3rd entry: Stopped in my tracks

If anything else, diving into my life as a father is an act of savoring. I want to savor my children. As a man, I am taught to savor my job, my home, my car, and my wallet. AT the end of the day, I really am not asked, nor am I expected to savor my children. But, for me, I am learning by years of fits and starts, that savoring them is wildly important and wildly exhilirating. I first started to learn the art of savoring back in 2004. It launched me into the stratosphere. Just thinking about the birth of little peeps was an act of savoring. Having to wait for 9 months was terrible. Having to wait was so crucial though. God always makes us wait. If we are unwilling to wait, we, I am afraid, will not inherit the kingom of God.

I do not think I came down, or stopped savoring her, until my little girl first cried. As I watched the nurse bathe her, my own soul was turning on a new axis. As I waited for her to be born, I think I must have dreamed a million dreams. I remember that I fell in love with my dear wife again. I remember that I fell in love with life again. Everything was cherry blossoms. As much as I wanted to share the news with friends and family, I honored my wife’s wish to be quiet about our news. And so I burowed under the covers of God's love and started to write. Waiting pushed me to write. Walking in Kornblatt's deli on 23rd, seeing that large jar of pickels, walking out again, just to think how wonderful it is to be able to walk into a new world. This was me. I was walking into a new world. Anna and I would take long walks down to St. Honore Bakery to enjoy the sheer ambience. We would go watch them make bread, we would go sip on coffee, we would go eat lunch of quiche and a nice simple french salad. I was begining to feel like I did not want to get rid of the life I was living. I wanted to live this way forever. I wanted to be "self obsorbed" forever. I was not ready. I loved our walks, I loved stepping into a new world without consequence, and I loved watching movie all night long. I could find such simple delight in walking down 22nd street to be reminded of dinner at Paley's Place with my mom. Simple pleasures. Simple delights. Were they going to leave me? Where were they going to go.

I remember taking Anna to McMinammins pub, a place that served pizza and beer. We could watch a movie and drink a beer and eat a 16 inch pie. If you wanted, you could get a room upstairs. The place was called Kenneddy School. They had taken down a school and turned it into a brew pub and pizza joint, combined with a  hotel. It was a local destination. Rates were cheap. Pizza was great. Beer was better. Even the seating was top notch. It was unlike anything I had experienced in the south. But there were problems. I was having to get rid of these small pleasures. And I was starting to feel guilty for it. I was feeling guilty that I would not choose my daughter over a slice of pizza. But that was the reality. Reality was coming crashing down.

A significant problem lurked in the corner. The anticipation of becoming a father was becoming more and more paralyzing. I could not, and I did not, share my thoughts, dreams, or anxieties about having a child. I went mute. And who could blame me. I was guilt riden.