My Little Girl

“December 7, 1941, a day that will live in infamy.”  So said President Franklin Delano Roosevelt in response to the Japanese attack at Pearl Harbor that began the United States participation in World War II.  The American people will never forget that day.

However, thirty-four years later, December 7, 1975, is a day I will never forget.  It was the day my first child, my daughter, was born.

“My little girl, pink and white as peaches and cream, is she.”

She was born at exactly 12:30 AM that Sunday morning long ago at Long Island Jewish Hospital in New York City.  I remember because I was there when she was born and I looked up at the clock on the wall to check the time.  I basically wanted to know the date of her birth because I wasn’t quite sure if it was still Saturday, the 6th. 

Her mother, Bonita, and I arrived at the hospital ninety minutes earlier at 11:00 PM after waiting at home all day Saturday for her cervix to dilate sufficiently.  Initially, her mother was taken up to Maternity and I was left alone in the lobby to wait.  At that late hour, there was almost nobody else on the floor.  It was like a museum after hours.  Nobody!  I hate waiting.  The minutes dragged by.  I paced.  What was happening?  I wanted to know.  Finally, I was invited to come up to Maternity and join her mother. 

When I arrived, I was given special clothing to wear for the labor room.  I put it on.  Then, someone said, that because things were going so fast, I should instead put on different clothing suitable for the delivery room.  I went to see Bonita, who was alone in a labor room.  It was an understatement to say she was not doing well.  She was in terrible agony.  She said she thought she was going to die.  We had been through weeks of natural childbirth classes together where we learned breathing techniques to cope with the pain of childbirth.  Unfortunately, the techniques weren’t working.

After some minutes, Bonita was taken into the delivery room, a large bright room filled with a lot of people.  I went, too.  Her OB-GYN had just arrived.  Before then, we thought a hospital resident was going to deliver our baby.  Everybody seemed to have something important to do, except me.  I was like a spectator, nothing to do except watch.  And watch I did.  It didn’t take long.  Out came our baby, head first, with a kind of a wild-eyed expression on its face.  Welcome to the world.

I was about to find the answer to a question that had been nagging us for months, ever since we found out about the pregnancy.  What will we have, a boy or a girl?  I discovered during our natural childbirth classes that most of the first-time dads wanted sons.  I was the exception.  I wanted a daughter.  Why?  I grew up in a house devoid of girls.  I didn’t have a sister.  I was curious.  What would it be like to watch a little girl grow up before my eyes? 

Back in the delivery room, I leaned in closer to get a better view.  I guess I was in a rush to judgement.  I remember calling out, “It’s a boy.”  Luckily, I don’t think anybody heard me.  A few seconds later, somebody who knew what they were talking about announced that it was a baby girl.  I was very happy.

So, who was she?  Bonita and I had put a lot of thought into the choice of a name.  My first choice was Rachel.  Why?  I thought it the most beautiful name.  I remembered the Bible story of Rachel at the well and how she eventually married Jacob.  I also remembered a Joanne Woodward, Paul Newman movie collaboration called Rachel, Rachel.  Her mother preferred a different name.  So, we compromised.  Both of our second choices were Jessica.  So, if it was a girl, she was going to be Jessica.  However, with only weeks before the due date, her mother changed her mind.  She no longer liked Jessica and agreed with my first choice for a name.

Rachel was a mess.  When she first arrived, she was covered with blood and mucus, but no hair.  I didn’t mind at all.  She looked beautiful to me.  Then something happened that scared me.  A woman picked up my daughter, wrapped her in a blanket and carried her out of the delivery room.  Who was she and what was she doing with my daughter?  I followed her.  I did not want to let Rachel out of my sight.  I had heard stories of babies being switched or worse, kidnapped, in the hospital.  I was going to protect my defenseless daughter.  The woman walked down the hall and turned left.  Finally, she entered a room on the right, with me in hot pursuit.  She unwrapped Rachel and put her under an upside-down U-shaped faucet and cleaned off all of the blood and mucus.  Then she re-wrapped Rachel and brought her back to her mother, all cleaned up.

 After another hour, it was suggested I go home and rest.  Rachel and Bonita were both doing fine.  I first went to a payphone on the floor (no cell phones available) and emptied my pockets of all the loose change I had collected for this purpose.  I called my parents and some others to let them know about the latest addition to the family.  When I arrived home, our downstairs neighbors, Mike and Lucy Salem, were having a late night party and invited me in to celebrate the birth of our baby.

After the sun came up, I was back at the hospital to see my daughter again.  She hadn’t changed much in the few hours I had been away.  Then I drove back home to get something to eat.  I remember as I approached home, I was thinking about my daughter and not much else.  When I pulled into the driveway, I realized that I had just gone through a red light, a half a block away.  I was scared and extremely thankful that nothing bad had happened.  I promised myself that I must be much more careful in the future because I had something very important ahead of me.  I had to be a father to my daughter.   

I would like to thank Oscar Hammerstein II for the words below.  When I first saw the film version of Carousel as an eleven year-old, I started thinking of one day having my own little girl.            

 Wait a minute!
Could it be?
What the hell!
What if he is a girl?

What would I do with her?
What could I do for her?
A bum with no money!
You can have fun with a son
But you gotta be a father to a girl

She mightn't be so bad at that
A kid with ribbons in her hair!
A kind o' sweet and petite
Little tin-type of her mother!
What a pair!

My little girl
Pink and white
As peaches and cream is she
My little girl
Is half again as bright
As girls are meant to be!

Dozens of boys pursue her
Many a likely lad does what he can to woo her
From her faithful dad
She has a few
Pink and white young fellers of two or three
But my little girl
Gets hungry every night and she comes home to me!

I gotta get ready before she comes!
I gotta make certain that she
Won't be dragged up in slums
With a lot of bums like me
She's got to be sheltered
And fed and dressed
In the best that money can buy
I never knew how to get money,
But, I'll try, I'll try! I'll try!
I'll go out and make it or steal it
Or take it or die!