When Stephen was twenty-two, he was shot in the gut after a minor fender-bender. At the trauma center, just as the surgeon was about to operate, Stephen, groggy from anesthesia, shocked the staff by grabbing the surgeon by his scrubs, drawing the surgeon's nose to his, and saying in the clearest, loudest voice, "DO NOT LET ME DIE!" Then he fell back onto the table, unconscious. He lived, and he made a promise that he would never take life for granted again. Fast-forward eleven years. Upon finding out he was going to be a father, Stephen quit his job for a higher calling. He became a "domestic engineer."
When his wife went into labor four months early, the doctor informed them of dire consequences that could plague the baby. That is, if he graduated from the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, the "NICU." After ticking one disability off after another from a mental checklist, the doctor asked, "Do you wish for us to take extra measures to keep this baby alive?" Stephen didn't hesitate. "Hell, yes!" The contractions could not be stemmed, and so his first son was born, weighing one pound, six ounces. The emergency C-section made his wife self-conscious of the ugly vertical line of staples in her stomach. During her stay in the hospital, he found her crying in the shower. She couldn't bend over to pick up the washcloth. He stepped into the shower, washed her hair, and scrubbed her clean. "Look," he said, pointing at his own stomach. "Now we can compare war wounds!" During his son's stay in the NICU, a nurse approached the couple and stated that as part of her Master's thesis, she asked them to participate in her "kangarooing" study. After reading up on this unique method of bonding with preemies, Stephen and his wife signed up. There were fathers uncomfortable with this skin-to-skin therapy. Not Stephen. He removed his shirt, exposing thick scars to raised eyebrows, and placed his shirtless son tenderly on his chest, holding the oxygen to his nose. His son visibly relaxed and slept without interruption for the first time in weeks. The mother nervously eyed the monitor, watching her son's blood pressure drop to a safer level. The couple kangarooed their son for the duration of his stay in the NICU, feeling like pioneers in the healing process. There is one photograph that best depicts this father/son quality time: Stephen smiling tiredly and leaning back in the rocking chair with the baby's cheek pressed against his heart, tiny fingers gripping his father's thumb. Ten months later another son was born a month early. For ten days, the couple kangarooed him. Three years later, they did the same for another son born a month early, a resident of the NICU for 17 days. No doubt with the expected early arrival of his fourth blessing, a girl this time, Stephen will remove his shirt again and do what he does best. Heal his babies. And compare war wounds with his wife. From the beginning, Stephen embraced his thankless role as house hubby, enrolled in the art of midnight feedings, diaper changes, potty-training, and time-outs. Trimming hair and nails. Reading bedtime stories. Teaching prayers and songs. Kissing tears and "ow-ies." Celebrating life through flying kites, antique-ing, picking flowers, the miracles of spider webs and sunsets and splashing in hidden streams.
You may have seen him. You are the priest whose hand shook when
you baptized their first son four days after he was born. You are the grandmother who sat across from him in the doctor's waiting room, a lone father with three boys and a girl, and you gave him the thumbs-up signal to show your appreciation for how well they behaved. You are the antique dealer, staring in disbelief as Stephen strode into your store with a baby in a back pack and three boys who were only allowed to look but not touch. "Guess what!" Stephen would shout to the boys. In anticipation of his answer, they would respond in unison, "I LOVE YOU!" Nobel prizes are granted to men and women of great minds who contribute to humanity. There should also be a prize for ordinary folks contributing to the future of humanity--just because it's the right thing to do. Call it the "Noble Prize."
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