It’s like a song, I’ve never heard
I’ve never sung, but know the words

It was seven years ago today that my baby boy was born. At that time, I was just 23 years old without an ounce of an idea on what it took to be a father. Actually, I take that back. I think by being a son, you are inherently given certain ideas and thoughts on what it takes, but really, other than learning from what your father did with you, or watching other fathers, you have no clue. When Brian was born, I saw Carol as my hero because if not for her, there’s no way I could call Brian my son. Any other woman and it wouldn’t have been Brian. And I saw Brian as perfection. He had this large head and these chubby cheeks and was just largely happy. Today he has the same smile, albeit with less chubby cheeks, and he lights up rooms with his thoughtfulness and destroys classrooms with his humor. But when he was born, I didn’t know what to do. The doctor plops the baby on mom and she’s automatically supposed to know what to do. The doctor doesn’t give you a 500 page booklet on what to do. I guess grandma is the 500 page booklet of knowledge that you simply have to tap into to gleam information from. Dad’s have the easy job, at least immediately. All we had to do was coach. Mom went through all the labor. And dad just had to make sure she didn’t go crazy. And you’d think that when mom pushed out the big headed child that she would get a break. But that is not the case. The baby needs to eat and mom’s nipples to get go through the same ripping and tearing that her other place did just minutes ago.

It’s like a song, I’ve never heard
I’ve never sung, but know the words

Changing a diaper was quite odd. When babies are initially born, they don’t have the same bowel movement that they’d have, say three months later. So changing a newborn’s diaper consists of the same motions on their rear that you would do on your white shirt that you just stained with grape juice. I had to take this wipe and scrub on Brian’s butt to get whatever it was that came out of him. But soon, I would wish that it was that easy.

When you first hold your child, you gain a sense of empowerment. You are holding this child for the first time, and you’re going to hold this child in someway another 5000 times in their life. You feel immediately overprotective. You’ll go through fires to make sure your child isn’t hurt. You’ll walk through walls to make sure your child doesn’t cry. Where does that come from? I don’t feel that way with my dog. In fact, if the dog ran away, I probably would wait about 4 hours before trying to find it, just so it might not find it’s way back. But not with a child. Your child. Brian was my son and no one else’s. Even today, I’ll pick him up and hold him like I used to because soon, I won’t be able to. And yes, I hurt myself everytime I do it. But it’s worth it.

It’s like a song, I’ve never heard
I’ve never sung, but know the words

I wonder where he gets things from. Where does he get the mentality that he always needs to be the center of attention? (Mom.) Where does he get his competitiveness? (Dad.) Where does he get his smile? (Mom.) Where does he get his lack of attention to detail? (Mom). Where does he get his resolve? Where does he get his caring heart? Where does he get his quick learning skills? All of those things are what makes him and it cracks me up to think of how he got them all. Who influences him? Why does he tell his mom certain secrets about his friends and then tell me different ones? Why does he cross his arms into an X and bring it down towards his groin? Ok, that was Uncle. But it’s amazing where he gets the little bitty pieces of things that make him whole. And why is it that with your friends, you can be picky about things you like and don’t like about them? But with your kids, you love them for everything they are good, bad, or indifferent. Even if they were given the one thing you hated most about mom, you love it about them. It just makes you laugh and when mom does it, it makes you upset. Life is so weird.

I can still remember when Brian would wait until he was either in his mom’s hands or his grandmother’s hands before he let out his rip roaring rapids of poop. He would go days sometimes without going to the bathroom and we’d worry, but when he exploded through everything, we knew he was just storing it up for a rainy day. And for some reason, he’d wait until dad didn’t have him anymore. And then he’d wink at me.

It’s like a song, I’ve never heard
I’ve never sung, but know the words

Today, he’s a seven year old know it all child who is the most thoughtful person I know. He can tell when I’m happy, sad, angry, or when I’m just zoning out. He doesn’t hold any of them against me either. He’s mine to protect, to love and care for, and to always be there for. He’s a blessing. The first seven years of his life have been a complete blur. I remember being sad when I had to drop him off at school and he didn’t even care that I didn’t have time to walk him up. He was a big boy. He didn’t need it. Sometimes I drop him off, and I just say his name so he will look back and I can see his face. I don’t even want to say anything to him. I just want him to wave.

When people ask me what having a son was like, I really don’t know the answer. You’re given the biggest responsibility known to mankind and you don’t feel it in your shoulders. You don’t get anxiety from it. (At least not yet.) It’s something you endorse. Give me 500 Brians because if they are like him, I can handle it. But just make sure they all go to sleep at the same time. I guess Babyface said it best. Having a child is very much like singing a song you’ve never sung before or even heard, but for some reason, know all the words.

It’s like a song, I’ve never heard
I’ve never sung, but know the words

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