Debbie's in the hospital ready to give birth to her first baby. We're all beside ourselves, but nobody's more excited than Dad.
"Have you heard anything?" he calls first Mary, then me, and then Mary again.
"Dad," I say patiently for the third time, "I know just as much as you do."
Debbie's been in labor since yesterday. It's Friday morning now, and Dad's worried. He calls St. Francis Hospital and asks for Debbie Brown's room.
"I'm sorry, Sir," the receptionist says. "We don't have anybody here by that name."
Dad sputters in confusion. "She was there last night!"
But the receptionist is firm. "Please check your information, Sir."
It's only after Dad hangs up that he realizes his mistake. "I'm sorry," he calls the woman again. "Brown is her maiden name. I'm looking for Debbie Durning."
She sighs. "We don't have anybody registered by that name, Sir."
It does no good to argue with the silly woman. Dad bangs down the receiver. Then a thought occurs. He dials the hospital again.
"Hello," he says sheepishly. "It's me again. Would you mind checking for Mary Debra Durning?" It takes a while to cajole the receptionist, but Dad is sincerely apologetic. He tells her about naming all his children Mary and Joseph. He tells her this is the first of his five Mary's to have a baby. He tells her he is a very foolish, worried father.
"I'll put you right through, Mr. Brown," the woman says kindly.
Deb doesn't deliver her brand new daughter until Saturday morning after 48 grueling hours of labor. Dad and all of us come straight away. Brian, a proud new father, beams at his baby girl. Poor Deb, however, is exhausted. She smiles tearfully, though, when Dad - with his big hands - takes Nicole Patricia Durning and gently cradles his new granddaughter. Nikki, as Deb and Brian will call their new baby, is Dad's third grandchild. It's a happy moment, and we're all delighted.
In the days that follow, Debbie discovers she's never missed Mom as much as she does now. Nikki's a colicky infant. Hour after hour, Deb and Brian take turns carrying her around and around the house in a vain attempt to comfort her. One night as Nikki wails and Brians falls asleep exhausted, Deb bundles her screaming baby into the car and rushes to Dad's.
"I'm sorry, Dad! I know you've worked all day," Deb is practically crying herself. "But I don't know what to do!"
With a practiced hand, Dad slings baby Nikki over his huge shoulder and paces back and forth. He sings and soothes and rhythmically pats her while Deb surrenders herself to Dad's big sofa.
"Tura lura lura!" he chants the lullaby softly. Soon, mother and baby are both lulled to sleep.
Dad really takes to grandfathering. It's a good thing because grand kids arrive with alarming regularity. Rick and Jan's son Kyle, brown eyed and adorable, is born the following year. When he first begins to walk, leaning on a toy lawnmower to take adventurous jaunts up and down the long driveway of Dad's house, we laugh and cheer him on.
"Do you see that?" Dad observes Kyle keenly. "Look at the way that boy moves - like a born athlete."
I give birth to my first baby Kenny the year after that, and John and I are over the moon with happiness.
"Thought I'd come to see Kenny over my lunch hour," Dad calls one morning when Kenny's just a few weeks old. Dad's especially excited because our baby, born to exceedingly tall parents, is already off the growth charts.
"Did the doctor tell you how tall he'd be?" Dad asks as he settles into our old recliner with Kenny on his lap. Dad's a former college and semi-pro basketball player. In his mind's eye, he envisions a future with Kyle, Kenny and a host of tall, athletic grandsons and granddaughters. He surveys Kenny's long infant arms and legs. Kenny, in turn, stares in fascination at Dad's big, kind face.
"Oh Kenny," Dad murmurs, "I hope I live long enough to see you play basketball."
My heart skips a beat. "Geez, Dad," I scold him. "Don't talk like that!"
Not yet 60, Dad still has two kids at home, terrible knees and very high blood pressure. He's all we have. Our good father has propelled us through adolescence and college and weddings and now babies. We adore him and rely on him and can't imagine our lives without him.
I watch him across the room in his white business shirt and tie smiling down at Kenny.
"Tura lura lura," he sings softly to his baby grandson. "Hush, now don't you cry."
He's sung that lullaby to every one of us, and my eyes fill. I grab my camera quickly to capture the moment forever.
Dad needs to get married again. I peer through the viewfinder and am suddenly struck by the thought. Lowering the camera, I study my big father. He's handsome, funny and loving. And lonely.
After Mom dies and Dad begins to date, I wonder how he can possibly be lonely? After all, he's got ten kids to keep him company. But watching him with my little son, I'm hit with the realization that Dad needs more. Nobody's ever made him laugh like Mom did.
I breathe a silent prayer to God and Mom. The two of them can figure this out.
