My first reaction was to suggest a paternity test. I couldn’t believe that I was involved in the creation of such a handsome baby. I was assured by the lovely little Scottish nurse that a test wasn’t necessary, that the reason Chris was so strikingly clean and pure (attributes that have continued to this day) is that his journey into the world was not through a murky vaginal canal, but via a C-section. That happened because his mother was not punctual in her task of giving birth to a baby. Also, her OBGYN, an elderly and seemingly befuddled Dr. Bright (who, to give him the benefit of the doubt, may have lived up to his name in his younger days) reported that the C-section was chosen because Chris was lying in some weird position (perhaps a behavioral trait he has continued to this day).

I cannot recall being in a father-to-be waiting room that day. I do recall walking aimlessly up and down a hospital corridor all alone, nervous as shit. I thought “where is my support team”. It was a Saturday morning in May, so of course Grandma Sylvia had a wedding catering job and Grandpa Ennis was off on one of his weekend larks. I don’t know where the four brothers were, but I didn’t care as I didn’t like them anyway. It was just me and my motherly wife, although I‘m pretty sure Sylvia came to the hospital later that day. I remember stopping at People’s drug store (a long-time DC area institution, now long gone) on my way home to buy cigars. Smoking was not fully out of vogue back then and cigars were expected from a new Daddy.

Our friends, the Bradys and the Vitiellos, came to Suburban Hospital the next day to see our infant and I think also to get some cigars. Those wives apparently liked stogies. They were congratulating us and were complimentary, but they also seem preoccupied why Chris was wearing a little white glove on his little right hand. I said to them “well, it’s obvious. He’s a southpaw”. The reason, however, was that he was a bit misguided and sucked his hand instead of his Mommy’s boobs, creating a sore on his hand. Fortunately, I do not think he is still so misguided.

I reported for work the next day and received congratulations and best wishes from all. What I most remember, though, is the reaction of Judy, a tall pretty young secretary, who told me that I looked totally (and favorably) different as a father. My take on that was that I was now seen as someone who is virile.

Oops, this isn’t about me, is it? Back to my wife and my first born. I soon set out to prove that taking care of an infant was the mother’s job, a popular belief in the 70’s and the previous two centuries. Since I slept without my hearing aids I never heard the mid-night cry for feeding, so my dear wife’s breastfeeding was practically 24/7. I was a “do no harm” parent during Chris’ first year or two of life. The harm came in later years when I threw him to the ground off my bike, and forced him to get in a precarious batting cage, and lost him at a local fair, but those are stories for another day. In any event, we were a happy little family – until August 13, 1977.