Initiation Rites of Fatherhood

For most clued-in dads these days, fatherhood begins in the delivery room. You refill your baby mama’s water glass, tell her to picture herself in her happy place, and maybe remind her to order the epidural early. The event’s far more down-and-dirty than what the last couple generations of dads experienced (for many of them, it was a waiting room game). And in the end, you’re just inches away from the big reveal.

Despite being more involved than previous waves of American dads, though, your average pops today doesn’t have it very tough when compared to how fatherhood’s been kickstarted in some cultures. “In the Huichol tribe of Mexico, the presence of the baby’s father [during labour] may be required so that a string can be tied round his testicles on which the woman can pull as each contraction mounts to a peak of pain,” says Rediscovering Birth (the image is from Art of the Huichol Indians.)

When my kid was born, I was happy not to be a Huichol Indian. Because I’m averse to physical pain (especially of that sort), yes. But also because the events of the day already had me squirming pretty good. When asked if I wanted to cut the umbilical cord, I passed. (“OK. But it’s your fault if he has an outie,” my wife told me).

And while I tried hard to concentrate on drying the little guy off while he was on the warming cart, the midwife would have none of it. “Come on over and look at the placenta,” she directed me. I tried to beg off. “It’s really cool. Come. Look.” I looked.

The placenta, for those of you who do not ever want to have to look for yourselves, is wine-dark and gelatinous and surprisingly large, like an enormous helping of borscht. I watched the midwife plop it down on a metal tray. Not the most comfortable initiation into fatherhood, but a better alternative than being on the business end of a piece of string for 12 hours.