It was just another Father’s Day picnic. Except it wasn’t. This year was different.
A 7 pound, 10 ounce first-time guest made the difference. Wrapped in pink, dressed in a pink “Daddy’s girl” T-shirt and actually looking a little pink, the special guest slept, stretched, yawned and slept some more.
Around her, those gathered ate their hot dogs and hamburgers. The men talked about horsepower, the women spoke of the diaper habits of small children. The teenagers snuck into the house to play video games. The 10-year-old took three cans of pop, and the 4-year-old skinned her knee — twice.
But along with all the familiar goings-on, there was something different.
For the first time, my son attended the Father’s Day picnic as a father. For the first time, my husband attended as a grandpa and my dad as a great-grandpa. All these changes were caused by the arrival of 7-pound, 10-ounce Tenley Louise, who was born June 1 and celebrated her first family picnic by sleeping through it. (Except when she interrupted her mother’s meal by demanding her own.)
My heart melted (and stopped) when my son arrived carrying the baby with one hand like a football. Trying really hard to be nonchalant, he sauntered in like — well — like a new dad who was bursting with pride about the arrival of his baby girl.
(And, of course, showing off his sweet baby-handling skills. Which he actually has.)
The women descended like vultures to admire the newest little one in all her glory, admiring her little nose and her little fingers and speculating about the possible color of her hair.
The men, being men, and especially since it was Father’s Day, continued talking about horse power and greeted my son with a warm, congratulatory “Hey.”
Looking across the picnic tables as I held the baby (of course I held the baby!), I wondered how being a father for three weeks had changed my son. He knows how to change a diaper. He knows what sleep deprivation feels like. He knows how to comfort a fussing baby and an exhausted wife. Most importantly he knows what it feels like to have a tiny little person steal your heart.
He’s a different man.
At the same time, he and his cousin still found time to threaten their 7-year-old cousin with a dip in the garden fountain. Two bulked-up power lifters dangling a screeching 7-year-old over a bubbling stream of cold water? Not everything is different.
I watched my son, my husband, my dad and the others laugh and talk. I observed that I was raised by a father who loves me. My son was raised by a father who loves him. Sweet Baby Tenley has landed in the arms of a father and mother who love her more than life itself.
In the life of a child, that makes the difference.
Happy first Father’s Day, Joe.