The Father's Day with Meaning

I've never met my father or knew who he is/was. That's a big statement. I think it is a major motivating factor to why I do what I do, the way I live my life and, most notably, what kind of father I strive to be. I never experienced (before now) what the nuclear family life was like. So, as a result, I had always felt incomplete. Almost like damaged goods. It was a long time before I could come to terms with that fact. Or, even speak it. Since, I was a little boy (yes, I was once little) I used to make up these fantastical tales of who my father was and "how/why he died." It was far easier to do that than to tell the truth and face what I thought to be the ultimate shame of not really having an identity.

For the first time, 5 years ago, Father's Day meant something to me. I can still remember that night of January 15, 2007. I was having a Petal Indoor Percussion meeting at my house. Ryan Saul, Derek Fields and myself were going over some ideas for the "Essence of Cool" show for Petal. It was our sophomore attempt at indoor at Petal after a reasonably successful maiden voyage in 2006. My extremely pregnant wife, Emily, sat on the couch in the living room while we toiled towards the 11th hour of the evening in my office. As Ryan and Derek were leaving, she told me, "You'd better give them the drill charts before they leave." I kinda shrugged this off. "Nah, I still have some changes I need to do before we teach this... it's FAR from being finished," I said dismissively. Emily grabbed the charts and said, "NO! You NEED to give them the drill!!"I didn't argue this time. I handed them the drill and off they went.

As soon as the door shut, she revealed to me that she had been silently counting the intervals of her contractions! CONTRACTIONS!!?!? Being the trained and obsequious circus monkey I was, I knew that "contractions" was the GO word! In my head, the theme music to "The A-Team" started playing. I would love to, at this point, romanticize a story like you see in 1950's sitcoms; where the father is nervously and frantically running around the house trying to find the pre-packed suitcase of items for the hospital trip. You know, the tall, thin, horn-rimmed glasses latent, black-haired guy wearing a business suit and smoking a pipe. That wasn't me. I had not even put that crib together like my wife had been hounding me about for 9 months! And here we are at GO time and it remains unassembled in the same place it was delivered.

There I sit, in the middle of our bedroom floor, with a hammer, pliers and socket wrench. None of these items which are needed for the assembly of this crib. Although the instructions were in English, the diagrams seemed to had been mixed up with the assembly diagrams for the Space Shuttle. None of these pictures looked like the crib WE had. There was no time for failure. I was about to be a dad and I'd already screwed up the first step. I tossed the instructions and it was all instincts and adrenaline, baby! Emily's contractions were getting closer and she was now unable to use ANY restraint from what she was thinking to what she was saying. So, not only was I assembling this crib like a gorilla trying to solve a rubix cube, but my wife was (involuntarily) verbally lowering my self-esteem every 3 to 5 minutes.

The night was ticking on... Emily wants to take a shower because she "doesn't want to be gross" when she arrives at the hospital. Now at this point, what I should have said was... nothing. What I DID say, however, was, "...isn't child birth one of the most disgusting and gross processes known to man?" Before I got to the word "man", I sustained a swift, pregnant smack to the back of the head that should have rendered me unconscious! "You still don't know WHEN to be serious, Tony!" she said storming off to the bathroom. What I should have said, at this point, was... nothing. And that's exactly what I said. Nothing. Another blow to the head like that surely would have sent both of us to the hospital. She would be in labor and delivery and I would be in the ER. Not, the Leave it To Beaver/Father Knows Best scenario you want to bring a child into the world under.

Why is this crib taking SO long??!?! I finally get a version of it assembled. It looks like an Appalachian Bear Trap! When I attempted to put the mattress portion down into the bedding of it, the gates snapped and almost severed my fingers. Ok, this is probably not a good configuration for a newborn. The stench of failure is permeating the air like a chittlins cooking contest. I finally realize that all of the rails for the crib were put on upside down which gave them no resistance when the release buttons were pushed. This is what gave them the 15th century French guillotine effect. I turn them the right way! Success!!!
It now looked like what I have seen other babies sleep in! No sooner than I realized my conquering of this "beast", I hear from the shower: "TOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!"

Yep, it was time. I get Emily out of the shower. Get her in the car. (Yes, she was clothed. I thought I'd spare you that Abbot and Costello moment.) I sped down Hardy Street like Dale Earnhart, Jr. leaving an IQ testing site. There were NO parking spaces available at Forrest General Hospital at the labor and delivery parking garage. And... AND.... it was raining. I drove up as close to the doors as I could without invoking a terrorist alert. I parked so close that I activated the automatic doors. I get Emily out and the first nurse we see is Parker Estess' (one of my band kids) mom! Ok, this is a good sign! Keep in mind my car is still parked almost in Forrest General. I was taken aback by the amount of paperwork they make a pregnant lady sign before they will admit her. My wife was still nicer to those people than me. But, that's another story altogether.

They finally admit her and get her into one of those "booty gowns." The next nurse I see is Brittany Herrin's mom! Another band kid's mom. This was a great omen! Finally, Emily's Mom and Dad arrive. Her dad opts to wait in the waiting room until all the gory moments are over. Mom was there for the whole deal. Emily is on the hospital bed (obviously). Her mom is right behind me, looking on, with her hand on my neck. I think she thought it was on my shoulder, but no, it was on the back of my neck. Emily is squeezing my right thumb. I later found out this is not a good position to be in. You would be very proud of me! I fought back every urge to act out the birth joke from the "Bill Cosby Himself" comedy album. I didn't do it! Mainly, due to the imminent risk of permanent physical injury. As the delivery became more intense, so did the pressure on my thumb and neck. The sheer force of pressure at this point would have killed a normal man, but once again adrenaline saved me.

Then the moment of truth came! On Tuesday, Jan. 16th, 2007 at 4:06pm, out came Colette Olivia Lymon! All 10lbs. 4oz. of her. THE LOUDEST CRYING I HAVE EVER HEARD! I work daily in an environment where 40+ people play drums in a small gymnasium. It was no comparison to the newly born lungs and vocal cords of young Colette! I'm so used to seeing those TLC shows where the baby comes out looking like a curled-up salad bar shrimp. She looked like a full grown 8 yr old! A head full of hair! I also noted how she fought the nurses that were trying to take her vital signs with such power and steadfastness! I now can see this being foreshadowing of what was to come.

At that moment, everything changed. I was already prepared to love this child more than life itself. But, I had no idea the depth of this love. The opportunity to be everything for this new life. The opportunity to have that life I never got to experience. The ability to set up a life for her that I never knew. The responsibility, albeit daunting, was my new purpose. A purpose beyond any ambition I could dream up.
The opportunity to right all the wrongs I had experience to that point and make an ideal life for a new person whose perception of the world would hinge on my ability to deliver it. Father's day would now have a meaning. A meaning as deep and as rich as my desire to fulfill it.