The "Rocker"

As the result of what I am sure was just some youthful foreplay Elaine would announce in early 1969 that she was, for lack of a better term, pregnant. To say I was excited, happy, scared, convinced of my manhood, and on the way to becoming the father of a “son” would be a slight understatement. Did I mention scared. I would find out, as many a man before me and since, this would be nothing like being in combat, trying to cross a busy street, fighting off a bear, or facing down a pissed off cobra. No this would be much harder, more demanding, and the greatest responsibility that can be stowed upon the male species. Beyond the demands of being a good husband I can think of nothing more important than being a good father. Being a patriot, a good worker, honest, truthful, punctual, and all of those other things that define who we are is nothing in comparison. As it turned out being a Marine was easy. Being a father lasts a lifetime, a constant learning process, and comes with demands that can only be defined by a wife and mother. You see I didn’t know that you couldn’t give birth until you had a “rocker.” Even before the birth, of what could only be a “son,” the learning process of being a father had begun. I would also learn that there were certain voice inflections, facial expressions and body language positions that defined, beyond any doubt, that Elaine was serious. This has proven to be a valuable learning experience early on in our marriage. I learned very quickly when to just shut up.

So as we progressed through the trimesters, made the required doctor’s visits, and worked our way closer to the “due date” the search for just the right “rocker” would become a part of our weekly diversions. I honestly and truly cannot recall how many stores we visited, many I know, nor can I recall how many rocking chairs I sat in, not that it made any difference to me, but that too was an exasperating number. Somehow the “rocker” eluded us. “I am not having this baby until I have a “rocker.” “Yes dear.”

At the time would be parents didn’t have the opportunity of knowing the sex of the child. Not that it made any difference to me; it was a boy! But we did have a due date, or at least a due period, the middle of August. So on the last day of July when we walked into a little mom & pop furniture store on Atlantic Ave. not two blocks from Elaine’s childhood home I knew we still had plenty of time to find just the right “rocker.” What surprised me was that we found the right “rocker.” It fit, it was comfortable, it was affordable, and the most important aspect, it “rocked” and the search was over. You have no idea. We were informed that we should purchase some “Scotch Guard” and spray the chair to protect it from the inevitable “burp.” That was a polite way to say it. Scotch Guard was a new product at the time but it made sense to me so I bought two cans and with the “family rocker” we headed home. It didn’t take too long before the chair had a good coating of Scotch Guard applied and we waited the several hours for the dry cycle of the process.

It was around 10:45 in the PM when Elaine placed her pregnant loveliness in the now spill protected necessity of childbirth. After several minutes of peaceful, calm and delightful rocking she announced that she was ready. I can’t tell you how happy I was to hear that. The next several weeks would be blissful the search for the “rocker” was over.

“I guess you didn’t hear me. I said I am ready.”
“I heard you and I am really glad.”
“Okay, you heard me, you just didn’t understand. It’s time, take me to the hospital.”
Remember the lesson I mentioned earlier, inflection, expression and body language; it applied here.

Within minutes we were on our way to St Mary’s and I was in complete control. I parked the car outside of “Admitting” and went in to the lobby to the “Reception Area” to announce that my wife was in labor and was about to give birth of my “son.” The nurse informed me that it would be a good idea if I went back out to the car and brought her in. Everyone got a good laugh. I turned and found that apparently they had witnessed this behavior before. As I turned to retrieve my wife I saw that two very competent individuals that had witnessed the ineptness of expectant fathers before were wheeling in Elaine.

About a half hour after arrival I was led to the “labor room” for what turned out to be only several minutes before one of the very competent nurses would tell me in no uncertain terms that it was time for me to go to the “Father’s Waiting Room.” A father in the delivery room was still a decade away. Thank goodness. I was alone in the room that showed signs of wear and tear, pacing paths in the linoleum, worn chairs and a well-used TV. As I walked in “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre” was just starting. I wouldn’t get to see “The End” flash across the screen and from the time we left home to my return would only be four hours and forty-five minutes. I got home about a half hour after the nurse in delivery would announce over the speaker mounted over the door inside the Father’s Waiting Room.
“Mr. Page, listen to your wife.”
Elaine would respond, “It’s a boy.”
I knew that.

Before leaving I would get to meet my son as he was transferred from delivery to the nursery and wonder what happened to his forehead. I would also get to see Elaine as she was being wheeled from delivery to recovery. She would announce that she was ready to do it again. I wasn’t quite ready for that. As it turned out we only shared in this joy once, and it has been a lifelong joy. My regrets I think I have mentioned in another entry.