Grandfatherhood

It's still less than forty-eight hours since my son Joe and his heroic wife Amy became parents of a wonderful baby girl, Violet Baker Baril. I would not be exaggerating to say my cup runneth over.

Part of it is the confidence I feel that Joe and Amy will be excellent parents. The photos of my son looking adoringly at his daughter do my heart good, and call to mind the emotions I felt on first seeing my own children.

Another part is the confidence they feel, and I share, that the world is in decent enough shape that they can bring new life into it with the expectation she will have more good times in her life than bad ones. Individually her happiness will lie in her own hands to a great extent, but we can hope and trust there will not be any Hitlers or Stalins in the world she will inhabit.

Finally, there is the matter of my own mark in the world. Little Violet might live to see the first years of the twenty-second century, and twenty-five percent of her is me. Long after I've gone the way of all mankind, she might have an occasional thought for her old granddad. Historians concentrate on the politicians, generals, inventors, business magnates and so forth. They'll have nothing to say about me. Violet will remember that I, as well as her other grandparents, existed. It's a comforting thought.

So I'm thrilled to be a grandpa. Violet's arrival has put a smile on my face that nothing has erased in the last two days. Best of luck to her always, may she have a long healthy and happy life. She will be loved, I know that for sure.

By the way, I called Amy "heroic" at the beginning of this piece, and I mean it sincerely. Women are my heroes generally. They're the ones who go through pregnancy, labor and delivery, even knowing how difficult the whole process is. I don't know if I could do it, even if it was biologically possible.