“What do you have to be scared of,littleguy?”
Running my fingers along his newborn skin and speaking in soft, soothing tones, I tried to lessen the frightening effects for him. No one asked for nightmares to invade their slumber, and it seemed especially unfair for one so young tosuffer.
“You’re safe. I won’t ever let anything happentoyou.”
I wiggled my finger into his palm, and the baby gripped it tightly, as if he’d heard my solemn promise and was asking to shake on it. I wavered a moment, wondering how I could guarantee him safe passage in a world filled with dangers, both big and small. And did I really want to keep him safe from all harm? How would he grow into a strong, confident man if he never experienced real life? As tempting as it was to package him up in bubble wrap and send him on his way, I couldn’t do that to my child. Just because my life had been filled with fright didn’t mean he had to live his in fear. My son deserved the chance to make his own mistakes and earn his own scrapes and bruises. I wanted him to be a child free from worry, and for that to happen, I had to lethimlive.
“Within reason,” Iconceded.
My son opened his eyes at the sound of my voice, and for one magical moment, we connected. I was his dad, and if I played my cards right, he’d love me for the rest of my life. My fear of fatherhood had been misguided from the start. Kids didn’t care what challenges you’d faced or what poor decisions you’d made. They were clean slates, open books ready and willing to be written in. All they needed was love and guidance, with a splash of fun, in order to grow into the people they would one day be; and those were things that without reservation I knew I couldprovide.
And, yes, one day we’d have that tough discussion and I would tell him my story because, just like with Sydney, if I didn’t, someone else would. But I wasn’t worried. This boy came from the sturdiest of stock. He was a Caldwell and a McKallister. It didn’t get more resilient than that. Besides, I no longer felt the need to hide from my past. Every step I’d taken in my life had led me here – to this chair, cradling my newborn son inmyarms.
Casey was rolled into the room a few minutes later, sitting up and looking strong and healthy, wearing a smile on her face that stretched from eartoear.
“Gimme. Gimme. Gimme,” she said, reaching forherbaby.
“One more minute, mama,” a nurse said, as she and another transferred Casey from the rolling bed into the plush bedding of her very own five-star baby birthingsuite.
Once Casey was situated, I stood carefully and brought him toherside.
“He’s so beautiful, Casey,” I said, kissing his head, which was spattered with an impressive showing of dusty blond hair. “Can you believehe’sours?”
Gently I lay him in her arms. The moment they touched, I could feel their connection, and I watched in awe as the baby responded to her. He knew her, and my god, I think he already loved her. It was a powerful bond: mother and son. My own had given me life – more than once – but never had I been so grateful for her until just this moment when I witnessed my own son receiving the same gift I’d been given – that of a loving, protectivemother.
“You don’t know it yet,” I said to my boy, still running my fingers over his wispy locks, “but you just won the momlottery.”
“And you don’t know it yet,” Casey cooed, “but your daddy’s a famous rock star, and you’re going to have the coolestdamnlife.”
My voice was still in baby-talk mode when I added, “But only if you’re not named Bart… which is what your mommy wants to name you. Doesn’tthatsuck?”
“Jake, you know how I feel about the name,” she said sounding entirely serious; but there was no hiding that smile of hers. “Besides, I already signed the birthcertificate.”
My eyes bugged out of their sockets before I came to my senses. I had yet to see this birth certificate she spoke of, so I was fairly certain she was justpunkingme.
Casey’s nose crinkled up as she laughed at my reaction. “I’m kidding. How about this? I have a compromise for you. If I let you pick the boy names, can I name any futuregirls?”
I considered her treaty before responding. “Only if the namesdon’tsuck.”
“Sucky names are in the eye of the beholder, Jake. Deal ornodeal?”
I realized that I was most likely throwing my future daughters under the bus, but what could I do? I had to save my son. So – sorry Enid. Itried.
“Deal!”
Casey smiled and gazed upon our tiny son. “Well, then, hello Slater Scott McKallister. It’s nice to finallymeetyou.”
* * *
Icontacted the visiting committee,inviting them to our birthing suite to meet baby Slater. There were rules on the number of people allowed to visit, but clearly they’d made an exception for us if only to get out of the path of the stampede that was now filing throughourdoor.
As they filled every corner of the room, each wore the same dreamy, happy smile, and all were offering up a handshake, kiss, or hug. The cooing was nearly unbearable as everyone got his or her first look at our son. Casey took it all in stride, proudly offering our perfect specimen of a child up as proof of what superior genetic intermingling couldcreate.
My father was the last one in, and he had to duck under the doorframe to keep from clipping the top of the head of the little blond passenger riding on hisshoulders.
“Oh,” he gasped, upon catching sight of his newest grandchild. “Look at that little beauty. Let the spoilingbegin.”
Those weren’t just words, either. My father was a master spoiler and the worst possible example for growing minds. He did anything for a laugh, and that included gurgling water at the dinner table, spitting out food, and accidentally slipping out words that were decidedly not G-rated. So hysterically inappropriate was he that we’d been forced to assign a title to his behavior… Grampie Manners. His grandchildren knew they could only emulate his actions around him. Any outside Grampie Manners were strictlyforbidden.
