The Call That Made Us Parents

In September 1977, at about three on a Friday afternoon, Church Social Services called my office. If Judy and I could be at headquarters by four-thirty, they said, we could have a beautiful little baby boy. We had ninety minutes to cross from hoping to becoming parents.^[1]

I called Judy, but coherent words were difficult. All I could do was giggle. On the way, she suggested the name Jeremy James. Jeremy honored my grandfather Jeremiah Hatch, and James carried her family name. We arrived to meet a five-pound baby whose tiny legs later became the strong legs of a champion swimmer.^[2]

I gave out candy instead of cigars. The gesture suited the joy of the day: uncomplicated, almost unbelievable happiness. A house changes when a baby enters it. Rooms that belonged to adults become part of a future organized around feeding, sleeping, worry, and wonder.^[3]

Two years later, Jody Lynn joined us, a beautiful redheaded baby. Parenthood reordered our priorities and reduced the travel I was willing to accept. Jeremy and Jody brought different gifts: swimming, violin, singing, writing, and distinct ways of meeting the world. They gave us what I came to regard as the fullest part of human experience: a family of our own.^[4]