ON SATURDAY, AUG UST 19, 2023, TWO weeks after I turn seventy-one, I become a new father, again.
I’m not expecting, nor is Lisa, who’s sixty-seven. And while I’m pleased to say that thirty years on we still savor each other head to toe and in several other positions, our reproductive job was over with when Judah was born in 1999, and we knew it. We had started late (I was married once before: ten years, no kids) and Lisa and I were past forty and craving it all—parenthood, love, redemption. Judah was our last shot.
Imagine that pressure—not on us, on him. Lisa and I were ready. I don’t know if any child is ready, but Judah caught on right away to the basics—cry, suckle, piss, shit—and took it…