A decade of daddiness

Ten years ago today, my life was changed forever in ways I never could have foreseen or, prior to that day, appreciated. Ten years ago today, Zach was born.

Zach (a.k.a. Superkid, Zacher, Bud-Bud, and, in a goofy song I sang to him as a baby, Zachary Wachary Doodah Boy) was the little bundle of joy I never knew I wanted. And as a result, I naively approached fathering him—and fatherhood in general—nonchalantly. But as anyone who's a parent knows, to say that kids change your life in profound ways is a gross understatement. And Zach definitely changed mine.

Sure, I still listen to punk, ska, reggae, and whatever else strikes my fancy (a quality which just yesterday, as we were playing the second-wave ska of The Specials in the truck, Zach said makes me a "cool dad"). And, when I can muster up the energy, considering it now involves at least a seven- to eight-hour round trip from Redding and the gas that goes with it to do so, I'll still stay out all hours of the night to catch my favorite musicians performing live. And when I'm feeling particularly bold or carefree, I can still be impulsive enough to take the occasional unplanned road trip.

But to say I'm the same person I was ten years ago? No way. The minute Zach was born, I became "Dad" (or at the time, "Daddy") first and all else second. Yet, if you'd have told me prior to 1997 that one day I'd be coaching kids’ sports teams, staying home full-time with my kid (or kids?!?!), or, without the slightest hint of self-consciousness, walking around town wearing a baby carrier, I'd have said you were nuts. Because even in the days leading up to my pending fatherhood, I rejected all the trappings of being a parent. And worse, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be one.

Those of you who've known Kelly and me for any length of time are aware that we married quiet young. Not Romeo and Juliet young, but young enough, given that, if our wedding had been seven months earlier, Kelly would not have been able to legally partake in our champagne toast. Only a year and a half her senior, I wasn't much older, and I was horribly immature. Blinded by love, I didn't have a clue what I wanted out of life other than to be with her.

So, as we worked through pre-marital counseling with Reverend Thomas Kerr, the minister who would later perform our wedding ceremony, I pondered his questions about Major Life Issues just as I did the subjects I was still studying in college at the time—on an intellectual, rather than emotional, level. And when the discussion turned to parenthood, I considered the topic the same way I did all the others we covered: in the abstract. I did so instinctively, because frankly, the thought of reproduction was absolutely alien to me at the time.

Do you want to have children?

Yeah, I guess so.

Are you sure?

Yeah, I guess so.

When?

Um, I dunno. When the time is right.

When might that be?

Um, I dunno.

Surely my responses should have sent up red flags that shouted, "THIS KID IS NOT READY TO GET MARRIED," and I fully expected that at some point, Rev. Kerr would in fact pull the plug and tell us that sorry, while we were fully capable of driving to Tahoe and finding some shady, gold-lamé-wearing minister who'd marry us, he was not going to be a part of this fiasco. But to my surprise, he never did. And because he didn't, it was only a few short months before I walked down the aisle, said "I do," kissed the bride, and wandered off into the sunset with that Major Life Issue unresolved.

Given that Kelly, even at 21, had a biological clock that ticked as loudly as those old wind-up models with the big bells on top, I wasn't going to be able to avoid the issue of parenting for long. Oh, sure, she loved me, but there was no escaping the fact that SHE WANTED A BABY. And so, once I'd finished school, and particularly once we'd relocated to Southern California to spread our wings, my uncertainty about parenthood and plunging forward with a partner who didn't share that uncertainty came back to haunt me, big time. Because the fact of the matter was, as far as I could tell, I didn't want kids. At least not then. And maybe not ever.

Uh-oh.

I'll spare you the gorier aspects of what this little disconnect meant for our relationship during the first eight or nine years other than to say that I will be forever grateful and indebted to Kelly for her patience. Even as I stumbled into her—which of course was really "our"—first pregnancy, I still wasn't entirely sure I wanted to be a father. And being young, intelligent, charming, attractive, and poised to begin a second career as an attorney, Kelly easily could have dumped me and, in a heartbeat, found a guy who knew what he wanted, didn't dodge his way through pre-marital counseling, and was ready to pursue parenthood with gusto rather than uncertainty.

But fortunately for me, she didn't. And just as fortunately, ten years ago tonight, I was struck by an epiphany the moment Zach was born: I wanted this little person in my life more than I ever could have dreamed or believed. And yes, I wanted to be a parent. But admitting those things, even to myself, and giving in to them meant I also had to be willing to grow up and take on responsibility. And those were frightening concepts—even scarier than the questions Rev. Kerr had posed to me years before.

The fact that Kelly had a complicated pregnancy involving frequent doctor visits and bed rest helped ground me a bit in the months leading up to Zach's birth. But even as late as the week before he arrived, I still wasn't approaching the topic with complete seriousness. As our Christmas due date came and went, the days dragged by. To pass the time, I goofed around on the Internet, listened to music, watched college football games, and basically did everything possible to avoid reality. And when Kelly said she’d be receiving pre-induction medication on New Year’s Day so she could deliver Zach the following morning, I just mentally shrugged and said, “OK.” I was numb from waiting and from holding back my fears about what was about to happen to us, and to me.

In retrospect, it’s probably best that the nurse administering Kelly’s drugs was heavy-handed, since in doing so she surprised us with a New Year’s Day baby. Losing the last element of control I’d had over my destiny by knowing when Zach would arrive shocked me back into reality and forced me to give in to the feelings I’d been holding at bay. And, it made me more emotionally available to Kelly, who obviously needed me on the team. No, I wouldn’t have time for lunch from our favorite Mexican restaurant on the way home from the hospital, and no, I wouldn’t be able to sit around and watch college bowl games. Because the baby was coming today, and that was that.

At roughly 9:00 that night, when the obstetrician hurriedly handed off Zach, who wasn’t breathing, to the Intensive Care team without asking me if I wanted to cut the umbilical cord, I learned just how badly I wanted to be his father. Much as I hate to admit that I’d had feelings of indifference toward him before that moment, those feelings were shattered instantly when I thought I might never get the chance to meet him. Watching his birth video a few months ago, I cried all over again when I saw myself (albeit a younger and less gray-haired version of myself) asking Kelly’s sister, Shannon, to turn off the video camera. If my son was going to come and go in that manner, I didn’t want it preserved for posterity.

Thank goodness it didn’t come to that. Fortunately, Zach, in true Hamilton fashion, was only being stubborn, and within minutes he was breathing normally. That he would later again prove stubborn and refuse to nurse—for days—is another story and one without consequence, as evidenced by the fact that, as he turns 10, my once-little boy is a whopping 4-foot-10-and-1/2-inch, 100-plus-pound monster. From the moment I held him, I knew that this was the greatest gift I was ever going to receive and that Kelly had been right all along. And, I learned right then and there the meaning of the term “unconditional love.” Yes, my wonderful daughters would follow—children I'd love just as dearly—but coming first, it was Zach who taught me this lesson.

So, thank you, Zach, for helping me grow so much and for nudging me onto the wonderful journey of parenthood. I’ve told you repeatedly over the years that if I was allowed to shop for a son, you’re the one I’d have picked, hands down. Today, more than ever, I feel that way. And as you enter the world of “double digits”—something of which you’ve reminded me frequently in the past week just as I’ve tried to avoid it—I couldn’t be prouder of you, not just for who you are now, but for the person I know you’ll one day become. I love you with every ounce of my heart and soul, and I consider myself the luckiest man alive to be your father. And I always will.

Happy 10th birthday, buddy.