My son was born on April Fool's Day, 1985. The fool, however, was me. I was young, immature, and not entirely ready for fatherhood. My battles ranged from college worries to moving out on my own into a studio-apartment in the bug-infested part of town. I constantly battled with God, and rarely listened to the advice of my parents. I was not the best candidate to become a dad.
The career aspirations of becoming a Corporate Lawyer through the great educational opportunities afforded by L.A.'s Occidental College had already been toasted, anyway. Even the hopes, at the very least, to eventually become a stenographer, were distant memories. Instead, I slaved over a big metal sink, and huge front entrance oven, at the local pizza place, barely making enough money to survive, and looking forward to my free meal at work, since it was just about the only time I could afford to eat. I pridefully wanted no help from family, determined to make it on my own, and as a result, I had nothing to offer my girlfriend when she told me she was pregnant.
A baby was the result of my actions, and it wasn't his unborn fault my decision-making was poor. My Christian Faith told me that sex outside of marriage would yield such difficult results, but I failed to heed the warnings, and in the end got what I deserved. True to my feelings of personal responsibility for my actions, I was determined to do what was right, and become the father this child needed me to be. Abortion, or skipping out, never even occurred to me. That would be the coward's way out, and I was no coward. Besides, children are blessings from God, and to snuff out the life of one of God's blessings was out of the question. Doing what was right was the foremost thought in my mind, and no other thought ever received audience.
The best job opportunity, at the time, to take care of my new family, was the United States Military. I enlisted in the United States Navy. The military had already been entertained as a possible idea, though the United States Marine Corps had been my original choice while in high school. I was not unfamiliar with speaking to recruiters, but ultimately I chose the Navy because of the education opportunities provided by the fact that just about any job in the civilian world had its Navy equivalent - after all, each ship is like a floating city, needing its electricians, plumbers, boiler techs, et cetera.
A week after our modest wedding in the backyard of a preacher's house that we looked up in the Yellow Pages, I shipped out to Orlando, Florida for Boot Camp, and Meridian, Mississippi for my schooling. I missed the majority of my wife's pregnancy, but I made sure I was there the day our son was born.
The first contraction came while my wife and I were arguing (something we did a lot of in those days) at a fast-food joint. She knew right away that this was the moment our son had chosen to be born. Our son was on his way, and convenience was not one of his priorities.
Knowing that my wife's family, partially due to the traditional Mexican background, did not approve of me being in the delivery room (men, they were saying, has no business in such a room - that is women's business), we headed instead to my family's house to settle my wife down in a comfy chair and time the time between contractions. It didn't take long for the contractions to quicken their frequency, so off to the local military base we went.
Upon arrival at the military hospital, my wife was fully ready to give birth, and she did, thirty minutes later.
All of my foolish ways and childish things that had clung to my life stubbornly up to that point left me amidst the first cries of my son that night. Upon looking at that innocent little face, I realized that any and all irresponsible activities on my part needed to be shed. As responsible as I had been up to that point, it wasn't good enough. I needed to do more. I needed to ensure that I provided the best environment for this child.
Our first place we called home was in a down-trodden part of San Diego. Cock-roaches infested the entire apartment complex, and crime frequently visited the liquor store next door. The first week in that little cottage-style apartment was dark, cold, and lonely. My wife was still at her parent's for the time being. The landlord had not turned on the electricity and gas, yet. My dishes included a small pan, a fork, and a coffee cup. Once the gas was on, my most common meal at home was oatmeal, unsweetened, and eaten out of the pan with a fork. I didn't mind, however. Humble beginnings are a temporary thing when one desires more, and works hard for improvement.
After four years in that apartment, we bought a home in Riverside County, and have been there ever since.
Understand, that I did not do all of these things for me. I strove, and worked hard, for my children. Each of their births changed my life, and the only appropriate response was to do my best to be the best father I could be. I provided for them, played with them, disciplined them. I was the manager of my son's baseball teams, and cheered my daughter on while she was a part of cheerleading. I encouraged my children when they struggled in school, and congratulated them when they achieved the top grades. I spoke with the school principal, and their teachers, often on my children's behalf. I kissed their boo-boos, and cried with my wife when our son wound up with cancer. Now, my son is twenty-four, cancer-free, married, and a father himself to a rambunctious 19-month old. My daughter is a single mom at eighteen with a beautiful four-month old. Both grandsons have eyes for their grandma, but the oldest has discovered that the best seat in the house is Grandpa's lap.
And now, Father's Day, 2009 has come upon us. My kids have wished me Happy Father's Day, and my son a few days ago gave me a touching card, and a couple small gifts. I have called my dad, and my son, to wish them the same, and they have thanked me in return. But honestly, I would have been fine if my kids hadn't called me. I would be perfectly fine with it if there was no Father's Day, though I appreciate its existence. You see, Father's Day is everyday, for me. Just the fact that my children have grown to be fine young individuals, and the fact that they appreciate the part in their lives I played, is a grand enough Father's Day present to me.
-- Political Pistachio Conservative News and Commentary
By Douglas V. Gibbs
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