We tried and tried to no avail.  Even with help from a doctor.  We would go to his office and offer some semen and he would do whatever he did.  Your mom was trying.  We finally decided to adopt. A week or so afterward we were up in Crestline at the Ingold’s summer house-a large house for a large family.  We went water skiing and relaxed-it was the Fourth of July weekend with fireworks over the lake.  I had long conversations with Mr. Ingold—I think he liked me.  Soon after she was pregnant.  We canceled the adoption process.  We were ecstatic and hopeful.  After all she had a miscarriage only a few years before. 

So many memories intervening until she began having contractions.

You just didn’t want to enter this world. It was a struggle for your mom. A long day from about 7 in the morning. I was there much of the time and when Pop and Margret came we went up Santa Monica Boulevard to a restaurant for lunch (your mom was, of course, left behind at the hospital).  We returned and no progress. It was painful and I was a bit overwhelmed because there was nothing I could do.  I think I sweated and she—well let’s just say it was painful in bursts and never calm. 

At some point, they gave her a boost to get you moving but to no avail.  Pop took me out for a walk around the block, it was dark, I don’t remember what we talked about or how long it was.  Then they decided to do a cesarean section procedure and soon you appeared.

The nurse came out—“it’s a boy” she said and demonstrated the fact by lifting the blanket and showing off your accoutrement. You were, if I remember, a bit tired and red. It was an ordeal after all.  

Finally, we got to go in and see your mom. I loved her so and so love her ever so much now.

And that is the story of a day in December so many years ago.

Happy Birthday son.

Love, Dad