The Day a Father Was Born

I don't remember what I was thinking that April morning, one of the last of that month. I don't remember the weather, whether it was warm or cold, raining or sunny. Those details have faded from my memory. I only remember the frustration about what was to come, that I didn't feel prepared to face it, that I felt a great weight on my chest, like one of those great boulders that adorned the shores of my childhood in Puerto Rico. But I wasn't in Puerto Rico, but in Florida, the other Puerto Rican territory, which by that time already had many sons of the sea and the sun who had moved to its shores to live, to seek a better life.

In my case, military duty took me to those parts, and it was in the city of Jacksonville where I was stationed, when I was supposed to join the ranks of fatherhood for the first time. I don't know who was more afraid, my young wife or me; I think it was me. Nothing had prepared me for that mission, nothing.

The mission of bringing that child into the world had been planned by us, the young parents, as if it were a vacation: first this would happen, then that… and so on, everything was planned. The date predicted by the obstetric staff came and went, and the baby didn't want to be born, as if saying, “Who do you think you are? God?” The boy didn't want to arrive.

My military supervisor, who had already been a father three times and raised teenagers, foresaw all of this and had decided to send me to specialized training at a base in Florida, near my family's home, so I could be close to my new son and my wife for the five weeks the training would last. The catch was that I had to return to South Carolina to pick up my military orders for the training before reporting, and my wife was already on the maternity ward trying to give birth. I left her one night, around eleven o'clock, and headed to my military base, 197 miles away, to pick up those orders and return as soon as possible.

We Puerto Ricans say, "He was driving like a soul who has the devil," when someone is going really fast on the highway. Well, I think I wasn't driving like the devil, but rather there were several angels watching over me, because I arrived at the base, picked up the orders at the guardhouse by the main gate, and headed back immediately.

On the way back, I drove through a thunderstorm, and one of the lightning bolts struck my vehicle, without causing any damage. I kept driving at a crazy speed until I was near the military hospital where my son would be born. It was then that I was stopped by a state law enforcement officer, who ordered me out of the vehicle with my hands up. Pointing his service weapon at me, he was about to arrest me for speeding by more than 20 miles per hour (he clocked me at 130 miles per hour in a 55-mile-per-hour zone), which was an arrestable offense at that time.

Seeing me in uniform, he inquired about my speed, to which I replied truthfully: I was on my way to deliver my orders at a nearby base and then head to the military hospital to see my son being born. Apparently, he believed me, because he said, “Follow me.” He escorted me to the nearby military base, where I registered with my new orders and then went to the military hospital, which was on another nearby base, to see my son and my wife.

The officer escorted me to the hospital and followed me. We ran seven flights of stairs, since I didn't have the patience to wait for the elevator, and we arrived exhausted on the seventh floor, the maternity ward, where they recognized me, helped me into surgical scrubs, and took me to where my wife was just giving birth to my first child. I forgot everything. All I had in front of me was my wife and a new baby.

Seeing that new life, the weight lifted from my chest and settled on my shoulders. It was now my responsibility to provide for and care for that child. I didn't know exactly how to do it, but ideas came to me, and then the little one took my finger in his hand. That touch was like one imagines Adam feeling in Michelangelo's painting at the touch of God's finger. I'm not saying my child was a divine being, but the touch was God saying to me, "Here I entrust this child to you, my son. Take care of him." I smiled and accepted the responsibility.

About 45 minutes must have passed from the time I entered the delivery room until I left, carrying my son to the area where they placed the babies for monitoring. That's when I saw the police officer. Oh my God: the officer!

"Congratulations, Corporal! Come this way. Unfortunately, I have to issue you a citation." And I gladly accepted the $289 fine; it was all worth it.

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