David Spates "Therefore I Am" Published Dec. 24, 2002

Who wears a cap to bed?

Well, well, well. What shall I write about today? It's Christmas Eve. I suppose I could delve into some little, odd detail about Christmas, like the line, "And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap." Who wears a hat to bed, anyway? I realize this little ditty was written in the early 1800s, back in the day when folks probably routinely tore open shutters and threw up sashes, but were they really wearing caps to bed?

I saw almost all of the "Little House on the Prairie" episodes, and the only people with bedtime headgear were the females. I don't recall Pa with a cap.

Maybe the menfolk wore caps to bed in those days, but it seems like a terribly uncomfortable way to get some sack time.

Speaking of "'Twas The Night Before Christmas," it would seem that Santa has kicked the habit. I never see him smoking his pipe anymore. "The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath ..." In this day and age, I'm sure special-interest groups were pressuring him to not set a bad example for the youth of America. There are probably some legal concerns, too.

"Thanks for the toys, Santa, but could you douse your pipe before swooping down our chimney? I'd hate to have to file lawsuit over secondhand smoke. With a freshly picked California jury, I could cash in big time."

Yeah, I could write about Christmas.

It occurs to me, though, that something else is on the horizon. Could it be the meaningless college bowl games that, except for one, are nothing more than paydays for schools, TV networks and marketers? Well, sure, I suppose I could pump out a few paragraphs about that, but I feel as though I've beaten that horse already. College football has the best regular season in all of sports and the worst post-season in all of sports. What else need be said?

There's something else. Yes, there's something in the back of my mind that seems mildly important.

Wait, I know. My wife's about to give birth to our second child. That's it. I knew there was something. Details, details.

Yes, we're about to be parents twofold. Just when our first, Anna, is getting to the point where she doesn't require second-to-second observation, we're restarting the process from Square One. The next baby might come later today or it might come in two weeks. That's how babies are, you know. They do things when they want to do them, and they're not terribly concerned with the timetable you've laid out. Infants can't be reasoned with, bribed or even threatened with the removal of Elmo. They're going to do what they're going to do, and Mom and Dad had just better roll with the punches.

Once again we've kept the baby's sex a mystery. We like it that way. It's fun for us, plus it completely baffles most other people. They can't understand why we wouldn't want to know before the birth. All I can say is that we open our presents on Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve. There's something to be said for celebrating a holiday in your pajamas, and there's something to be said for finding out the baby's sex in the exuberance of the moment. Patience has its rewards.

Just as in the last few months before Anna's birth, we're getting innumerable words of wisdom from veteran parents in anticipation of Phillip's or Meredith's arrival. The funny thing is that often these little nuggets of insight totally contradict each other, despite the fact that they're coming from reliable sources.

Some parents say a second baby is a breeze compared to the first. You've been there, done that. You know the terrain. You know what's a crisis and what's not. No sweat.

On the other end of the spectrum are parents who say a second child is much, much, much more than just double the effort. They say if you thought the first one was tough, you ain't seen nothin' yet -- get ready for the toughest six months of your life. And after those six months, they warn, it gets even more difficult. Kids learn they have equal standing in the family, and a constant battle rages to establish even the slightest advantage. I'm reminded of what Bill Cosby used to say. He doesn't consider parents who have just one child as "having children." Parents who don't have to contend with the "stop touching me!" scenario just don't know what it's all about, Bill says.

I suspect that reality lies somewhere in the middle. There can be no all-encompassing statement that rightly defines every family, so I'm looking forward to filling in the blanks for ourselves.

To quote an ex-smoker, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

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David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@chartertn.net.