Big Poppa…
First,I would got to college at a HBCU. I come from a short but growing line of HBCU graduates. I would make my mama and my hometown proud by being very active on campus and graduating Validictorian. After letting all the major corporations duke it out for my varied and immense talents, I would move to New York City and join an international advertising firm.
I would start off in a modest position, but with my work ethic, ambition and irresistible charm, I would quickly move up the rangs in the company. Within 5 years, I would be a vice-president and a shoe-in for the next partner opening. I would have a strong six figure income before I turned 30 years old.
My personal life would be taking shape as well. After jett setting in the NY social scene, I would tire of the wining and dining. I’d be bored with dating aspiring actresses and supermodels. I’d be weary from living out of my suitcase from my many business trips and vacations. The edges of my passport would be tethered and the employees at LaGuardia and JFK would know me by name. I would decide to burn my international player card and settle down with my college sweetheart. By 30 years old, a few months after my promotion to vice president, I would get married. By the time I hit 38, which is my current age, I would be a multi- millionaire author with a beautiful home, a beautiful wife, and at least 2 children.
Needless to say, my real life has not matched the naive’ list I boldly declared at the tender age of eighteen. I did go to college. I was not Validictorian; not even close. I did graduate and was more than happy with that. I have had a lot of jobs since college, none of them in advertising. I devoloped an appreciation for math after graduation and have worked in real estate, mortgages and financial services for the past 8 years. I didn’t marry my college sweetheart. Our relationship demise was slow and painful. I was not married by age 30.
I married my incredibly patient and supportive wife when I was 33. She was 34 and the pressure from both sides of the family for a “grand-baby” was beyond intense. We both wanted children and were excited about being parents. The first miscarriage was very early in the pregnancy. My wife was about to hit 2 months when she started spotting. We were disappointed, but realized that we weren’t in our 20′s anymore. We rededicated ourselves to the healthy lifestyles we were already living. We vowed to try again. We exercised, we ate clean, we took vitamins, we got checked out, we meditated, we grew together in love.
I got a sperm analysis done. It took four weeks for my results to come back. It felt like four months. I was happy to hear that my boys were swimming!! I had some Olympic gold medal winners. Two years after the first miscarriage, and three years into the marriage, my wife curriously rebukes one of my late night advances. She tells me she’s late. She didn’t want to take any chances, so I did some pushups instead. I woke up the next morning and asked her if I could go to the doctor with her. Unfortunately, I was not able to go to the first appointment because of work obligations, but I was happy to hear the doctor confirmed we were pregnant.
My little sister called me a few days later and tells me she’s pregnant also. I didn’t tell her my news because the news of our first misscarriage was hard on my mother. My wife and I decided we would wait until after the first trimester to tell our families. My wife was so happy. She was glowing, literally. She even had a dream that we had a baby girl. I was reading up on the gestation process and on fatherhood. I try to stay cool, but inside even I was getting excited. Here I was at 36 years old, about to be a father for the first time.
The first trimester passed without a hitch. A few weeks into the fourth month, I awoke to the sounds of gagging. I reach across the bed and my wife is not there. The light in the bathroom is on. I stumble towards the bathroom. My wife is sitting on the tiolet, throwing up in the bathroom trashcan. My heart stopped. For the next 2 hours my wife makes several trips to the bathroom. I’m totally frozen. I have absolutely no idea what to do. She comes back to bed with a face full of tears. I wrap her in my arms and she cries for what felt like hours. Time stops as I hear her utter the coldest, most piercing words I’ve ever heard; “It’s gone. It’s gone….”
We never told our families of the pregnancy or the second miscarriage. My little sister had a healthy baby girl. She’s my mother’s first grandbaby. She’s cute as pie!! She loves to dance and sing, just like mama. Little does my mother know that she was about to go from 0 to 2 grandbabbies in one month. My niece was born in April of ’07. Our baby was due sometime in May of ’07. God had another plan, however.
My wife and I recently celebrated our 5th year married. We talked about the past 60 months, the past 1825 days together. We talked about the house, the bank account, retirement, travel, dreams. We talked about children; the last miscarrige, trying again, and adoption. I lied and said I was fine with however the story ended. Deep down, I want to be a father. Adoption is a beautiful thing, don’t get me wrong. Maybe I just need to let the idea sink in some. Right now, where I am, I still want children; my own children.
I never thought this would be my story. I always saw myself raising strong, smart, creative, and compassionate children. Maybe it’s too late for me. Maybe the third time is the charm. I don’t know. I do know that I feel selfish, childish, and gulity for still wanting some crumbsnatchers. I want a part of me to live after I die. I want the chance to build a legacy through my lineage. The bottomline is… I just want to be called Daddy……
