October 2, 1995

Eleven years ago, right around this very time, I was dressed in hospital greens. I had a borrowed video camera in my hand and I was pacing. Pacing. Pacing. My wife had undergone an epidural about an hour prior, and I was waiting in the siurgical area to be called in. I didn’t know what to expect. I was not young and very set in my ways. This was going to be a life-changing experience.

At 10:49 AM I was called in by a nurse, rushed because my wife’s doctor was fast at the draw, to witness the single most miraculous thing I had ever seen. This was the day my son would be born, and I was about to meet him. When I walked in, I saw a pool of blood coming from my wife. She was in obvious discomfort with a crew working the emergency caesarian section that we had been told the previous Friday would have to be done. At 10:52 AM the doctor pulled out a bloody little package that started crying like a banshee. God bless ‘im. His lungs were fine. I filmed and filmed until he put in the bassinet in the nursery. What an incredible thing to witness. My respect for the wife grew exponentially taht day if only for the fact of how much stronger she was to be able to endure that experience.

So today, at 10:52 AM, my son turns eleven. It boggles my mind that it’s been that long but it has. He is a great boy and a truly good person. I am so proud of him. Happy Birthday, kiddo!

(Now get back in your room and keep studying.)