letter to nora - part 2

      When I rolled in, soaking wet, to work, I heard the same greetings I'd been hearing every morning since Christmas Day, your due date.

Ray: "Hey dad!"

Me: "Nope, not yet."

Flavio: "Robert, what the heck are you doing here? No baby yet?"

Me: "Sorry, can't help it."

The boss, gregarious as always: "HEY ROBERT!  No news, eh?"

Me: "Actually, things might have gotten started at home this morning, so if my wife gives me a call, I'm going to need to head home."

The boss: "Really!? I mean, that's GREAT! Sure, no problem! I mean, you'll need to get home right away!" From all appearances, you'd have thought he was kin. To his credit, his enthusiasm was sincere, and he also allowed me to take four and a half weeks off after your arrival - a good man, doubtless.

       I hopped into a truck with Juan, and we drove out to check storm drains for clogs first thing that morning. Preoccupied as I was with how mama was doing, if you were really coming, was I really going to be a father?, I put on my rain coat and rain paints but neglected my knee-high rubber rain boots, a mistake which caused me quite a bit of discomfort a couple of hours later while I was standing in chilly rainwater half way up my shins furiously raking magnolia leaves off of a grate. 

      For me, on any other day, wet feet and clogged drains would have guaranteed a grumpy disposition until I fell asleep in the evening. But a coming child brings on a certain oblivious joy, a giddiness, that seems to change the way the world feels. The obvious comparison to falling in love comes to mind, but I suspect there's a generous helping of that feeling that David got when he tore off all his clothes and danced with all his might out in the street in God's presence...