The meek will inherit the Earth.

A year has taught me the meaning of the higher road, and though this lesson is that of maturity and growth, such comes at a price. Most tend to assure that as life passes and children grow, they learn and evolve until, ultimately, they become a flexible, worldly adult. On television or in literature this growth is usually shown as traumatizing or heart-wrenching experiences slowly stacking up to produce a jaded, weathered hero. In reality, though this may happen, things are in no way so narrow, for unlike in fiction, the very sky and wind may turn a darkened ghoul into a more personable spirit. Lastly, in fiction, the hero always seems to have some control over the given situation, no matter how chaotic or haphazard, they either obsess or irritate the root.

Fourteen months ago I was very much a normal boy. My mind fixated on vices, those deadly sins to which the Bible gave heed, and upon realizing this, I quickly acted to deter my human nature. Attempts were made to humble pride, relax wrath, regulate gluttony, energize sloth, and, the easiest for me, empathize greed. Although I may have found success in School, the Arts, Literature, and Community, my youthful procrastination brought on hefty repercussions. Rather than giving aim toward becoming a greater being, one less corrupted by human nature than most, I stumbled. Emotionally shattered and mentally clouded, my actions came from primal instinct rather than thought or foresight. The filling of this animalistic craving seemed far deeper than simple lust, but as if an attempt to compensate for all those moments of rejection or unexpected pain through loss. An action which has existed longer than that of man took a misshapen and mangled form, it was placed to satisfy rather than mark a deeply felt Love or even a distant affection. Maybe a faulty image of companionship, of something partly meaningful, but truly, deeply, should I have looked and taken a step back the realization of my situation would have clearly exclaimed 'This is not the way!' Alas, my more primal nature took a hold with an unyielding grip, and in this beastly state of being came a fall.

It was in the coming two months that I received word of pregnancy. The very idea was not shocking nor that which may freeze a man, but instead, it was a spark. At that moment, the Self which I before prayed to have surfaced, did, and with this more thoughtful Self in charge, my thoughts too changed. Instead of seeking evasion of responsibility, I imagined the possibilities of what may come to pass. This world is so cold and grim and in so many ways unfortunate, I thought it not the best intention to bring a child into something as dire as this corrupted earth. Call me cold-hearted or a monster, but it was in this mind that I gave suggestion the soon-to-be child be given a home more able and more readied to raise it in a manner fitting a blessing, rather than being born into a life of struggle and tension. My opinions were thrown out, the mother told me quite blatantly, the child would give her a reason to live.

It was these words which shook my very core, it was the fact that, no matter my belief in how the future of my child should be, the ultimate decision lie not in my hands - but Miriah's. This became ever more apparent with time. Initially, it seemed more than offered that I may yield Fatherhood and instead step into the shadows of new life. Though this offer appeared gracious and a tad enticing, so too did the Lucifer tempt the Christ with easier passages. Nay, rather than cast down my standing I instead chose to remain as the would-be Father, a full-time Student, and also the one still offering alternate futures. To these ideas and possibilities, I was ignored.

At the time of the Baby Shower our families had begun to finally mesh. The basic quirky nature of the Manuel's were forming to the oddities of the Harris's and, naturally, friendships were slowly coming to be. Although the love of the Art seemed a grand common ground, other personal positions seemed to be overlooked. The shower itself was filled with family and friends, largely from that of the Mother's Side. On mine, the Father's, our numbers seemed far more scarce, not from lack kin, but from the seemingly off intention. But when things become suspect and intentions are questioned, somehow, they are instead cured, because in no way do I think the Manuel-clan to bare ill intention, actually, I think quite the opposite. Regardless though there seemed a feeling of miss communication, possibly a mistake which appeared almost an insult against Me and my Kin. And yet, when all things seemed tense and I stood about dozens of gifts meant for Miriah, solely, the teachings of my Father and Step-Mother came into play. When I, as father, could have spoken up to this situation and to being overlooked as Father by so many, this option appeared childish to me. A younger self, a less awake Self, would have acted more beastly, and proudly I must say, I did not.

