I'm Gonna Be a Grandfather!

Well, guess what? I'm going to be a grandfather!

Call me what you want - Gramps (not Grampy, please...that sounds like a stomach issue, as in, "too many tacos...my stomach is grampy"), Grandpa, Grampaw, the Meyer Patriarch, or even Pops - I'm going to have one of the greatest blessings God can give to a father: a grandchild. To say I'm excited is an understatement. My daughter had her first sonogram this morning. What can I say - the baby looks just like her mom did at that age. I'm managing to keep it to a low simmer, but I already want to buy a box of cigars and start practicing for the day I get the call this fall, "Well, Dad, you have a grandson/granddaughter named Sue." Hey - it worked for Johnny Cash. 

While the excitement continues to grow with a rising a crescendo of joy, I also have a niggling fear in the back of my mind. Fear may be too strong of a word. Concern, worry, angst, unease - those might be closer to what I feel. 

I was born in 1974. In 1974, especially in rural Iowa, sonograms were still fairly new to obstetrics. While my daughter and son-in-law will have the option, in a few months, not just for a 2-D sonogram, they will be able to see their unborn son or daughter in a three-dimensional screen, an incredibly accurate and precise image of what that child looks like, that wasn't available, even when our daughter was born 28 years ago. Fifty years ago, it was pure science fiction. 

So, when I was born, my parents had nothing to prepare them for the surprise: I was lacking toes on both feet and had a dwarfed right hand. I've often wondered about my parents' reaction to my deformities but, honestly, I've never asked them. It wasn't thalidomide. It wasn't a wrapped umbilical cord. There was some kind of genetic flaw that manifested itself that way. My Dad worked in a plant nursery as a young man. His brother, my uncle, always wondered if there was a connection between the chemicals Dad sprayed and what happened to me, that he absorbed them and it caused some kind of genetic mutation. He, himself, had a strange kind of liver cancer in his late 50s. If you look at 2nd generation agent orange birth defects (agent orange was a notorious defoliant used in the Vietnam war, a "military grade" version of what was sold commercially) there are similarities. Regardless, I have these issues and my sister, six years younger, has some physical issues as well. 

And, I have this niggling fear, worry, unease, unrest and angst, this worry, that my birth defects could be genetically passed via my daughter to her child, my grandchild. That worries me, that I could be the reason a child is born, having to face even more challenges than he or she will already have to face in his or her lifetime. 

She and her husband have already decided to skip genetic testing, saying and praying as Christians, "Thy will be done," when it comes to their child. Whether whole and complete, or with some kind of challenge or issue, they will raise their child to the best of their ability by God's grace and with His help. 

They have greater faith than me. 

I remember when all three of our children were born, I stared time at the sonogram, trying to count fingers and toes. The techs all said it looked good to them, an unspoken "But..." hanging in the air. Then, when it was time to meet the little ones live and in-person, each time I asked the doctor and nurses to check, double check and triple check: five times four for twenty little appendages. Three kids at twenty philanges has yielded sixty beautiful fingers and toes which I have counted again and again, sixty times twenty times three at least. 

I am pro-life, and I believe that children born with physical and mental challenges are still gifts of God to be treasured and loved, not discarded like refuse. I can say that with eyes-wide-open, because I know personally how those can be really hard challenges. Not every parent is equipped to handle it. Thank God, mine were, and they treated me just like any other kid.  But, I am on record saying that I would not change my feet and hand because they have been part of what made me, me. But I am also on record saying I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Between the stares of children and the double-takes of adults, and from the challenge of finding shoes to back and joint issues, there are things that make these real challenges. 

I am on record now saying that I pray that in 8 months, the doctors tell my daughter that their child has ten beautiful fingers and ten beautiful toes, two gorgeous eyes and two cute ears, and a button nose to match. I pray for a healthy pregnancy and such a routine, normal birth that the doctor could almost (almost!) sleep through the delivery. If the Lord allows there to be challenges, then I pray He gives them the strength and grace to meet them as they come. And, whatever happens, I will love that little kiddo all I can, right up until a diaper hits its max capacity and I pass him or her back to Momma. 

I guess I had better keep this to myself. After all, I don't need to add anything else to the concerns this first-time mother is experiencing. Besides - their kid could have some of my other issues, like incredible good looks, magnificent hair, and witty charm. 

Or worst of all, a grampy stomach.