Family Planning: The Old Fashioned Way

The original plan was two, a boy and a girl, but thanks to “Family planning, the old fashioned way,” we now have four, three boys and one girl. The first boy was planned, Lamaze method in Georgetown Hospital. The doctor was home watching the football game and almost missed the delivery, but made the catch just as the Redskins made their third touchdown on the way to victory over the Giants.

All that aside, the delivery was fine and the baby was healthy, except he looked a little skinny. Our first has been slim all his life, in fact we were accused of under feeding him by the ladies at the local bakery who seemed to get wider every time I dropped by. I was a key participant in all four deliveries, standing around making jokes, rubbing my wife’s back, helping her breath on cue, and making a general nuisance of myself.

Our second, a boy, was an unplanned pregnancy but a planned home delivery who came exactly one month after predicted; so much for predictions. This time the doctor came to the house along with about three nurses who just showed up for moral support. The doctor, an accomplished pianist, wandered around the house between contractions, found the piano and started playing. The noise of the out-of-tune piano was almost as painful to my wife as the birth pains.

Two kids were almost what we had planned, and enough to satisfy. I did my best to bring them up to be professional athletes so they could support me in the manner to which I wanted to be supported in my old age, but life has a way of throwing you curves. Both boys wanted to be musicians and poets, and 12 years later my wife announced we were pregnant. I’m not sure which was the bigger surprise, my musicians or my new daughter, but there I was delivering another baby and not really prepared for it. As it turns out I’m not the best father for a daughter, as I am sure she will agree, and she turns out to be the best athlete of them all. She’s almost 21 now, and a dancer who works harder than anyone I’ve ever seen.

Five years later, I’m almost 50, under employed at the time, no insurance, and my wife was in her mid-40s and not interested in fighting through the birthing process again.

“You’re what!” I yelled, how did that happen? My buddies are patting me on the back with comments like, “what a man,” “Father Abraham,” and the ladies are looking at me like I’m nuts or worse.

Someone mentioned an abortion, given our ages and lack of resources. Just the thought of making those problems disappear brought an immediate emotional relief, but we couldn’t do it. It isn’t right to destroy that which we have conceived.

As it turned out this is my athlete, small but excellent mid-fielder in soccer, and great second baseman in baseball. The coach figured his batting average at over 800, in coach-pitch, and he was improving all the time.

Then my hopes were dashed again, this time by music: it turns out he has a phenomenal talent for the stuff, but I wasn’t giving up easily. My wife would mention his innate musicianship, and the seriousness with which he took his studies. I countered with what a great defensive player he was on the soccer field, and how his baseball fielding and hitting was improving weekly. She told me about the attention he was receiving from music professionals and the potential he exhibited as a professional musician. He began winning as many music awards as athletic trophies, first chair CYSO at 13, first chair All State Band, as a sophomore, etc, etc.

Then it all began to sink in, college scholarships, professional performances, fame, fortune, and a steady job in my retirement, I can be his “roady.” Yeah, sure how many rich musicians do you know? Enough to make this conceivable and I could use the work.