I somewhat recently joined the father's club. But I never really thought much about fatherhood though...
To give you an overall sense of my position, my partner and I agreed about 2 years ago that we were maybe sure, that we probably would have wanted one day, to possibly have kids... And since we're practical folks, we were absolutely sure that it only makes sense to do so before we turn 40.
This kind of multi-constraint definition is what really drives projects to completion.
Other than that, I never particularly "vibed" with other folks' kids. I once furiously trashed an 8-year-old to my wife, someone's kid playing in front of our apartment building.
He was wearing a straw fedora hat...
What parent would allow their child to go outside looking like they got rejected at the barbershop quartet audition? (I still think that only after turning 45, you should even consider wearing any kind of hat non-ironically).
Listening to folks like The Primeagen, Armin Ronacher, Mitchel Hashimoto, DHH, talk about how much their kids meant to them, and what immense purpose and meaning they brought to their lives, made me quite curious.
For a man like DHH, creator of Ruby on Rails, builder of a pretty cool software shop, book author, and Le Mans-winning racing driver, it sounded pretty wild to hear that even considering an alternate timeline where he wouldn't have kids, would give him existential levels of regret.
But from the mentioned figures I recall one specific moment that stuck with me: in an interview at the "How About Tomorrow?" podcast the Primeagen struggling to hold his tears back while reciting the lyrics to Harry Chapin's "Cat's in the Cradle". He talked about how he never really got to know his father since he was five years old, and how he wanted to be at least better than that, and see all his kids grow up beyond 5, having a father who loves them and is present for them.
I've come up with many personal "life-changing" milestones through the years: doing well in my national university-entry exams, finishing up all by myself a big project in my first job, delivering a good presentation to a big audience, succeeding at my staff interview, ...
While these objectives form in my head, I always imagine how fulfilled I will feel once I achieve them. When the time comes, I find myself dragging my exhausted body and mind over the finish line, and with whatever energy I have left, let that "high" hit me.
It's a warm feeling inside my stomach, like a small ball of fire, rising towards my chest, dispersing throughout the rest of my limbs, washing off the built-up stress, and leaving behind a rare sense of euphoria.
Once we knew that we were expecting, and eventually found out it would be a boy, I started forming in my head the moment that my son would be born. How different and stronger this fulfillment would feel.
I directed this montage of little scenes, cardboard replicas of moments borrowed from popular culture and the lives of others around me. I played this small movie in my head hundreds of times, jumping around the scenes, focusing on little details here and there.
I can without a hint of doubt declare that no other achievement so far in my life, has brought me this sense of fulfillment, with such a magnitude of difference compared to what I was expecting. It hit me like a wave. And it put every other of these milestones into a perspective that I would have never imagined.
My father started as a software engineer, and grew into a business owner. A quick thinker, but also full of ideas, oozing confidence in any room he walked in. Working crazy hours, not afraid to spend what he earned, enjoying vacations like we'd never go back home.
I can also strongly remember, how he unquestionably prioritized anything related to me. I was (and still am mostly) an introverted person. When he was around he actively sought after even the smallest interaction with me, and once captured, almost like a toddler, who just snatched candy from the jar, would grin with a mischievous look.
I remember being confused as a young boy, even weirded out at times. How ecstatic and elated he would seem after a witty joke between us or just me sharing my thoughts.
An effortless smile on his face, filled with pure joy and radiating love.
We lost him to cancer, shortly after I turned 18.
I often think of him, in seemingly random moments...
What would he have said about FOO?
Would he have any advice?
I would have loved to hear him joke about BAR!
I had exactly two dreams that I can remember about him throughout the past 16 years. Both just regular everyday interactions, sitting with him at our balcony, chit-chatting about whatever life had brought at the time.
In my now sleep-deprived mind, I still hold clear a single memory, the third day after our son was born, on a sunny morning in our hospital room:
My wife in bed resting, me sitting at the table, unable to stop looking at him in his little cot, unable to help myself from grinning. And as I sat there, in an instant, a profound thought just exploded into my mind, and brought tears to my face.
A tether travelling through 20-something-years, to bring me closer to the figure I thought lost and who I could never reach again.
The shared experience of a father just loving his son, with all that he has.