The Phantom of the Opera...

Two teenage birthdays coming up. I remember the days that just the idea that my two kids birthdays were on their way filled my head with all sorts of things to plan and do. This is no longer true since at 14 and 17 years of age respectively, my boys only seem to be interested in hanging out with friends and doing their own thing. I could make all kinds of plans in my head, but in the end they will most likely shoot them all down in exchange for what their idea of fun might be instead. This really does not bother me since I too remember being a teenager and thinking that making a big deal of my birthday would seem lame in the eyes of my peers. I am, however, very interested in finding out what their idea of doing something special might be instead.

You may ask how it is that my two boy's birthdays happen to be separated by one single day? Well, if you count the nine months backwards you will discover a significant event that seemed to have triggered their conception...my ex-wife's birthday...hahahaha! Happy Birthday dear!!! We dated for three years before getting married. Then we were married for three more years before we had our first child. We wanted to have our kids sooner, but medical reasons stood in the way and soon enough we found ourselves measuring basal temperatures and finding time to do the special deed whether we were in the mood or not. In fact, I remember that for my first child's conception, I had bought tickets to go to see the Phantom of the Opera as a present to my then wife for her birthday. I also remember having a fever of 104° from an illness that had started just a day before the special occasion. The morning of her birthday I was sick as a dog when she returned from the bathroom with the basal thermometer in her hand giving me the news that she was most likely ovulating and if we wanted to have a baby I was going to have to do my job sick or not. As for any 29 year old young male, sex is never really a sacrifice even when you are sick. Sure enough, a few weeks later we discovered that after almost a year of missing the target, this time she was pregnant.

I cannot imagine a more exciting and wonderful experience than that of watching a monochrome monitor that suddenly reveals the quick pitter patter of the heart of your first child while the mommy's belly is being probed with a sonogram. I still have that printout that was given to me with an image that mostly seemed like a little gray alien, but in reality was my son. I went to every single one of her doctor's appointments, and he probably knew how much I loved being there because regardless of whether the insurance would pay for it or not, the doctor did the ultra sound every single time I was there. He was a wonderful doctor with such caring and graceful staff. I wanted so badly to have that first picture to be able to give to him so that they could put it on that huge board which contained just about every baby he had delivered. My son was special and in my mind he needed to be on that board as soon as he arrived in this world.

No matter how many times you tell your kids the story of when they were born, I guarantee you that they are always ready and willing to hear of it over and over again. There is no doubt in my mind that what I say, how I say it, will always be engraved in their minds as much as it is in mine the way my parents talked about my birth. I was a breach baby. My mother tells the story of already having two girls and wanting so desperately to have a boy that when I was born, even though I literally ripped her apart with over a hundred internal stitches required after my delivery, all she asked was to show her my naked body so that she could truly see that I was a boy. After she new that it was true, she says that nothing else mattered and that she was in so much bliss that the horrible pain really meant absolutely nothing to her. I not only remember her story, I can hear her voice in my head in the exact emphasis on each of the words she has repeated to me over and over throughout the years describing the moment of my birth.

If you think that for one single moment my first child's birth had more of an impact than my second one's, you are seriously wrong. I can recall every detail of each of their births. From their mother's mood, my mood, and the doctor's mood, to what they looked like, how they cried, and me cutting their umbilical cords. I diapered them both first, nobody took that honor other than me. I swear that they already knew my voice from before they were born because I cannot count how many times I would talk to them while they were still inside their mom. Nothing was more amazing that holding those little bodies with tiny fingers and toes close to me and snuggling them with all of my love from the moment that they were born. I have such a clear image in my mind of them in the hospital, coming home for the first time, and watching them for endless hours day in and day out.

As per their request, I will be handing over some money for them to buy themselves games, musical instruments, and all sorts of their own choosing goodies. However, my true present to them this year will be that I will find it, and make the time to sit down with each one individually and tell them one more time the tale of their birth. I want to plant one more time the seed of my love for them in the story of how significant each of them have always been to me from the moment I found out that they were on their way into my life. No money in the world can replace the quantity and quality of my feelings towards my children. In the past 17 and then 14 years I have been blessed with having two souls in my life that are more precious than all the riches in the world. Troubled times are not and have never been a source of degradation to my emotional attachment with my boys. In fact, if it would of been all easy, I could of never of loved them more than I do today.

Dad