It's A Boy

Randy, my son, celebrates a birthday this month. On the occasion of his birth, I wrote the following:

Saturday, Sept. 15, 1973
At 10:59 A.M. EDT, September 14, 1973, a joyous cry pierced the delivery room on the third floor of Sibley Memorial Hospital in the nation's Capital: "It's a boy!"
It was the last thing Cyndy remembered hearing for a while and it was a theme that repeated itself and is still echoing in my mind and on my lips -- it is indeed a boy. And he has a proud daddy. Hot dog, it's a BOY!
Someday, I'll understand what magic the arrival of a son holds for a father. Until then, I'll bask. As I write this, my son is in the hospital with his mother getting a grip on life and, I am told, sleeping a great deal. He was with the woman, my wife, who brought him into this world. She worked damn hard to do it. She did it well and is now feeling well -- and glad it is all over so she can now hold her son in her arms rather than her stomach. (I know it wasn't in her stomach, but this isn't a medical lecture).
Richard Randolph Rosso (Randy) is now in the world. He entered the world at 7 pounds, 9 1/2 ounces, 20 1/2 inches and redheaded. I have a feeling that he'll be 6-foot-something before I'm ready for him to tower above me.
Cyndy and I now start the process of training and educating Randy. But his best teacher will probably be his big sister. I hope, and feel confident that we have, given her the proper ideals to pass on. At this writing she is a bit confused, although well primed. She knows and appears to understand that Mommy is in the hospital with the doctors. She knows Mommy is bringing home the baby she has been watching and feeling the past few months. And she knows that "the baby's name is boy." (We're working on that). She knows Mommy will be home soon. There is much she does not know. There is much Cyndy and I don't know. There are now four of us working together to learn what needs to be known.
Join us in our joy: it is boundless.