A new arrival convinces an old cynic that the future isn't going to be so grim after all, writes David Adams
THE EARLY evening phone call wasn't unexpected. There had been some serious womanly whispering going on between mother and daughter in the kitchen earlier that day, and afterwards my wife Joycelyn told me that Deborah might be in the early stages of labour. Still, as she rushed off to Deborah's house to accompany her and her partner William to hospital, I cautioned myself against getting too excited, it could be a false alarm.
Emotion, however, seldom succumbs to rational thought and behaviour, particularly where your children are concerned.
So the possibility of a false alarm didn't stop me from ringing England to tell Kevin that he might be an uncle before the night was out, or stop David, our younger son, from contacting his partner Siobhan and making arrangements to keep her regularly updated on developments.
Soon the Adams household was bubbling with excitement at the imminent arrival of a new addition to the family. A hurried phone call from the expectant granny at about 8pm confirmed that labour was indeed well under way, and, to ease our concerns, gave welcome assurance that everything was going well with mother and baby.
Periodic text messages were received and dutifully passed on throughout the evening, until, after what seemed like an eternity of floor pacing, a phone call shortly after midnight announced the safe delivery of the best Christmas present we could ever have wished for.
At 11:52pm on December 10th, our youngest child Deborah gave birth to a darling baby boy, Liam - a first grandchild for Joycelyn and me, and a nephew to Kevin and David. At times like this, even an old cynic cannot help but reflect on his enormous good fortune. Although, to be honest, I've never entertained any illusions about how lucky I am to be blessed with such a fantastic family.
Whether my wife and children could be said to be equally blessed is a moot point.
No need to expand much here, other than to say that I came to maturity rather late in life, about mid-forties I reckon, so can readily identify with the Jackson Browne lyric, "Please don't confront me with my failings, I had not forgotten them".
After barely a wink of sleep, there was an excited rush to the maternity ward the next day to meet our new grandson, my wife and I just about remembering along the way that we had to collect Kevin from the airport later. He, like his mother and brother, having timed his annual leave to coincide with the birth.
Then all of a sudden there he was, Liam David Victor Walker, our grandson, a little bundle of beautiful, innocent perfection, lying in his cot, taking a well-earned rest after the ordeal of the previous night.
Everything seemed so right with the world.
And sitting up radiant in bed, our wonderful daughter who, since ever she was able to say the words, has hardly let a day go by without telling her mother and father that she loves them.
It seemed like only yesterday that she was a child herself, and now, here she was, a grown woman with her own little baby.
An enormous wave of pride and love almost overwhelmed me, but I managed to pull myself together. I am after all now a grandfather, and must learn to act like one.
And there too, the proud father, William, who had gone through something of an ordeal himself, every so often glancing, almost in disbelief, at his beautiful newborn son, as if to make certain that this wasn't all a dream.
The well-wishers gathered around the bed and the cot made for an eclectic mix: a refreshing reminder of just how far ahead of the politicians and the pundits so many of the youngsters in Northern Ireland are.
Young men and women from both the main religious traditions, and from neither, all close friends, delighting in one another's company, taking turns to coo over the baby and to congratulate the proud parents.
One young man, a dear friend of Deborah's since childhood, feeling secure and comfortable enough to explain that he had recently moved back home with his parents after splitting up with his boyfriend.
Wonderfully changed times, indeed.
These young people are determined not to be bound and straitjacketed by the ancient enmities and blind prejudices of previous generations.
The future might not be as bleak as we sometimes fear.
En route to the airport, I glanced across at the newly minted granny, the love of my life, sitting silently behind the steering wheel, well-deserved pride and joy oozing from her every pore. Deborah could not have a better role model for motherhood.
I wish our grandson happiness throughout his life - with that, he would truly have everything.
Blessed with such marvellous parents, he is off to the best possible start.
Wrapped in my little cocoon of warm grandfatherly contentment, I could not help but think, despite all of the trials and tribulations of life: Oh, what a wonderful, wonderful world this can be at times.
Merry Christmas.