Now that Willard has been welcomed into the world—alive, healthy and with all his fingers and toes—I’m even more afraid. And it goes far beyond rolling up windows and reading the Bible. Every little shiver he makes, I run for the thermostat thinking he’s freezing to death. Every time he coughs, I assume we need to go to the emergency room because he is obviously asphyxiating. Every night he sleeps, my wife and I are on guard duty to make sure he doesn’t roll over on his stomach and suffocate. Add to that my constant fear that somehow he’s going to end up with some horrible childhood disease—particularly the nasty brand of leukemia that I’ve been mud wrestling with for the last few months—and I’m like NORAD at DEFCON 1.

What’s so bad about being a worrywart father?

Well, for starters, I’m wrong—sort of. Yes, I need to be mindful and cautious around my son. He’s not yet nine months old, so he does need to have two eyes kept on him at all times. However, he is not a china doll, so fragile that the slightest touch will shatter his little bones. His mind is working very well at this point in his young life. He’s able to mimic some of our actions and sounds—not to the point of being able to conduct an orchestra or carry on a conversation, mind you, but he does show significant development for such a young age. He’s even able to say (in rudimentary fashion) “Mama” and “Dada.”
Children are fairly resilient little beings, but it’s our job as parents to worry about them and protect them. There are plenty of ways to look out for your child, but there are also plenty of things out of your control.

This is especially true with my biggest fear: childhood cancer. According to the American Cancer Society, the most common form happens to be leukemia, in particular the acute lymphocytic or myelogenous forms. In August of 2008, I was diagnosed with the more aggressive of the two—acute lymphocytic leukemia, or A.L.L. (I’m now in remission.) This generally occurs in children ages 5-8, and can reoccur (depending on the person) as the children become adults. It’s a terrifying prospect for the parents as well as the child: Enduring unending hours of chemotherapy, painful transfusions, endless needle pricks, test after test after test.

And I’m double-scared. What if, by some horrible nightmare of genetic malfunction, Willard ended up with whatever gene I had (to be specific, an abnormality in chromosomes 9 and 22) and has to go through what I’ve already gone through?

You can “what-if” yourself to death about leukemia. In some way it’s worse than actually having the disease. There is no guarantee your child is not going to end up with cancer. But to combat that fear, let’s look at the average survival rates for people with A.L.L. In adults (that would include me), the survival rate is around 50 – 65%. In children, that number rises to an incredible 85 – 90%. Neither of these figures includes new medicines (such as Gleevec, a pill introduced in 2001 as a chromosomal inhibitor and considered a wonder drug by the scientific and medical community) and new treatments that are sending those numbers skyward on a daily basis. Children who are born with strong immune systems stand a fantastic chance of surviving not only leukemia but the treatments as well.

There are several forms of cancer which commonly occur in children that also happen on a much larger scale in the elderly and those who are in poor health. If you are still terrified and nervous, do what I did: Ask an oncologist. My doctor described the chances of Willard getting leukemia the same as both of us getting struck by lightning twice. For me, it’s a simple, unexplainable genetic abnormality—not something that will be passed from me to my child.

I’m always talking to a friend of mine about being a father. He has a 2-year-old that is a genius and will be attending college and driving a car within a year, so I tend to listen to what he says as a dad. A few days ago, I told him that I was always terrified that something horrible was going to happen to Willard. I realized how unreasonable it was, and how unfounded, because he is always in good hands—never left alone, never going hungry, never having all those awful things you read about in newspapers happen to him. But it hasn’t stopped me from this constant fear that he will end up hurt or sick or kidnapped or sold on the black market by a drug addict or hit by a comet crashing into our apartment or suffer some other terrible fate that only happens in the worst of my dreams.

My friend said, “Get used to it.”

