It never mattered to me when our children were born if they were male or female. It was pre-sonogram days and you never knew. I just wanted normal, healthy children. And God blessed us.
I'll admit after two boys, we began to wonder if we would have a girl. The doctor advised us that the baby probably was a boy.
I can remember waiting in the hall outside the delivery room, when baby number three was born. I heard the cries, and looking through the door, I could see we had a baby girl. "Third time's a charm," said her birth announcement. She still is. And four years later she had another brother.
Then came the grandchildren. I remember clearly ten years ago, the night my daughter called and said, "Congratulations granddad, you have a granddaughter!"
Since then, she and two of her brothers and their spouses have been blessed with six more children, all but one of them girls. My daughter's youngest is the lone grandson.
The gender has never mattered, and it doesn't to me. The children are healthy, smart and well cared for.
But it has occurred to me in the last year or so, that this branch of the Clark surname may become extinct. My only brother has three daughters and his grandchildren carry different surnames, as my granddaughters probably will sometime in the future and my grandson already does.
Then today, Derrick, my youngest son, father of youngest granddaughter Liberty Faye, calls out of the blue. His wife Naomi is expecting again with a person who will probably my last grandchild, due in July.
"Well Dad, the Clark name isn't going to become extinct."
"When dawn spreads its paintbrush on the plain, spilling purple... ," Songs of the Pioneers song from TV show "Wagon Train." Dawn on the mythic Santa Fe Trail, New Mexico, looking toward Raton from Cimarron. -- Clarkphoto. A curmudgeon's old-fashioned newspaper column, cross-breeding watercolor, metaphors and journalism, for readers in more than 150 countries.