My father had many words to live by as I was growing up, but the one expression he was probably most famous* for was one he said every year to the kids at summer camp: "Don't waste a minute."
This was great advice, especially for kids trying to pack a year's worth of sexual experience into four short weeks at camp (not anyone I know, of course), and it has been words Hilary and I have tried to live by this summer as we head towards the birth of our first child.
* One of my favorite stories ever is the time I was at dinner in Philadelphia with my cousins Frank and Mary, their daughter Francie, and her college roommates. Frank asked two people at the table what it was like growing up with a famous father, looking at me and one of Francie's friends. I started blathering about whether or not my dad is actually famous (he's not), and who might consider him famous (a selection of Southern Jews and Delta employees), and the one time he was featured in the New York Times (it did have a front-page blurb, to be fair), yada yada yada. I must have talked for ten minutes, easy. Then I turned to her roommate to ask who her father was, to which she simply replied: "Dean Smith". Not much of a sports fan, my cousin.
The end of summer 2K11 coincides with the approximate date that Hilary can no longer travel long distances, so over the past month or so we have tried to take advantage as much as we could of our ability to travel free and unfettered.
Two weeks ago we went to Boston to visit my sister, who is due the day before Hilary, and her family. It was a lot of fun, and a glimpse into our relatively-near future as they have a two-and-a-half-year-old son who is a nonstop ball of energy from sunrise to sundown. I don't know how they keep up with him on a daily basis, but I guess I will
This past weekend we went to Austin (not to be confused with Boston), a city very near and dear to my heart but a place I really haven't gotten to spend quality time in with Hilary. We've been once together, but that was for a friend's wedding when most of our time was spoken for. Her other visit was to see her sister who lived there at the time, and they ate at Cheesecake Factory, and that's all you really need to know about it.
This was my chance to show her the Austin I knew, which is to say, OH MY GOD WE HAVE TO EAT AT LIKE FIFTEEN DIFFERENT PLACES IN 48 HOURS!
Fortunately with Hilary being very pregnant and it being a billion degrees outside (I'm only exaggerating slightly - it was 110 degrees on Saturday), eating was just about the only thing we could do. For those who know these sorts of things, we ate at El Arroyo, Kerbey Lane, Texadelphia, Guero's, South Congress Cafe, and last but not least, the Salt Lick. Kids, if you read this someday, daddy promises to take you to all of them.
Both trips were great, but the whole time I couldn't help but feel like a death row inmate eating his last meal. Is that a bit morbid? Let me put it more like this:
My last semester of college, I had the time of my life. At the same time I was completely aware that college was a special time I would miss greatly once it was over. Life wasn't going to end, it was just going to be different**. I feel much the same way now, and more and more so as our son's birth draws nearer. I am sure once we are on the other side of this thing I'll look back on this point of view and laugh, but for now it's still something I just cannot fathom. Responsibility. How can we be old enough to be ready to care for another life?
** Example - my first job in Boston it was raining one day, and I got soaked walking to work because I didn't own an umbrella. Someone asked me why I didn't have one, and I answered that when I was in college, if it rained, I just didn't go to class.
This coming weekend we are going to Jackson to celebrate my grandfather's 95th birthday, and once we come back from that we are done traveling until this baby is out.
The countdown is on, whether we are ready or not. We better make the last couple months count.
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