor to speeding up the process.
Today, the anniversary of my heir’s birth brought to mind a romantically poetic verse from the 1960’s refrain They Long To Be (Close To You). A hit single penned by legendary American song writing duo Burt Bacharach and Hal David. The sentimental five lines of lyrics being :-
On the day that you were born
The angels got together
They decided to create a dream come true
So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair
And put a starlight in your eyes so blue.
This song a prevailing soundscape in my cranial jukebox as I muse about my first born on his birthday. Some may deem my inclusion of this Bacharach/David’s musical poetry as overly saccharin and sentimental… The more pedantic may also point out Jonathon doesn’t possess blue eyes, immediately introducing a flaw in my loving reverence.
I apologise not, though. My sentimentally driven by how immensely proud I am of my funny, bright, caring and engaging son and heir.
Happy Birthday, Jonathon!!…….. Incidentally son, you couldn’t lend me £20 until payday could you?!
Leave a Reply