"Don't forget," I remind them. "She has to be funny."
The reminder, however, is unnecessary.
Mom's arranging Dad's love life even as we speak.
 |
| Dad holding his granddaughter Nikki. |
"Have you heard anything?" he calls first Mary, then me, and then Mary again.
"Dad," I say patiently for the third time, "I know just as much as you do."
Debbie's been in labor since yesterday. It's Friday morning now, and Dad's worried. He calls St. Francis Hospital and asks for Debbie Brown's room.
"I'm sorry, Sir," the receptionist says. "We don't have anybody here by that name."
Dad sputters in confusion. "She was there last night!"
But the receptionist is firm. "Please check your information, Sir."
It's only after Dad hangs up that he realizes his mistake. "I'm sorry," he calls the woman again. "Brown is her maiden name. I'm looking for Debbie Durning."
She sighs. "We don't have anybody registered by that name, Sir."
It does no good to argue with the silly woman. Dad bangs down the receiver. Then a thought occurs. He dials the hospital again.
"Hello," he says sheepishly. "It's me again. Would you mind checking for Mary Debra Durning?" It takes a while to cajole the receptionist, but Dad is sincerely apologetic. He tells her about naming all his children Mary and Joseph. He tells her this is the first of his five Mary's to have a baby. He tells her he is a very foolish, worried father.
"I'll put you right through, Mr. Brown," the woman says kindly.
Deb doesn't deliver her brand new daughter until Saturday morning after 48 grueling hours of labor. Dad and all of us come straight away. Brian, a proud new father, beams at his baby girl. Poor Deb, however, is exhausted. She smiles tearfully, though, when Dad - with his big hands - takes Nicole Patricia Durning and gently cradles his new granddaughter. Nikki, as Deb and Brian will call their new baby, is Dad's third grandchild. It's a happy moment, and we're all delighted.
In the days that follow, Debbie discovers she's never missed Mom as much as she does now. Nikki's a colicky infant. Hour after hour, Deb and Brian take turns carrying her around and around the house in a vain attempt to comfort her. One night as Nikki wails and Brians falls asleep exhausted, Deb bundles her screaming baby into the car and rushes to Dad's.
"I'm sorry, Dad! I know you've worked all day," Deb is practically crying herself. "But I don't know what to do!"
With a practiced hand, Dad slings baby Nikki over his huge shoulder and paces back and forth. He sings and soothes and rhythmically pats her while Deb surrenders herself to Dad's big sofa.
"Tura lura lura!" he chants the lullaby softly. Soon, mother and baby are both lulled to sleep.
 |
| Kyle, Rick and Jan's first baby. |
"Do you see that?" Dad observes Kyle keenly. "Look at the way that boy moves - like a born athlete."
I give birth to my first baby Kenny the year after that, and John and I are over the moon with happiness.
"Thought I'd come to see Kenny over my lunch hour," Dad calls one morning when Kenny's just a few weeks old. Dad's especially excited because our baby, born to exceedingly tall parents, is already off the growth charts.
"Did the doctor tell you how tall he'd be?" Dad asks as he settles into our old recliner with Kenny on his lap. Dad's a former college and semi-pro basketball player. In his mind's eye, he envisions a future with Kyle, Kenny and a host of tall, athletic grandsons and granddaughters. He surveys Kenny's long infant arms and legs. Kenny, in turn, stares in fascination at Dad's big, kind face.
"Oh Kenny," Dad murmurs, "I hope I live long enough to see you play basketball."
 |
| Dad sings a lullaby to our Kenny. |
Not yet 60, Dad still has two kids at home, terrible knees and very high blood pressure. He's all we have. Our good father has propelled us through adolescence and college and weddings and now babies. We adore him and rely on him and can't imagine our lives without him.
I watch him across the room in his white business shirt and tie smiling down at Kenny.
"Tura lura lura," he sings softly to his baby grandson. "Hush, now don't you cry."
He's sung that lullaby to every one of us, and my eyes fill. I grab my camera quickly to capture the moment forever.
Dad needs to get married again. I peer through the viewfinder and am suddenly struck by the thought. Lowering the camera, I study my big father. He's handsome, funny and loving. And lonely.
After Mom dies and Dad begins to date, I wonder how he can possibly be lonely? After all, he's got ten kids to keep him company. But watching him with my little son, I'm hit with the realization that Dad needs more. Nobody's ever made him laugh like Mom did.
I breathe a silent prayer to God and Mom. The two of them can figure this out.
"Don't forget," I remind them. "She has to be funny."
The reminder, however, is unnecessary.
Mom's arranging Dad's love life even as we speak.
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