Article 2: My Most Memorable Day
By Peter Harris
To decide on the most memorable day in a person’s life is no easy task. The moments that define who we are resonate through our memories. Some memories are good: like finding true love or possibly achieving long sought after goals, while other memories can be far less pleasant: the death of a loved one perhaps, or a serious struggle with illness. Memories fade with time. Often, their meaning, to us, and their influence alter as we grow in this life. Regardless, the most memorable day of my life which I have registered in the annals of time occurred during the bitterly cold month of January, 1999. It was a day when my life and my perception of the world changed forever. I was forced to become a man, and to assume the responsibilities that go with the title. It was the day that my first child was born into this world, and it was an occasion of strong emotion, realization, and the sudden discovery of an overwhelming love for someone other than myself.
I sat alone in the library at my high school, nestled like a raven amongst the long, boring shelves of books. I sat with the greats like Hemmingway and Vern, their testament to this world forever etched in the works of literature surrounding me. It was exam week, and I prepared for my grade twelve final in Human Anatomy. I was to write the exam on the following morning. Students only needed to be at the school for their exam times. Most of the students chose to take advantage of the short days of school by being anywhere but within the confines of this building that housed our education. The library was almost as empty as to me the effort I made at studying, because I could barely focus on the open text in front of me. I thumbed the pages without much care of the information contained within. My thoughts were possessed by the conjured image of the growing belly in which resided my unborn child. My feelings on the matter were a whole jumble of confusion, fear, and maybe something else.
I was not ready to be a father. I was in no position to take care of myself let alone a tiny, helpless baby. Initially, my parents expressed their disappointment in me for my unguarded sexual escapade, but they soon warmed up to the prospect of being young grandparents. Notwithstanding, they still made it clear to me that they were in no position to cater for a baby. The mother carrying my offspring didn’t care much for me either. We were practically strangers. She was no less filled with confusion, and quite possibly more fear than even I felt. What a damn fool I was! Just another statistic among all the other teen pregnancies. Just another damn fool that fell to temptation! In one passionate moment, I altered my life’s fate.
In the quiet of the school building, the crackled voice of the secretary, Mrs. Johnson, came over the intercom, “Peter Harris, if you are in the school could you please report to the office?” What could she want? I thought, as I packed up my books, and then made my way to my disorganized locker to place them into. I then headed to the office. Once there, the secretary handed me a note. It was from the mother of my unborn baby. It read: “Call me immediately!” From the office phone I did as instructed only to find out that her water had broken. If I was going to be there for this so called miracle of life I had to meet her at the hospital right away. My heart raced as I fought off the growing panic that ransacked my stomach and heart. It was time!
I bolted from the school, charging through the cold and the snow, running frantically like prey fleeing the chase of pack wolves’ intent on feeding. I had no car so I ran in the direction of the hospital; the cool air burned my lungs. I did not stop once though, not until I crashed through the doors of the emergency room. I must have looked a mess as I panted from the exertion of my effort coupled with anxiety brought on by the growing realization that I was about to be a father. There was no turning back and no escaping the dreadful fate of parenthood that I had carelessly thrust upon myself.
I was escorted to a room where I could hear groans of pain and screams of agony coming from my baby’s mother. She was having one hell of a time. Now, I will admit that the following hours, which we spent struggling to bring forth a new life into this world, were a distorted and unreliable memory to me. We did what we had to, but the first cry from Rylan’s little lips, to this day, still rings as clear in my mind as the ringing sound of a vibrant silver bell. All of my worries and fears washed away from me at that moment. Life was going to be tough, but I knew him and I could make it through. As I held him, I cried. I even cried harder than he did. He was snuggled safely in my trembling arms. I uttered a promise to my son through hushed lips that I would always be there for him. Even now, 18 years later, I have kept my promise and will continue to always do so. He has been my rock. He has grown into a quality man that has also kept me sound along our shared life’s journey. The day I became a man, the day Rylan was born is my most memorable day.
About the author: Peter Harris is in his final year of the Bachelor of Education program at UCN. He plans to teach at junior high level in Thompson after graduation. He is a father of four and devotes his time to raising his children. He loves reading fantasy novels, and he enjoys writing.
Instructor’s remark: Peter Harris was one of my students in the Academic Research and Writing Course (IDS.1003). I find this reflective essay truly engaging as the author tries to reflect upon his passage into fatherhood with all the pain.
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