A New Meaning to the
Phrase 'My Old Man'
The inspiration for that thought is renowned novelist Saul Bellow, who at 84 recently fathered a baby daughter with his fifth wife, Janis Freedman, 41. There’s no denying that it’s an impressive achievement; after going through five wives it’s amazing the man has enough energy to stand up, much less procreate.
Somehow he managed it though, and needless to say the author’s newfound fatherhood has attracted more than a little attention from the press. In response, Bellow had this to say: "As I told reporters in 1975 upon winning the Pulitzer Prize for ‘Humbolt’s Gift’ — I am the man! Oh yeah! Woop woop woop woop! Go Bellow … Go Bellow … Go Bellow!" (Actually he had no comment, but you know he had to be thinking something along those lines.)
His relative fertility aside, I hope Mr. Bellow knows what he’s in for now. Writing "Herzog" will seem like nothing compared to those 12, 3 and 6 a.m. feedings — and it’s an acknowledged fact of child-rearing that poops do not know from Pulitzer Prizes.
Apparently Mr. Bellow does have three other children, but as they’re probably on Social Security by now, I’d like to take this opportunity to offer him the following reminder when it comes to raising infants: dense, complex narratives — bad; putting a napkin over your head and then pulling it off while crying "Peek-a-boo!"— good. That about covers it.
What’s most amazing about this development to me, personally, is that I now have something in common with one of America’s greatest living writers. This is fortuitous, since Lord knows I wasn’t going to get there on my writing ability.
The fact that we both have daughters close to the same age blows my mind; I remember as an English major in college, when I was studying the works of all the great American authors, reading Bellow’s "Dangling Man" and thinking to myself, "Whaaa?" But then I studied the critical interpretations of the work, read it again, and thought "Huuuh?" But none of that matters now, because we both have infant daughters, which practically makes us drinking buddies.
And who knows? As Bellow is a Boston-area resident of late, it’s feasible that in a few years we could wind up sitting next to each other at PTA meetings. I figure he’ll be about 90 at the time, but I’m sure he’ll still want to be involved with school bake sales and the like — I’ll bet he makes a mean fritter. Anyway, I can just imagine the conversation I could have with the great author:
Me: Mr. Bellow, I just have to ask, was the character of Henderson in "Henderson the Rain King" meant to represent the everyman?
Bellow: WHERE ARE MY SHOES?
I jest of course; I’m sure Mr. Bellow’s mental faculties will continue to be in fine form. In fact, perhaps he’ll even make himself available to write the elementary school play — maybe something about a chicken who thinks the sky is falling, and as a result must grapple with alienation, loneliness and man's bewildering quest for knowledge and spiritual discernment. And, for good measure, a wacky talking fox named "Bootsie."
Bellow is the latest in what seems to be a growing trend involving celebrity men — like Clint Eastwood and Anthony Quinn — who father children at an advanced age. If you didn’t know better you’d think they were competing with each other; in fact, I’ll bet news of Bellow’s new addition has already sent Tony Randall scampering to the drug store for another Viagra refill.
But personally, I find the whole thing a little disturbing. It’s not that these guys won’t make good fathers — it’s just that they won’t make good fathers for that long. And in the meantime, it seems to me that raising children is hard enough without the grim specter of death bearing down on you like an angry Clydesdale.
But what do I know? I don’t have any Pulitzers.