Upon Being a Father

To KenBaba and Ben Jacob March 30, 1995

This poem gives me permission
To write emotions suppressed or forgotten.
Recently I began to write poems
Expressing ideas otherwise too difficult to say.
So this is my first attempt to explain
The meaning of having children – even sons.

These memories are distinct.
Time does not erase the compelling need to parent.
Your mother was equally willing
And seemed to share the same instinct for parenthood.
Getting engaged was in part a consequence of
This drive to have children.
The rest of that engagement and eventual marriage
Was exciting and a period which generated fond memories.

New challenges always excite me,
And parenthood was no less exciting than any other.
But what about that instinct – to have children?
Is there really such a thing?
Do we run our lives to satisfy our need
To perpetuate humanity – gene based?
Or do we see an art in participating
In a creative process that is - a given?

If there is art in life, and if life can be lived as art,
Then what role does creating life have?
Is this the ultimate connection to artistic life?
Or just a mundane, physical copulation?

I have seen people worried about the purpose of life
Who wandered aimlessly?
I have seen some of these people
Once immersed in parenthood, acknowledge a change of perspective.
Parenthood in their case, as with my own,
Gave an enriched meaning to life.

When you first see this tiny red,
Ugly offspring it is for a moment off-putting.
But only for a moment because
The natural bonding process continues quickly.
Bonding continues, I say, because this has already begun
With the kicks and movement in the womb.

There is a sense of pride, a fascination
With being part of a very natural, joyous process.
There is the deep satisfaction of sharing
This unfolding life-giving experience with someone you love.
Then comes the thrill of together holding,
Touching and the prospect of nurturing this infant.

There is no charm so great
As the pleasure passed between parents at the birthing.
There can be an intricate connection
Between each parent and the child, and between parents.
The bonding process between parent and child
Continues with each new diaper.

In this flush of glory the taste of life,
Like mother’s milk, is subtle and delicately sweet.
Too soon the child walks, gains independence
But the parent never forgets those early connections.

So on this day of memorial let me present to you
Those intimate sentiments as a gift.
Unashamed, unembarrassed, proud,
I remain, your father in spite of some treacherous years.
It is my hope now, as it was earlier,
That this bonding and love be shared by both your parents.
That you would be happy, fruitful,
And a continuing blessing to both your parents, as well.

end
By: Irvin H. Jacob