When you’re afraid of your child’s safety and health, think about your mother or father for a minute. The day I was diagnosed with leukemia, before I even knew what was going on (other than feeling sick and never being able to get over it), my 57-year-old mother (with 32 years of experience being a mom) was in her car traveling to get to me at the hospital. She was 45 minutes away when I called her to break the bad news. Even though her being there could do nothing to change my health, my mom arrived at the hospital 28 minutes later.

My friend was right.

And the gifts changed from being collectible items to something I could get real use out of. I received a sweater in 1995 that I am only recently realizing needs some good sewing work or a funeral. The collar is coming apart. The knitted comforts are beginning to stretch away from being something wearable. But I continue to wear it because it’s warm, and because it has some sort of meaning to me, probably coming from all the compliments of how comfortable it looks. Much to my wife’s chagrin (though, to her credit, she hasn’t said anything to me about it yet), I’m still holding on to this death bed’s sweater that looks like something Kurt Cobain would probably have said “Nah” to.

To me, that’s the meaning of a gift. And it isn’t to say there aren’t things I’d like to have. I’d love some new furniture, or a Nintendo Wii. I’d enjoy some new clothes. I could use some new socks and shoes. I could always appreciate a couple of DVDs and CDs I’ve had my eyes on for a while. But I don’t need them. As a new father, I’m of the opinion that I want things that will help my family and my son have a good holiday together, not just me and my desire for a Mario Kart video game. Which got me thinking…what do you get someone who really doesn’t need anything, but wants to make someone happy?

A jug of apple cider
Along the roads leading to the North Georgia mountains (and maybe your neck of the woods), you’ll find stand after stand of farmers selling their wares. “BOLD PEA-NUTZ” is a popular one, along with fresh tomatoes. With the weather turning colder, you’ll find vegetables a little harder to come by. But something that never goes away, even through the winter, are the folks out on the side of the road with jugs of fresh apple cider. You can get gallons of goodness, and nothing can top the taste of it once you get it home and heat it up with a little cinnamon and (maybe) some sugar. It’ll make the whole house smell like the holidays.

Cloth board games
Lots of garage sales are going on right now, as people are doing what they can to possibly make a little cash in the declining economy. Some fun items can be found among the musty clothes and china lamps. I’ve seen regular board games, but if you’re doing the right hunting, you can find rug-sized versions of classics like Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders, complete with the same accessories and fun stuff that comes in the box. The difference here is being able to lay out on the floor with the family and have a more “life-sized” version of the same game!

Records
Claire and I just dusted off our record player for the first time in a couple of years. We pulled out and combined our records and started playing them for Will. There wasn’t a single one he didn’t enjoy, from John Denver & The Muppets to some really hot Steve Winwood album. And we had a lot of fun playing them for each other. You can get records for very good values just about anywhere. The market for them is growing, unlike CDs, and there are plenty of things available only on records that you can’t find on the Internet (either for free or on the pay services). Pay a visit to your local record store and head for the clearance rack to see what you can find. If you know the person you’re buying for, chances are they’re going to love getting that solo album by the lead singer of Yes more than you think.

Baby clothes
Before Willard was born, we received bags and bags of baby clothes from some incredibly generous friends who had a child about a year prior to our son being born. And it was great. First, it’s a big money-saver. Second, there is nothing cuter in the world than baby clothes. We get to dress our son up in some great outfits. If you have a surplus of baby clothes, and you know someone who is in need, it’s a great thing to do for the new parents and a good way to make some room in your house.

Some of your time
As much as Claire and I love snoogling over our son and smiling at him and spending as much time as possible with him, sometimes we love to take time for ourselves that we just don’t have—one of us has to stay with Will, and the other is either at work or sometimes otherwise indisposed. I imagine it’s the same with any parent, even with different situations. Offer to watch your friend’s, sibling’s or child’s children for a little while so Mom and Dad (or, Husband and Wife) can go out on a date (or stay in for peace and quiet). It’ll make for happier parents and happier couples, and it’s one of the best gifts you can give someone.

