My youngest was born when I was forty-eight. I tell people having a child at this age just makes the time crawl by.

UNCLE BUCKER’S BABY

I saw Uncle Bucker the other day. He’s not really my uncle; that’s just what everybody calls him.

“So,” I said, “Uncle Bucker, I heard the news. Congratulations! A boy, huh!”

“Yes,” he said, “and at my advanced age, you can be assured that it wasn’t planned!”

“Bucker,” says I, “yer not much over fifty, are ya?”

“Naw, but it was sure a surprise. Miss Mattie suspected something, I guess. She went to the doctor, completely unbeknownst to me. When she came back, I was standin’ there in the livin’ room, mindin’ my own business.

“She marched in from the garage and stopped on the edge of the carpet. Close enough that I could see that look. You know the one. It’s the same one she uses on the dog when he messes on the carpet. She quickly explained that the rabbit had died. And I didn’t even know he was suffering!

“It was such a shock that I lapsed back into my ol’ livestock training and began to babble, ‘Well, yer, uh, bred . . . uh, you’ll begin to notice some changes in your body as the gestation progresses; your skin will get smoother and you might . . . bag up a little.’ ‘Wait,’ she says, ‘Doctor Hamstra told me that no matter what you say, it’s not like a cow!’

“So they shamed me into the breathing lessons. Let me tell you, son, you young pups may not realize it, but there was a time when expectant fathers engendered respect. There was a special room on the delivery floor for expectant fathers. It had Barcaloungers, ESPN, and a wet bar. When the nurse burst in with the good news, you’d stand up and pass out cigars to all your fellow new fathers. You can’t even light a cigar in the parking lot at the hospital today!

“Then you’d rush down the hall, duck in, and kiss the new mother and kiss the new baby and go directly . . . to the bar . . . where you could be with people who could appreciate your contribution. You weren’t just another face in the delivery room on the second row, trying to shoot the video over the crowd.

“So, like I said, they shamed me into the breathing lessons. I think they helped a little. My only real memory of the delivery room was the doctor looking up from the barrel of the cannon, so to speak, and asking, ‘Would you like to cut the cord?’

“I was doubled over a folding chair in the corner, practicing my breathing, when Miss Mattie, who had other things on her mind, said, ‘No he doesn’t!’

“But I’m doin’ better now that he’s a little older. I was worried for a while. Looked like he was gonna be a farmer.”

“Really?” I said.

“Yep. Till he was six months old, all he did was milk and scatter manure!”