In what seemed like the three months in the two weeks leading up to the Super Bowl, we were inundated with stories about critical issues like the impact under-inflated footballs had on a 45-7 rear-end-kicking and what a very talented but enigmatic running back was going to say during his daily press conference (answers: none and nothing).
But there was a somewhat interesting story that ignited a debate (at least within my own head). Richard Sherman, the loquacious and talented cornerback for the Seattle Seahawks, is about to become a father. As in, about any minute now.
So, the question was, if Sherman's son decided to make his entrance on Sunday during or before the Super Bowl, which big event would one of the league's best defensive backs choose to attend?
Now, cards on the table here, I'm a Seahawks fan. Also, of the two aforementioned events, I've only been an active participant in one (OK, four, but you know what I mean). And decisions about just who needs to be at the birth of a child are best left for the folks involved (however, I will suggest that if you make the wrong call here, other people like lawyers and judges seem to, eventually, get brought into the mix. Just saying.).
But if my experience with the childbirth thing is indicative of the process as a whole (and I have a sneaking suspicion it is), while it may be a magical, beautiful thing of which to be a part, when it comes down to the nuts and bolts of what you bring to the table, Richard joins the rest of us fathers who had ... nothing.
Yep, fathers-to-be, for some strange reason, you are required to attend an activity during which you have about as much use as a house plant.
OK, I take that back. If the house plant in question is real and can generate oxygen, you are, in fact, the least useful thing there. If it's fake, well, you've got that going for you. Yea, you.
Sure, I know. That's not what they told you at childbirth class where you were encouraged to act as a "coach" during the process. In fact, that particular part may even have appealed to you. And then you thought back on all the coaches you've had during your career and realized virtually all of them had, at some point, actually done the thing they were coaching.
And, during the event itself, you may confirm something you've only suspected. That, at certain moments like, say, child birth, expectant mothers may not be coachable. In fact, they may aggressively encourage you not to coach them. Though there are, in fact, some interesting, fairly painful-sounding and probably physically impossible things they might suggest you could do, and some pretty unpleasant sounding places you can go to do them.
Very early on during the birth of my first child, I, in fact, tried to "coach" the Lovely Mrs. Smith. I determined, fairly quickly, that I was, as they say, not exactly meeting her at her point of need. Of course, she had determined that well before I did. And mentioned it.
Soon, we slid into a pattern that seemed to work for all of us during the duration of our child producing. She, with the help of some very qualified doctors and nurses, would get about the business of delivering four delightful, if somewhat occasionally maddening, children. I would stand by her side, feeding her ice chips and letting her break my fingers.
This, I'm assured, is progress over the day when fathers were excluded from the birthing process and had to remain in the waiting room, smoking cigars and watching whatever passed for ESPN in those days. These were men who missed the magic of birth, the exhilaration of welcoming their child into the world and beauty of their son's or daughter's first moment.
They also went well into their later years with fully functioning digits on their right hands. So, life is about trade-offs. And the fruits of "progress" may not be as obvious to everyone involved.
As it turned out, neither the mother of Sherman's child nor the Seahawks delivered Sunday night. I'm really only bitter about one of those things. And to Sherman I say, tough luck about the Super Bowl but you're about to have a role in a far more demanding and rewarding event. And, luckily, your baby's already acute sense of timing means you won't have to worry about being there at his birth.
Now you just get to worry about everything else, real or imagined, that might affect him or his mother. For the rest of your life.
Welcome to being a father. They're doing amazing things with finger splints these days.
Gary Smith is a recovering journalist living in Rogers.
Commentary on 02/06/2015