Of course, not all of these items will work for everyone. What if you’re allergic to apples? (You could try peach or pear cider, probably from the same guy on the side of the road.) What if you can only find those cloth board games at a store? The point is, maybe try getting something that everyone can enjoy in a new family. Little babies are pretty easy to entertain, and when they’re entertained, mom and dad usually follow right along behind them.

After all, my son laughing and staring at a Steve Winwood record made my day.

I have a sincere belief that reading to a child at an early age, even starting before that child is born (yes, reading aloud at a pregnant woman’s stomach) can help with their mental development. Just ask my wife, Claire. I was parked outside her uterus, book in hand, day in and day out, during her pregnancy.

Research backs me up. According to the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development, reading aloud to children from birth helps their overall development. And the National Children’s Reading Foundation recommends reading to your child at least 20 minutes a day to build family bonds, language skills, and a solid reading foundation that will make school (and life) easier later.

If you’ve exhausted your board book supply (those small, square-shaped books with the thick pages), try taking some inspiration from this list of childhood favorites, for the very youngest reader to the older, somewhat more sophisticated tykes. If you ever have any concern about what your child is reading, read it yourself first.

For the youngest reader
Another of the gold standards for children’s reading material arguably has to be “Goodnight Moon,” by Margaret Wise Brown, published in 1947. I never enjoyed this book as a child, which is where the “arguably” comes in. “Great,” I thought, “Let’s say ‘goodnight’ to some more stuff. And then the book is done?” It does, however, leave an impression on Willard.

For the visual thinker
One of my favorite books to read to Willard is “The Wreck of The Zephyr,” a lesser-known title by Chris Van Allsburg. The narrator is a man with a curious limp, telling of flying sailboats and a magical town where all the boats take to the air. Van Allsburg, as he has done with all his titles (including “Jumanji,” “The Polar Express” and “The Garden of Abdul Gasazi”), illustrates the book with brilliantly colored and structured pictures of boats flying through the night sky, rivers and oceans that seem to ripple on the page, and breezy coastlines where you can easily imagine the sound of accompanying seagulls. I don’t want to give away the rest of the book, but as a child I would borrow the title from the library and stare at those pictures for days on end.

For the budding environmentalist
Something I plan on reading to Willard soon is the ecological disaster tale “The Lorax” by Theodor Seuss Geisel, better known to anyone who has ever heard of a library as Dr. Seuss. The Lorax made me sad, even as a child, with the somewhat negative tone throughout the book as a warning to not mess with the Earth. So, why not follow it up with another Seuss title, “Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are?” Take THAT, depressing-save-the-trees-story! Almost anything by Dr. Seuss is fantastic, as they are not only beautifully illustrated stories, but lyric pieces that bounce around the page like a well-written song.

For the young philosopher
Within the fantasy worlds and gigantic traveling food items of Roald Dahl’s “James And The Giant Peach” and “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” lies a very cynical look at some adults as bitter, angry people. Those who prevail in his works are those grown-ups and children who look for a simple happiness, a golden ticket to something better than being told what not to do or how not to act. This isn’t to say that Dahl promoted bad behavior in children; badly behaved kids meet their fates as fairly and squarely as adults. As a life lesson, it’s something I plan on teaching Willard when he is old enough to understand, whether I read Dahl to him or not.

For the mature fantasy fan
J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Hobbit” is one of the best-written stories in the history of stories—so good that it became one of the books I read to Claire’s stomach. But it brings up thoughts on age-appropriateness: how early should you read a story involving a murderous thieving monster like Gollum? And when do you transition your child to the thoroughness of  “The Lord of The Rings” series and the nearly Biblical “The Silmarillion”? It depends on the maturity of the child. When I was seven, I read “The Hobbit.” When I tried to read “Lord of the Rings” at the same age, I realized I was in over my head. Modern readers have the advantage of the Peter Jackson film series to fall back on. (Nerd alert: Make sure you explain to your child that they will need to read the books at SOME point to get the full grasp of Tolkien’s world.)