On May 18th we witnessed another irregularity. There was a threat lain at my feet by mouth of the Mother, I may not be allowed in the Birthing Room. Heart-wrenching, to say the least, the moment again reminded me of just who was in control. Rebellion fostered and begin to rise, my tongue shook and fists clenched, I could not stand the idea of being rejected the very right of seeing the birth of my child, someone who I would raise not by my choice, but due solely to another's, and yet, still stood unshaken and ready and prepared for Fatherhood. And yet, though I stood ready to burst with all the anguish and hate which the seven months had stored, yet again, past teachings soothed my tongue. Instead of spitting fire, I chose a more quiet and respectful approach, which ultimately, would gain me access to the birth. This success was bittersweet, something to which I've grown accustom, for as the night drew long and the day became the 19th, the numbers within the room seemed to grow. While I sat alongside my Father and Step-Mother, additional family members of the Mother's Side seemed to gather and awe. These people, blessed be their wish to witness such a precious time, surrounded the bed and not only ignored me and my family, but at the time of the birth, effectively blocked most sight of the precious happening. There was of course an exception, kindly and fatherly Dave did step aside so that I may see, but only after I tried my approach from all sides only to be blocked out. It was a struggle, in fact, to even be one of the first to hold my child, and though I hold that honour now, the fight by which it was achieved still sucks a bit of the joy from the experience. Even now, almost five months after the fact, I feel more than a tad hollow to the day, May 19th, the birth of my daughter, not from lack of love, oh lord how I precious mi Sanctus Lucia is, but because of the neglect and separation.

It's nearly five months later that I stand a weary man. From both experience and national tradition, I am in fact now a Man, but before such, I became a Father. It was this seat which I observe with a shaken eye. For so long, nearly a year, I have felt the humbling fact that the portion of life I call my own is in fact, Not. Even before I was a Father, when the situation still lie in the womb, I was blatantly told that no matter what I may say, this particular thing would happen, and how it would happen, and what would happen thereafter, would also not lie within the realm of my decision. It was this which drove me mad for so long, for nearly a year, because in this land of Justice and Freedom I felt constricted and at the whim of a self-proclaimed suicidal girl and the only way to reject this and become my own would be to allow her, yet again, the absolute say as to how my daughter might be raised. Even today her indecision pains me, for although she posted great concern about what might be injected into her daughter, and made clear she wished but one shot come a month, when we enter the doctor's office, she says nothing when the nurse wheels in not one, but three individual shots. It is this lack of ability to stand on her own which worries me, for it is I, the Father, who is forced to make haste and dictate our will which effects our daughter. And again, it is I who is the parent more willing to say our daughter, though I may hold little respect for the Mother and her decisions, I do still recognize her seat and rightful stance as Mother, I do respect that she holds opinions and thoughts about life, and more accurately about Lucia, however, it is her indecision and lack of will to speak out of these concerns and thoughts which I detest. To be meek is to inherit the earth, but allow something which you may control, to instead happen, and not in the way which you prescribed is simply foolish.

To take the higher road, from what my experiences, is to allow life to come as it may, and to stand unyieldingly to however relentless it may become, but atop of that, to do all this and still act in a way that's best, not for yourself, but for that which you love the most. These last fourteen months have been full of great joys and experiences, but they have also taught me the feeling of constraint, they have taught me that I may very well never achieve my dreams not from lack of will, but due to the fear of how another might raise my Daughter. This last year has taught me the importance of a Parenting Team, a pair which might work together and raise the child how they would be best, rather than going about it alone, and in fear of the other and their intentions. It is this last year which has changed me, scarred me, and made me a Man, indeed more jaded, but also quieter, stronger, and more wise. It is in this suffering to which I am subject to, that I find the promise of my daughter's positive future. No matter how hard life may come, this man will not yield, will not stumble, and will not falter. For fourteen months I have been tested, and in response, I stand here today, a Father.

Con amor, Sanctus Lucia, siempre aqui contigo.   

Eyes glow beneath a glistening shroud cast from your brow,
a fog darkens your pupils; their glow diminished
stunning nonetheless, those gems, precious treasures.

There's something crawling from the dark seas,
a thick mist softens something in the depths, blacker than black
undeniably bold, such a being, frightening figures.

1 Month since we set sail.
Already the crew's seen and spoken;
the day has come and gone.
Onward to the dark outer seas.