Wednesday, February 17, 2016 // The Statement 
 
7B

by Logan Hansen, Daily Sports Writer
I 

was 16 years old when my son was born. And I 
remember, clear as day, sitting in that hospital room 
and holding him for the first time. The smile would 

not leave my lips, and my eyes could not be bothered to 
remain dry.

A couple of days later, I drove he and his mother to 

her parents’ house twenty minutes away from the hos-
pital, and I dare say it was probably the slowest and most 
careful I have ever driven in my life.

I got a job that summer, before my junior year of high 

school, washing dishes at a steakhouse-type restaurant. 
In August, I would wake up, drive the ten minutes to 
work down M-22, clock out just in time to head back 
into town and participate in two-a-day football practice, 
and then end the day spending time with my newborn 
son at his maternal grandparents’ house.

As a guy that was generally awkward around little 

kids, it took me a good deal of time to become used to 
being a parent. Especially in high school I found this 
hard.

I grew up in Northern Michigan, where, in a network 

of small towns and small high schools, everyone knew 
everything about everybody else.

I’d walk into a neighboring school’s gymnasium to 

cheer on our varsity basketball team, my son secured in 
my arms, and I would get the distinct sense that all of the 
opposing school’s kids were looking at me, judging me.

When I found out my girlfriend was pregnant, it 

was impossible to keep some negative thoughts out of 
my head: Now I’m going to be one of those kids who 
threw everything away for one night of unprotected 
fun, I thought. Now I’m going to be perceived as a lesser 
person, someone for whom the potential of success has 
been substantially lowered.

I had done most everything right up to that point. I 

had great friends, did well in school, volunteered my 
time at almost every opportunity. And all of a sudden, I 
felt as if the mortal error had been committed and every-
thing that preceded it was for naught. 

But it was not the end of the world. Not even close. My 

friends, while shocked at the news, could not have been 
more supportive. They jumped at the opportunity to be 
honorary “uncles” for my little guy. They let me know I 
was still a “good” person, and they wouldn’t look down 
upon me for becoming a dad at such a young age.

My parents and my son’s maternal grandparents 

offered as much help as they could, which was and 
continues to be a service to me that I will never be able 
to thank them enough for. Because of them, the ques-
tion of continuing my education or not was one that 
needn’t be asked.

Coming to the University of Michigan, though, pre-

sented me with new challenges as a young parent. 
When I said goodbye to my then-two-year-old son 
before leaving for college, I do not think I fully grasped 
what it would be like, what it would mean, to be four 
hours away from him for a greater part of the coming 
academic year.

But I understood the depth of that distance soon 

after arriving in Ann Arbor. After maybe five days on 
campus, I missed a call from my son on a Saturday. He 
left a voicemail.

“Hi, Daddy. I miss you. Come back. Bye.”
So then I sat there, and wondered: Was going to 

school this far from home really a good idea? Was my 
dream college something that should have just stayed 
a dream? 

I rationalized and justified and defended my deci-

sion to myself. I said, you’re going to a great school, 
which will lead to a great career, which will allow you 
to provide for your son in the future. 

But I still sit here and wonder, as a senior in my 

final semester at Michigan, whether I made the right 
choice in coming here and staying for four years. And 
I think back to freshman year, when I felt like I had a 
big secret to keep from everyone all over again.

Telling my friends at college that I was a dad was 

never an easy thing for me, and to some extent, it still 
isn’t. Approaching the subject with new people is like 
entering the gymnasium in that other high school, 
fearing how they will react, what they’ll think of me.

My sophomore year I took a developmental psy-

chology course, and on the first day, just out of curios-
ity as it related to the course material, the professor 
asked the 200-person class if anyone had children 
already. I didn’t raise my hand. 

The subject of having kids has come up during my 

time here on a number of occasions, and it is always in 
the context of looking toward the future. For me, that 

future began six years ago, when I first learned I was 
going to be a dad.

All the anxiety and stress and guilt I’ve experienced 

over my own insecurity is something I am disappoint-
ed in myself with. After all, everyone I have met, gen-
erally, has not reacted in a negative way to my having 
a son.

And, more significantly, all of the joy and pleasure 

and happiness that my son has brought me over the 
past five and a half years overshadows those nega-
tive feelings by far. He is smart as can be, funny in a 
way that oftentimes only kids can get away with — by 
being brutally honest — and his hugs are the ones I 
most look forward to.

Looking back on that first day in the hospital, hold-

ing him for the first time, tears threatening to wash 
down my face, I could never have imagined how much 
of a blessing in disguise that little guy was going to be.

And if I told you I didn’t cry while writing this, I’d 

be lying.

ILLUSTRATION BY EMILY WATERS

My Life as a Young Dad

