A Short Walk Home by David Cry Read Free Book Online Page A

baby.” My voice cracked a bit, but that’s forgivable. Tears of joy were already forming in the corner of my eyes.
    “I’m … what?” She was stunned.
    “A baby, baby. You’re pregnant.”
    I don’t think I’ve ever heard her so happy.
    Later that evening, after Jaymee got home, she and I decided it was a good idea to take a walk. It gave us an opportunity to be together, on our own, collecting our thoughts. This spur of the moment idea became a daily ritual for a number of months, until it became impractical for Jaymee. Nonetheless, Jaymee was determined that our son would be born healthy. She had already given up caffeine and sugar the day we started this whole process.
    As we walked, we began discussing names. David Jr. was out of the question; after all, Jaymee reasoned (without a hint of a smile, of course) that because I was someone perceived by many as important, naming my son after me might well place a burden on him. He might feel as though he were living in my shadow. She also pointed out that one David was enough.
    As we were walking, my cell phone rang. It was John Besh.
    “How is Jaymee?” Clearly, he had already heard the news, and was curious.
    “She’s fine,” I replied.
    “And how is Junior?” he asked, with a sort of contended amusement hovering behind his words.
    “His name is not Junior!”
    “If his name’s not David, then what exactly is it?” This was classic John; he wasn’t letting it alone until his curiosity was satisfied.
    I decided to have a little fun with him. “Well, we’ve decided to name him after the best restaurant in New Orleans,” I said casually.
    “Really? I’ll bite; what’s his name?” At the time, John had three restaurants to his name: August, Besh Steak, and Luke. So the options in his favor were a bit limited.
    I paused for effect, and then delivered my words in a complete deadpan: “Brennan.”
    I was silent. So was he. The Brennan family is something of a New Orleans institution. Their namesake restaurant is in the French Quarter, and is the place where Bananas Foster was created.
    John did not say a word. Instead, he hung up and refused to take my calls for three weeks. This was average in terms of our relationship. We had been doing our best to one-up each other since we were kids.
    If Jaymee was happy, I was ecstatic. I had never quite considered parenthood as being in my future, and it was already starting to change me. I found myself being far more introspective than before, more so than I could have ever imagined. An … 
extension
of us was alive and thriving, right there inside of Jaymee. And what’s more, it truly was a
miracle
. I’m almost hesitant to use that word; it seems to be one of the more overused words in our society, alongside clichés like “think outside the box.” But there is no word that fits so well.
    Because of the way that we chose to conceive our child, I had expected at least
some
criticism, or at least a diminished view from those outside my immediate circle. But in terms of my friends, I was honestly surprised.
    Living in the southern United States, where there are many people who consider themselves to be “pro-life,” teaches you to be careful about certain conversation topics. And to be honest, I was a pro-lifer, too; but when I said that, I meant that in the literalsense of the term. After all, I thought, who among the living
isn’t
pro-life? How many people do
you
know who are longing for death? I included all people, especially those affected by life threatening illness, in my “pro-life” view.
    I still believe that. But now, having lived as the father of a child fighting for his life, my view has been tempered by experience. All I ask is that you not judge me until you’ve heard my story, and walked in my shoes.
    But instead of criticism or condemnation, what I got was: “This is a miracle. That God has so blessed medical science that they can do this … I see it as nothing but a miracle.”