Him is on the Way

I wasn’t going to write about this part of my life, but maybe I should. Today we got some test results back, and we are going to have a boy. Also, so far, all the genetic tests look fine.

Talk about relieved.

These days, when you’re expecting, they scare you to death. My wife is a young woman, but they told her she had a “geriatric” pregnancy. They were not referring to me. If you’re a feminist, and you’re convinced you’re supposed to be building a killer career instead of reproducing, and you think you have lots of time, here is bad news: you don’t. Get yourself a husband and become a traditional wife.

You think Kim Kardashian is great because she got rich and then had kids? Guess again. She’s only 43, and three of her kids are products of geriatric pregnancies. “High-risk,” they call it. She could have gotten started sooner, but her porn-heavy career as a professional slut delayed things.

My wife and I were under different constraints. I could not accept the possibility of my wife giving birth in Africa, so we had to wait until she got her green card. I did not want to see my child take his or her first steps on a video chat, and I wanted to be present in case I was needed. I definitely didn’t want to find out that my sick child was in a Zambian hospital.

It felt wonderful getting negative test results after all the hype about potential problems. God protected our child from the consequences of our sins. He took them on himself.

Today we had to take a long drive to retrieve Marvin from a bird boarding place, and on the way back, the test results came through on my wife’s phone. The website asked if we wanted to know the baby’s sex, and we agreed. That’s when we got the news. I had to hear it while I was stuck in traffic in Orlando with a parrot trying to chew its way out of a box.

I miss the days when people found out what they were having on the day of delivery. We are overloaded with unneeded information now. My wife wants to start shopping, however, and you can’t buy all that many things for a baby of unknown gender. Also, we pray for our son a lot, and I bless him and my wife. We are both really tired of referring to him as “my child” and “he or she.” Finally, we have pronouns. Correct ones, not nonsense words or inappropriate pronouns like the ones we see applied by people controlled by demons.

We also have a name. We are naming the boy after my mother’s dad. My wife wants to put a II at the end of his name. I can’t name him after my father, because even though God changed him late in life, I still have memories of my mother using his name as an insult. When my sister or I behaved badly, she would call us by his name. Also, when I was a kid, hearing his name put a knot in my stomach. I can’t go through that for the rest of my life.

I love my dad, and we reconciled completely, but there are still consequences for his behavior earlier in life.

My grandfather was more of a father figure to me than my dad was. My mom was his favorite child by a mile, and I was his favorite grandchild. I was the closest thing he had to a son, and I am still grateful for all he did for us. I can’t think of a better person to honor in this matter. He had no boys, and his other male grandchildren either have serious issues or identified with a paternal line.

I’m the one he used to take shooting and hunting. He said I was the reason he bought two ponies. I’m the one he used to put in the truck and take to his farms and on visits to friends, over and over.

He also did a lot for my sister, but he couldn’t stand her. He threw her out of his house because of the way she treated him.

I imagine seeing his name attached to a child of mixed race will gall one or two of my relatives. If so, that will be their problem, not mine, and maybe it will be a chastisement from God. A reminder that trying to put someone else in my favored position didn’t work.

Based on what I know about my cousins, it looks like I am the male descendant who got my grandfather’s patriarch mantle, albeit unexpectedly and without asking for it or knowing such a thing existed. I am the eldest son of the eldest daughter. I embrace it and try to do well, invoking God’s help every day. It’s very intimidating. I know my faults.

Merely producing children does not make you a patriarch. You have to have a sense of duty. You have to want to raise kids with ethics and introduce them to the Holy Spirit. You have to be a man who admits his immaturity and his faults and works to get God to cleanse him so the next generation will be improved. You also have to have a lot of wisdom, given to you by God, directly, you can pass on to your kids. You have to be able to accept and transmit a supernatural inheritance. A patriarch raises mature, decent children who don’t go to hell. Anyone else is just spilling seed on the ground.

Doesn’t matter if your kids are smart, successful, handsome, talented, famous, or impressive in any other unimportant and fleeting way. If they don’t know God, they are failed launches who will not succeed at producing nations. They and their seed will disappear.

You can’t be pretty much the same guy at 40 that you were at 15. You can’t live life with a 12-pack of Bud Light under your arm. You can’t have given up your family. You can’t be filled with victimhood fantasies or think every bad thing you do to other people is fine because you imagine you were cheated. You can’t be a crook who never thinks of anyone else. If your whole life is things like beer, adultery, blood sports, corruption, and money, you’re not a patriarch.

Did I want a boy? Seems like every man wants a boy. I was ambivalent at first. I thought girls would be less challenging to raise. Being a man is harder than being a woman. Given my age, I thought raising a boy might be more trouble than I wanted. Then I thought about patriarchy and the significance of male heirs to one’s legacy. I also thought about my family, which has been cursed with psychopathic female eldest children who abused and dominated males. I didn’t want that curse to continue. And I thought having a male eldest child would be good for whoever came later. He could do more for them. In the end, I felt a male child would be more of a blessing.

I delayed the beginning of my family. That’s why it took so long to happen. I was stupid and immature. I conformed to unprofitable hillbilly culture; sorry for using a slur. I also made disgraceful, damned morons my fathers. People like Hunter Thompson and the staff of The National Lampoon. Henry Miller. Fritz Perls. Others I could name. God reached out to me in spite of my punk attitudes, and it took me about 17 years to understand and apply his guidance. I did turn the corner, though. I can say that much for myself. I know people who will never turn.

Now you know the news. I hope I can control myself and avoid putting too much family content on the web. The world doesn’t have to know everything.