NEW DAD

THE AUTHOR MADE A FEW BUCKS DONATING SPERM BACK IN THE DAY. THIRTY YEARS LATER, THERE WAS A PHONE CALL. THEN ANOTHER ONE. WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU SUDDENLY HAVE A NEW FAMILY AT SEVENTY-ONE?

- SCOTT RAAB

ON SATURDAY, AUGUST 19, 2023, TWO weeks after I turn seventy-one, I become a new father, again.

I'm not expecting, nor is Lisa, who's sixtyseven. And while I'm pleased to say that thirty years on we still savor each other head to toe and in several other positions, our reproductive job was over with when Judah was born in 1999, and we knew it. We had started late (I was married once before: ten years, no kids) and Lisa and I were past forty and craving it all-parenthood, love, redemption. Judah was our last shot.

Imagine that pressure-not on us, on him. Lisa and I were ready. I don't know if any child is ready, but Judah caught on right away to the basicscry, suckle, piss, shit-and took it from there. When I was the age he is now, in 1976, I was a geek in search of a carnival, drinking hard, writing poetry, welcoming my worst instincts every day. Judah's working on a Ph.D. in chemistry at UCLA.

We followed him out to Los Angeles instead of aging out alone in New Jersey because we love him and he loves us. He comes by every Saturday for lunch, usually with Greta, his girlfriend. He arrives alone today, which in itself signifies nothing much, but his smile's tight. There's a... vibe. A doting, aging father feels these things.

We kiss, we hug, we sit. Lisa's behind him, standing with her back to us, dishing red-lentil dal, grabbing spoons, asking how Greta's doing.

"So?" I say once Lisa's at the table.

"What?"

I see it in his eyes, steel blue, flecked with black.

He knows I see it. He favors the Brennans, Lisa's people: lean, long-muscled, free of my flat feet and back hair, and quiet-but in one room, we share one brain.

I raise my brows.

He lifts his.

Of course. Like Lisa, he wants me to ask. Information withheld is power. Bad news he'd have dumped by now.

"Bub," I say.

"Bub?" he says.