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Happy Birthday, son.

© Dale Kiefer

On this day 11 years ago my first son was born. I'm still trying to grasp how those 11 years - a solid number of years; more than a decade - have elapsed in, oh, I don't know, what seems like three months. It's such a cliché, but it's no less true. The time since his birth seems to have rocketed by like the space shuttle in orbit.

I remember his birth - and the tense days before his birth - as if they happened just yesterday. Like you, I was both excited and nervous. Also like you, I did my best not to show it. As the due date approached, and the anxiety level ratcheted up, I wondered about this new little fellow I was scheduled to meet.

I recall wondering if he would be healthy. It was my only real mental "requirement". We already knew his sex, but that would not have mattered to me. Although, I suppose I should admit, I probably did, on some level, breathe a sigh of relief at the news that we would be having a boy. I understand them better, I figured. It'll be less work.

If I really had been pressed, I might have admitted that I had certain vague aspirations and hopes for this child. I hoped he'd be attractive, smart, good at sports, confident. Not too much to ask. I suspect we all hope for as much for our children. But I knew in my heart that he'd be an individual and I'd do best to let him be who he wanted to be.

As it turned out, he is all of the above, and my wife and I feel blessed. He and his brother are a daily blessing -- and gift -- from God. Of course, as always when God bestows favor, there is a certain amount of tribulation involved, too. It's called parenthood. Turns out, it's never been too much to bear. The early baby days seemed long and unending. It was difficult, if not impossible to see the light at the end of the tunnel. But now I know that the tunnel is laughably brief. It seems now that we flew through that tunnel in a Ferrari doing 155 mph. No wonder our hair stood on end. (Or was that just the sleepless nights and missed showers?)

In any event, I seem to have been blessed with a child who answered my deepest, most unuttered desires for a son. Don't get me wrong. I love both my sons immeasurably. But it was my firstborn, Nathan, who first answered my unasked prayers for a son who could use what I could give; he emerged from the womb anxious to understand the world, eager to explore, and determined to acquire knowledge. We're a match made in heaven. As it turns out, I like to prattle on about anything and everything - and he likes to hear about anything and everything. Science, history, geography, politics, God, soccer, money, woodcraft; did I mention science? You name it and he likes to talk about it. He asks perceptive questions and listens attentively to the answers. How could a verbose, boring windbag of an old dad ask for anything better?