Reading a book is one of the best ways a father can bond with his child. When children are too young to understand, they will still be comforted by the sound of a father’s voice. I could read a Family Dollar sales flyer to my son and he would be as calm as a creek in the winter.

Instead, I’d rather read him a really great story, because maybe—and I can’t prove it—he DOES understand.

I have two of them.

My son, Willard, has let me know in no uncertain terms that he will have nothing to do with either of them. He may slam his face into my chest over and over again, searching fruitlessly for something that will calm him down, that will soothe his hunger…but there’s nothing there. He may, from time to time, latch on to my dry nipples through my shirt, thinking that the milk will start to flow into his waiting mouth.

It won’t, Willard. It won’t.

My wife, Claire, has breasts that are so very far from useless. Willard knows this. He’s taken to simply opening his mouth as wide as possible when he’s hungry and sees his mom. This is his statement: “I want THOSE.” And they respond! They respond all too well! I’m starting to believe my wife’s breasts have ears, because when Willard starts crying, or goo-goo-ing, or makes any noise at all, the milk starts coming. He doesn’t even have to BE there.

But it’s a beautiful thing. It makes both of them smile, and I get a certain joy out of watching the two of them bond together in a way that I can’t. Willard on his side on our little Boppy pillow, Claire watching as he suckles gently. He’s taken to playing a game with her: He will pull off her nipple with a “pop!”, nowhere near finished eating, and start smiling and laughing. He’ll do this several times. For him to have this seeming sense of humor at just over three months is amazing.

It’s funny to think back on my then-pregnant wife, worrying how I would react to breastfeeding. I was never worried about the act of breastfeeding, thinking of it as a pure, natural, and—honestly—affordable way to feed our upcoming son, but I had never experienced it either. I knew of the stigmas surrounding women who choose to feed their children in public. Working somewhat in a public setting, I had dealt with co-workers who were confused at the sight of a woman sitting in a chair, covering herself and her child in a corner.

“What do I do?” the co-worker had asked me.

“Why would you need to do anything? She’s feeding a baby,” I replied rather curtly. Thank the goodness of someone in our government to answer the question with the LAW. I’ve always thought it unfortunate that it sometimes takes acts of Congress to allow for human decency, particularly when it comes to something that is not only harmless but natural.

Breastfeeding as a bonding experience can be a bit deflating at times to a father’s ego. There have been a few moments in Willard’s life where nothing I do, no type of stimulation or comforting, works as well as breastfeeding. Having to wake my wife from a much-needed hour-long nap, just so she could feed my screaming and inconsolable son, was one of the more humiliating moments of my life. I tried everything I could think of. I rocked him. I showed him the pictures on the fridge that he seemed to be fascinated by. I took him outdoors and showed him the Magnolia tree in our front yard (OK, that was pretty boring as it had no leaves on it). He wasn’t having ANY of it. What would he have? Breasts.

As the opposite of a boost to my ego, it was a testament to the power of breastfeeding. It is more than nourishment and health. It is a bond that a mother and child share exclusively, one that can’t be matched by simple comforts. It is something I wish I could do, if only to be able to help out just a little more.

Sure, when he’s old enough to start running and jumping and doing all the little-boy things little boys end up doing, dear old Me will be his confidant, his go-to-guy (I hope). I’ll get that time with him, where all he wants to do is play with Daddy, or maybe just play with Daddy’s stuff, or just sit in Daddy’s lap. Those will be my salad days, the days I tell him about when I’m older and want to embarrass him in front of his friends.

Now, I get his smiles, I get his laughter, and though he is still so very young, I get his love as well. But he has his mother, and he has her breasts to feed him when he is hungry, to comfort him when he is sad, to put him to sleep when he is tired and restless. And as a dad, getting to watch that happen is…well, it’s awesome.