by Benjamin J. Kirby
Finnegan Fawkes Kirby, my son, was born yesterday, May 2nd, at about 6:15 pm. He weighed in at 9 pounds, 6 ounces, 22 inches long, happy, healthy, and -- dare I say it -- pretty good looking, like his sister.
It has everything to do with their mother, who, by the way, is a superstar and -- I don't say this lightly -- easily one of the most impressive people I've ever met in my life.
This is my introduction of Finnegan to the world, via this blog. It's a kind of open letter from me to him.
# # # #
Did I say that I need you?
Did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn't I'm a fool you see
No one knows this more than me
Welcome to the great, wide world, Finnegan. They say it's all in how you make your entrance, and if that's true, then buddy, you are well on your way to superstardom.
Of course, the credit of that entrance is not necessarily all yours for the taking, despite the fact that you were the focus of everyone's attention. Well. Mostly.
The story of your birth will end up the stuff of oft-repeated legend, so I won't embarrass you with it today.
The short version is, you are here, happy and healthy, and your mother is easily the toughest person we know. But witnessing your remarkable birth made me think of a couple of different phrases I've heard lately.
One is, "behind every good man is a good woman." I'd modify the phrasing, but generally speaking, in your case, that's true. More on your mom in a minute.
The other is, "self-made man." Someone referred to me as a self-made man the other day. I'm nearly 41 years old, Finn, and I don't think anyone has ever referred to me as a self-made man. I'm not even sure I knew what it meant.
I must've looked offended, because the person who said it quickly explained themselves. "Everything you've ever accomplished, and everything you are, you did yourself."
Well, that's just about the least true thing I've ever heard in my entire life, though to be fair, the person was trying to pay me a compliment. Except when accepting them for my children, I do a terrible job at taking a compliment. Still, this one just wasn't right.
I'm not a self-made anything. Sure, I had professional mentors, professors in college, good friends, all of whom took an interest in me and my professional development. And I owe them more than I could even begin to repay. To try would be to drain the ocean with an eye-dropper.
With no offense to those people -- more of them than I ever deserved -- the real people who built me are people you know. Or you will very soon. (You've only been around a day or so, I'll give you a break.)
Your Grandmommy instilled in me -- and your Uncle Adam and Aunt Susie -- a love of reading and learning no teacher in any school could ever replicate. I hope you love books and stories as much as I do. And if you do, I will have your Grandmommy to thank for passing along that love of the written word.
And speaking of your Uncle Adam, if you catch me trying to act on principle, it is not because I am the most principled, decent man you know. For a compass of honesty and integrity -- traits I do not inherently posses, but try to employ daily -- you'll need to talk to him.
Speaking of your Aunt Susie, if you want to acquaint yourself with dignity and grace -- also two traits I do not inherently posses -- then you'll need to talk to her. You should talk to her, anyway, because she embodies these things, and much more, with such humor and ease, you don't necessarily appreciate it as you always should.
I swore I wouldn't make this letter isn't about your sister -- she got her own -- but if you ever need an example of what it means to be a good kid, then I'll be all to happy to tell the story of when she first met you. She was not spoiled. She was not rotten. She was not impatient, or rude, or mean. She did not say any of the things awful kids say when first meeting their younger siblings ("put 'em in a corner!" -- inside family joke, there, I'll explain some time). She looked at you, asked to be picked up, patted you on the head as you lay in your bassinet, gave you a gentle kiss on the cheek, and said, "Hi, Baby Finn."
She also brought you a coveted balloon, and a stuffed toy bear.
And she did all of that after a day in a hospital waiting room.
The day she spent in that waiting room was really your day. You measured big, you were late. And just before you made your appearance, it was a little scary. Just for a minute.
You're the great star, but the hero of this story, if it wasn't obvious, is your mother. Of course she's your hero. But she's mine, too, if you didn't know that already. Because my hero -- and yours -- is a Mommy who walks the hospital halls through contractions. My hero -- and yours -- is a Mommy who makes the "transition" to full labor while her dopey husband is at dinner (don't worry; I showed up on time). My hero -- and yours -- is a Mommy who pushes at exactly the right time... and gives birth to an amazing baby boy. You.
Behind every good man is a good woman, indeed. And let me tell you something, son: if you forget the intent of that rule, if you treat a good woman standing by you with anything less that the respect, honor, and decency she deserves, then it's not me you'll have to answer to, friend.
It will be your Mommy.
And while you're pondering that ominous but vague warning, remember that she's the one who did all the pushing, and laboring, and delivering of all nine pounds and six ounces of you without a single drop of pain medication.
Finn, I know professional fighters with lower tolerance for pain (in a weird twist, this is actually true, and not a literary embellishment).
Too tough to be real? I say "behind every man is a good woman," may have a whiff of old-school sexism, but it at least offers directional hints. Disrespectful? I'd watch your back, young man.
Finn, I love you and I'm proud of you. You're a good baby, you'll be a good boy, and I know you'll grow up to be a good man.
Oh, and if you're ever wondering what it means to be a good man and a good father, don't ask me. Talk to your Granddaddy. I am proud you are my son, and I am proud to be his. Still, since I've never had the presence of mind or the courage to ask him those kinds of questions, I have already done you and your sister the disservice of feeling my way along, guessing as I go, really. But you can trust me on this one: he won't just have the answers. He'll be the example your looking for.
No one is self-made, Finn. It's why you have a family to begin with. And though we're still having the political debate about women and working and even the control they have over their bodies, I hope that you will always give the women who believe in you the kindness, love, and respect they deserve.
I kind of like including songs and videos at the end of posts, mostly because I do titles and endings very, very poorly.
This is actually a Pearl Jam song. Willie Nelson just covered it, but like most things Willie does, he did it better.
Actually, Willie does this one better, but he's not alone. It's a duet. With his son.
Your mother and I love you very much.
