I drove home from the hospital in a sleepless fog, brewed a cup of fresh-ground coffee and sat in the back yard, watching the clouds float by as it slowly dawned on me that I was a father. That seemed as distant as forever. It was as close as tomorrow.
Some fathers talk about the beauty of seeing their children born.
I was paralyzed by awkwardness, feeling like the careless camper who caused a three-alarm forest fire, getting in the way while everyone tried to put it out. For me, the beauty came later, alone in the backyard, looking at a perfect June sky over a world that was suddenly brighter, sharper, more focused and colorful. We believed boys and girls were just the same souls in different packages. I am heartsick. As it turns out, your Class of 2000 is more mature by miles than I was at that age.