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The most important thing I've ever learned about fatherhood came about at the passing of my wife's grandfather four months before I became a father. Funerals simply aren't my thing. If I had a choice, I simply wouldn't attend them.

Generally I loathe funerals because so many of them involve eulogies that are mostly fictitious. Just about everyone is characterized as a saint, no matter how many people they've hurt in their lifetime. I don't mean to sound judgmental, but funerals are rarely honest events.

But I had no choice this time around. I had to go and support my wife at a time of tremendous grief. That was my role to play as a faithful husband.

This funeral was a life-changing event for me. I sat in church and watched a father of ten children be revered by his family. It's one thing to have friends and "important people" speak highly of someone at times like this.

Unlike "important people," family members know the real deal; therefore, observing children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, get up in front of hundreds of people to say goodbye to their noble patriarch was something I was not at all used to.

This was the template, and I had learned from this experience that the most important thing I could leave with my family is not a fat bank account, but loving memories, wisdom and virtue.

The real litmus test of fatherhood was how my family would feel about the life I lived and how I treated each and every one of them. My wife's grandfather passed the test with flying colours, and I could not help but think that when I check out, this is without question the way that I want to check out.

Carrying twins we expected them to be born early, but not six weeks early. Sometime around 12am November 29 my wife woke me out of bed and said she felt a little strange. Being an anxious, big, dumb male I wanted it spelled out for me.

"Well is this just the little jitters that Rita from the Nurses Practice warned us about, or is it the real deal?" I asked.

She says she isn't sure, and now I'm irritated. In my head I think: "This can't be it, because a real contraction would feel pretty obvious." See, I know this from my vast experience giving birth. By 5:30am we were at King Edward, calm and ready for delivery.

I had fully immersed myself in this experience, and I'd educated myself about the process. I was the only one who knew that they were both boys, and their full names were chosen months ago — one carrying the name of my wife's grandfather, and the other her uncle. Soon enough I was going to meet my sons, and I longed for the moment that they would first see their father.

Having read a few warnings from fathers who witnessed childbirth, I swore down I was not going to hang out at the "business end". I knew I'd be fine hearing what was going on, but seeing what was going on was another matter entirely.

So I did my best to stay up beside my wife and help her with her breathing and pushing. But once the doctor said that she could see his head, all this was far too fascinating to ignore. Yes I wanted to help my wife, but my son was coming home — I had to see him!

And when he came out with a scream, never has a shriek sounded so comforting. The same could be said for my second son, but things were a bit riskier as he had spun himself around in the last week into the breeched position. Unlike his brother, he came out feet first. He didn't scream right away, but when he did I felt like I had just experienced the purest thing on earth.

Nothing even remotely comes close to seeing every graphic detail of my sons' birth. Fully-appreciating that we just created two humans makes it a lot easier to accept 90 decibels of screaming (times two), 16 diaper changes per day, being woken up every one-and-a-half to two hours, the loss of freedom, a thinning wallet and an expanding waistline.

Having two babies at the same time probably amplifies the point. Now that I have two children learning from my example, the stakes have been raised tremendously.

'Till death do us part

They'll see how I conduct myself in business, in friendships, with their mother, spiritually and even ecologically. Every step I make counts, because not only will they be learning from me, they'll also bear some of the consequences of my actions.

Ten years ago I made an oath to my wife in marriage. Though I haven't spoken a single word, I am certain that bringing a child in the world obligates you to live your life a certain way. It's an unspoken oath to your children when you really think about it. If I bring you into this world, then it is my job to love, care for, respect and lead you.

Before my sons were born I learned that fatherhood begins the day they are conceived. Now that they are here, I understand that fatherhood doesn't end until I my last breath.[[In-content Ad]]

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