I apologize in advance. A columnist is expected to offer an opinion, an idea, an analysis. Not private matters that probably aren't of interest to the reader.
But it's August, and you know that in the summer I always write about life's events. Besides, after so many years in this house, both the readers and the ARA editorial staff are, in a way, like family to me. And there are things that need to be shared with those you've grown so fond of.
I have been a father.
This week my fourth child was born. A late-blooming fatherhood. It came at 57. I confess I was a bit lazy about it. I saw children crying at the table outside a restaurant and thought, "Oh my God, what awaits me." Now that my children are grown, it's time to start all over again: sleepless nights, crying, bottles, exhaustion, pediatricians...
And yet, I'm on cloud nine. The happiness is immense. It's as if it were the first time. As if everything were starting over again with the same intensity as before, but with the awareness of now. I was saying left and right that I had set conditions on my obligations to this fatherhood. I bragged that I would sleep in another room because, at that age, if my sleep is interrupted, I never go back to sleep.
First night. I was alone in bed, and with my ears lowered, I asked my wife to come with the baby into the room. I missed them madly. Both of them. I'd rather not sleep surrounded by love than sleep in the solitude of selfishness.
I've remembered that love for a child is an impulse that transcends reason. It's protection, dedication, surrender. And none of these words carry weight. On the contrary. No laziness can resist the miracle of a baby. No selfishness can compete with a tiny hand holding your finger. A desired child is the extension of a couple's love.
This birth has made me think about what's essential. About what gives meaning. About those things that money can't buy: love, friendship, expressing myself through art, and having children.
The most beautiful things in life are free. The deepest, most authentic things cannot be bought. They cannot be manufactured. And children, with each birth, remind us of this. By their very existence, they return us to the essential, which, as I said The Little Prince, is invisible to the eyes.
I'm sorry if the topic seemed inappropriate, but I had a nice message to share. Thank you for always reading.
