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David Spates I'm rockin' to a different tune now I felt as though I were in the middle of poorly
written sitcom. Although I was alone in the car, I could almost
see a studio audience being prompted to giggle by the Pavlovian
"laugh" sign blinking above their heads. If it had
been a scene from "Who's The Boss?" or "Full House"
or any of the long list of dopey TV sitcoms through the years,
it would have been a bad joke. This, however, was real life. And I chuckled
-- without an illuminated reminder. On Thursday my Chronicle co-workers presented
me with fantastic baby-oriented gift. It's one of those gliding
rockers often used by new parents to feed and comfort their even
newer baby. It is much too generous a gift, but I learned years
ago that when people, particularly Chronicle people, get together
with kindness on their minds, it's best to just get out of the
way and appreciate the heartfelt gesture. So it was with the
new rocker. As I was driving home with the rocker nestled
in my backseat, I was listening to Neil Young's "Freedom."
It was then that the network television hack writers invaded
by journey. "Rockin' In The Free World" was the song
being played, and I had a rocker in my backseat. Hardy, har, har. If I had a certain Atlanta Braves relief pitcher
in the passenger seat, I could have sold the entire concept to
the WB Network -- those people put anything on TV. But as I said, was alone. Thankfully. Yes, indeed. "Rockin' In The Free World."
No setup. It was just one of those spontaneous moments that is
not nearly as funny when you try to explain it someone who wasn't
there. There are some things that are only funny when they happen. So why do I bother trying to explain it to
you? Because in about 24 hours or so, I'm going to be someone's
dad, and writing a snazzy column about sledding helmets, tax
reform or slimeball presidential antics just isn't possible when
you're less than a day away from being a new parent. As I stare down the gun barrel of parenthood,
I thought about not even attempting a new column. I could just
turn in a rerun with a explanatory introductory paragraph and
be done with it, but that felt like cheating, and what kind of
an example would that be for my new son or daughter during his
or her first days? When I say I'm staring down the gun barrel
of parenthood, I'm not fooling around. I'm writing this on a
Sunday afternoon, and you're reading this on a Monday evening
or Tuesday morning. The truth is that by the time you conclude
this column (if you get that far), the birth may have already
happened, and all the worry and speculation may have given way
to wonderful reality. Unless something begins Sunday, we report
to the hospital bright and early Monday morning so the doc can
induce labor. That in itself is rather surreal. A birthing appointment?
I know it's very common, but it still has a funny feel to it.
We walk in a couple, and walk out a trio. That's a 50 percent increase in population,
just in case you were keeping score at home. We've given our new rocker a few test drives
over the weekend, but the real action starts Tuesday or so when
we come home. We'll be rockin', all right, but I suspect the
"free world" will be limited somewhat. She's right, of course, and that's why I have
been consciously avoiding baby reflections except on a limited
basis. No one wants to read baby column after baby column after
baby column. While it's a big deal in my mind, I realize that
the rest of the world continues to chug right along. That's why
I've restrained myself in terms of baby contemplations. And in case you were wondering, I won't be writing baby column after baby column after baby column for months to come. No one wants to read stories about diapers, umbilical cords and burp cloths week after week. The world is far too interesting to restrict my view to the nursery. But for now, for me, it doesn't get any more interesting than this. Neil Young and I will see you on the other side. |